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General Thompson’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Afraid you’ll kill your own mate? Nah, son. Not even a little. Besides, much as you might think you hate her, you’ve had the chance to kill her thrice now. And you’ve never followed through.”
The nauseating truth of that makes AX2 down the rest of the liquor and slam the glass back on the table with more force than intended.
Fuck. What is this?Mind games, no doubt. But for what purpose? There’s tension brewing behind his brow bone, and for the first time in his miserable existence, he longs for the mind-numbing solitude of the stasis chamber.
So many questions whirl in his mind, but most of them are too fraught with sharp edges to even think, let alone say out loud.
In the end, he settles on, “Why are you so certain I’m not? Subhuman? Or a machine? I was created to be a weapon.”
His mate’s father scoffs again, leans forward, and pours another measure of alcohol into his glass. “You boys have too much alpha in you to be anything but men. Exceptional men, sure, and yes, weapons. But it wasn’t exactly machines who took care of those prostitutes we brought in, hmm?”
The prostitutes. He remembers Candi’s sweet touches and how he couldn’t bring himself to indulge like his brethren did. “I didn’t.” He doesn’t know why he argues. Is it that he’s trying to force the other man to show his hand—the scheme behind this whole session—or is it that he needs to hear someone else say it enough times that he might start believing it too?
But General Thompson only chuckles again and raises his glass, a silent gesture for AX2 to follow suit. “No, you sure didn’t. Maybe now you don’t have my daughter’s fist around your balls, you’ll finally work out why that is.”
* * *
She’sin her bedroom by the time AX2 steps out of the parlor. He feels her like a shrapnel-covered homing beacon on the first floor, awake; agitated.
He takes the stairs two at a time, eager for the tension in their bond to ease and to calm his instinctive need to assure she’s safe with his own eyes.
When he walks into her bedroom, not bothering to knock on the closed door, she’s in bed, leaned against the headboard with the duvet pulled up to her waist. Her torso is covered in the same frilly nightgown from last night, and there’s a scowl on her pale face.
His chest lightens instantly in spite of it.
“What did he want?” she snaps the second he closes the door behind him.
“Hmm.” There are exactly zero ways to honestly answer that question without drawing down her ire, but she already looks like she’s expecting a lie. He decides on a partial truth. “To warn me about you.”
“Excuseme?” It’s a snarl worthy of an alpha.
The whiskey is still warm in his stomach, and the sound of her likethat—harsh, in command—triggers something scalding lower down.Put her in her place,her father said. When she’s like this, like the unbroken monster she was before, the thought is quite a bit more appealing.
Perhaps it’s the idea that maybe—just maybe—if he decides to give her thefirm handthe general recommended, this time she won’t stop him, that has him stalking toward the bed, eyes locked on hers.
“He told me you’re difficult. Cruel. In need of an alpha to keep you in check. He expects me to do the job.”
Her gray gaze widens behind her glasses, but it’s outrage rather than fear that fills it. “Oh, I bet he does! You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s secretlythrilledabout this whole nightmare. He’s wanted me barefoot and mated to an alpha since I was seventeen.”
She sucks in a deep breath and scrubs both hands across her face, visibly trying to calm down. When she looks up at him again, irritation still simmers at the back of her eyes, but he knows the firm draw of her mouth well enough. She’s back in control.
“Did he mention anything relevant to the meeting?”
“No, ma’am.” Despite the obedient words, heat still curls tightly below his navel, urging him onward. He only stops his advance once he’s at the foot of the bed. “Not a word.”
She narrows her eyes at him, suspicious at this change to his usual behavior.
He continues onto the bed, kneels on it and smirks at the first signs of alarm on her pretty face at his uninvited nearness.
Her mouth drops open. “Are you… Are youdrunk?”
He tilts his head, never breaking eye contact. “Can machines get drunk?”
“I cannot fucking believe it!” she growls, shoving the duvet off so she can scramble down to meet him. She staggers to her feet and grabs his face between her hands, using his head to counter the wobbly mattress.
Her fingers are icy against his skin, and a thread of concern burrowing through the heated abandon in his gut makes him flick his eyes up to search her face for signs of discomfort.
She’s frowning down at him, and the second he catches her gaze, she pries one of his eyes wide and stares deep into it. “Tell me, while the esteemed general was plying you with alcohol and discussing how he wants you to turn me compliant with the might of your dick, did he look like he was at all concerned with what it might do to your highly calibrated systems?”
