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If only I weren’t some pawn in the Vyastil council’s sick game. I know for a fact I only hold a position on the council for the illusion of power. It dawned on me three second-moon cycles ago that they wanted to keep me docile.

Willing.

Silent.

They wanted to ensure I wouldn’t dig too deep into the breeding program or ask why. Why only select Vyastil? And how did the others lose their breeding cocks? What have they actually done to us over the centuries to alter us so?

But realizing what Rathyn found in Everest—seeing it with my own two eyes that the myth of the VySytheh was more than just a story written on ancient walls—shattered every illusion I ever held. And by the time it happened to Rathyn, those illusions were already paper-thin.

Why they stole Kori from me now makes sense. If he and I were given a chance to connect strongly enough to tempt a bond to form, it would ruin the breeding plans.

But it seems ridiculous now. Luca simply existing in the same city is a detriment to their plans.

I must gather enough evidence to expose everything before they learn what happened to me. That is the only truly terrifying thing because I am not ready.

And there are not enough allies to back us up.

Taking a breath, I open the portal to my quarters in the capital and step through. When it closes, I feel the physical distance between myself and Luca like a pain in my side. It’s not agony, but it aches. Sleeping in another room from him is bad enough.

All I want is to be in his bed, between his legs, his hard cock spilling down my throat.

My slit stirs and throbs, and I’m grateful for the tunic that might hide any evidence of my arousal. I can, of course, blame it on my impending rut, but I am several first-moon cycles away from that, and Prince Jyrion would be the first to order an interrogation if he so much as suspected I was up to something.

Glancing out the window, I watch the movement of the capital. All the Vyastil moving about, no leisure time, no pleasure, no purpose other than to serve. They have no idea what it does to a Vyastil to kneel between a human’s legs and take from them.

They have been conditioned, trained, bred to think they feel the way they do because they are less than. That they are closer to animal than person. The cruelty is odd because humans don’t understand what they’re really being asked to do.

The system could be so much better. The exchange is necessary, but must it be like this?

I turn away from the window. There’s no sense in twisting myself into knots over it now. A change will happen, and I can only hope that I’m alive to see it when it does.

I am one of the few allowed to bathe in water drawn from our seas, though it is no more than a trickle coming from the singing stone faucet. The humming is more soothing than washing.

So many Vyastil will never know the unique pleasure of standing under a rainfall of warm water, and it makes me miss Earth more as I use what little of my water allowance I have this cycle to scrub the scent of Luca off me. It creates a deeper ache, and as I towel off, I search for him in my mind.

He’s no longer asleep, but he’s not in a panic. I would have felt it if he were overwhelmed with fear. No, I catch a glimpse of irritation and…it’s something else.

Ah. He is sitting outside with the kradun curled up at his side, watching the falier blooms glow in the shadows of the trees. He’s fascinated by our alien world. It’s the same sensation I felt when I first set my claws on Earth.

I was terrified, overwhelmed, and unsure we could ever trust humans. That suspicion has never quite gone away, but it’s different now. Now, I simply have an understanding that every being capable of vying for power and control can be a monster.

I pull back from Luca before he realizes I’m there and stand in front of my polished glass. My reflection stares back at me, and I blink. I am unchanged since finding my VySytheh. Another Vyastil could look upon my face for hours and never realize I am fundamentally different.

I am who I am: Eissa of the North Hills. Eissa, who raised Rathyn to be a warrior and Dhoryn to be a scholar. Eissa, the Earth liaison—the one who is sometimes far too human for Vyastil liking. Eissa, the imperfect, with pale scars shining against my blue skin.

The elite and the council tolerate me because I cover them. I am too high-ranking for the mines, but if I had been a lesser being, I would have joined so many simply for looking wrong. Yet another thing that must change, though I don’t let myself think about that now.

There are too many fragile variables for me to get caught up in details.

Shrugging on my tunic, I tie it carefully around my waist, then step into my sitting room and freeze. I was too caught up in my own head to hear the portal opening, and my hearts jump as I see two beings standing there. One of them conjures up profound relief, the other profound dread.

Rathyn nods his head while Prince Jyrion smirks at me, showing a hint of fang over his lower lip. I quickly remember to bow, and then straighten my shoulders as Rathyn approaches, tipping his head against mine in greeting.

“What brings you here?” I ask.

Jyrion’s lip curls up in the corner. “I received a report last night that you took on a human companion.”

We have been on Erethar for nearly a first-moon cycle, so I’m grateful that the paperwork was lost in processing for this long. But it was only a matter of time before Jyrion noticed.