Page 42 of Regressive

They haven’t. And for a moment it makes me wonder why? Do they not trust me?

He tilts his head. “Your mind is running wild, isn’t it?” He laughs. “So like your mother. Always thinking. Scheming.”

The sensation of something creeping up my spine keeps me rigid, that and the fact that I have the notes about my mother under two thin layers of cotton. Is this meeting more than it seems?

God.

Does he know?

It’s insane to think, but Anex has his ways.

It’s the paranoia of any kind of resistance that makes me admit, “It’s hard for me to turn my brain off sometimes. I don’t know why. I think it’s all those years of worrying—of being considered different.”

“Because of Camille.” He nods. “I can imagine. She was a powerful person.”

Was.

She no longer exists in this world. We may as well be speaking of the dead, but the paper against my chest, the evidence on the computer last night. My mother isn’t dead. She’s alive and actively working against Serendee.

“Don’t worry, Imogene. Other than that, you’re nothing like her.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers down my cheek and tucking a strand of hair over my ear. “You don’t think I’d let a female with a true Regressive streak mate with my son, would you?” His hand lingers for a moment, trailing down my neck, before he steps back and takes another hit, before offering it to me. “You should try it. Take the edge off.”

The pressure is intense. I reach for the tiny twist of paper.

“Ah,” he says, withdrawing it a little. “Let me.”

He holds it to my mouth, leaving just an inch for me to press between my lips. Awkwardly, I bend forward, inhaling the sweet herbal grass. As the smoke drags into my lungs it burns, spreading across my chest. I try to hold it in, but I cough, my throat raw.

“I’m sorry,” I say, sputtering.

“It happens,” he says. “Just takes a little practice.” He leans forward again, pressing the joint to my lips. I have no choice but to inhale. When I pull away, he looks at me, eyebrow lifted. “You’ve been practicing, right?”

“Practicing?”

“With Elon, Silas, and Levi. Practicing to be an appropriate mate for my complicated son.”

Anex is fit—mostly from the hours of nightly basketball games and his healthy lifestyle. He’s vegan, meditates, practices yoga. His personal healer is always on call. Like Rex, his frame is imposing, muscular, and no matter how friendly his tone, there’s something intimidating about him—always.

“I, uh…” Be it the question or the cannabis running through my system, it’s hard to formulate words.

“I know all of this is new for you, Imogene. Exposing yourself like this—after the years of modesty and decorum.” He sits on the edge of the desk. “I know it doesn’t seem fair, but the males…we allow them more freedom so that when it’s time for you to enter your mating, someone understands how things work. My son is more aware than most. He’s experienced the decay and desperation of the outside world. It has left him hollow. I should have protected him more—especially without a mother.” He smiles gently. “That’s one reason I thought maybe you two would connect—the lack of a mother.”

“It has,” I say, tongue feeling looser. “It’s been an adjustment for both of us.

“What kind of things do they ask you to do… they do ask you? Or do they force you?”

My stomach twists. The look in his eye conveys something darker, deeper—hunger.

“Do they hurt you, Imogene? Or do you only like to be hurt during your Corrections?”

The question shocks me—I’m aware that Anex has access to our logs and journals. That Levi reports to him, but has he told him about that? About my desires? How the pain and pleasure turn into one?

“You’re such a good girl,” he says, words thick. Or are my ears thick? “You’ve always been a good girl, Imogene, even when you’re feeling bad.”

“I—”

He rests his hand on my shoulder, the weight heavy, pressing me down.

“Ask me.”

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