Metal snapped and technology fizzled, leaving a monster looming above her. Dark eyes gazed upward, wide with retracted pupils melting into dilation. Arousal prodded at her bloating fear, Soraya in no doubt about the peril she faced. The werewolf wouldn’t kill her. Somehow, irrationally, she knew this in her soul. The many other indecencies it could force upon her did not evade her reeling and fantastical imagination. 

The last monster to loom over her in this way had been a human, his eyes pitch black and mouth curled in a lustful sneer. He’d been a man she wanted to trust, but he’d stolen her naivete, only to replace it with an unerring understanding of human monsters. She never looked upon the world in the same way.

Soraya froze. She stood immobilized in the beast’s penetrative eyes. Fantasies played their intoxicating games, rolling visions of ecstasy and climax through her imagination. Yet, Soraya could not move, nor did she fight the paralysis with more than a stray thought. She endured, but resisting felt so sweet.

Pleasure melted her into a wanton display of deep-seated need. Fabric ripped, and the spell holding her in place shattered. If anyone else tore her dress, they’d find themselves a victim of the Latina’s rage, violent and sudden and bound to leave damage in its wake. In contrast, Malcolm’s actions against her garment brought relief to feel his caresses along her bare flesh, no longer hindered by lace. A slow tip of her neck invited his fingers and lips, new shudders racing down her body and leaving goose bumps behind. Her flesh throbbed when his hand moved on. Why did he stop? She wanted to grab the fingers and return them to her skin, feel them touch her all over again. 

She didn’t know why she spread her legs, thighs quivering as she rolled her hips toward his mouth. Vulnerable and no longer fighting him, she undulated toward his gifted tongue, reveling in the surging pleasure as he explored her dripping sex. She stilled, body poised on a beautiful precipice and ready to jump. One spasm turned into two, and two multiplied in orgasmic release. No one had ever brought her to climax so quickly, stealing her breath and softening the world around her. Every time the scruff of his chin scraped along her sensitive sex, her belly tightened and her hips lifted.

Danger loomed above her, a beast’s fang elongating and positioned about her plump clitoris. Distracted by the orgasm, she did not react when his the sharpened incisor pierced her flesh—not until everything crashed down around her. Unrealized pain, unlike any agony she’d ever felt before, slammed into her with the force of the most tragic of accidents. Her vision blurred red, then black. Soraya’s back arched, no longer in control of her movements.  She continued to writhe, each sensual hip roll adverse to the trickles of blood pooling beneath her spread thighs. She blocked the world out, Soraya aware of little more than her bubble of bliss.

“Give her a moment, gentlemen,” a female voice purred from somewhere. It sounded so far away, a reverberation from the end of a vast tunnel.

A quavering scream, her own, when the world blinked back into existence. Malcolm no longer pleasured her. Sweet agony speared between her legs, but Soraya couldn’t tell where it stemmed from. Horror twisted her expression when she finally looked down, blood oozing from between her legs and pooling on the desk.

She caught sight of them dragging Malcolm away. Blood mixed with female honey dripped from his chin, and she knew both came from her. No one needed to tell her. It was all from her. Cobra crouched to collect the broken pieces of the collar.

She tried to shout into the room, and lift herself from the desk.

A female set her hand upon her bruised thigh, a brief thrum of magic calming her nerves. Soraya melted back into a sprawl, vision blurring from the magical touch. Someone covered her in a blanket and allowed her to rest as the sensations subsided. Once her body relaxed, the evolved healer set to work. Strong and confident hands covered each red blotch, murmurs of her alto drifting through her patient’s drugged mind. The process wasn’t pleasant, as if  the heated trail reached out through a thin veil to burn her bare skin. Once the healer’s touch slipped away, every inch of her body tingled, leaving her limbs sore and aching. It felt like she’d run a marathon, an activity she’d never, ever do.

On shaky legs, Soraya made her way to the bathroom. She longed for the shower, and Botwin’s water heater promised she could stand there until her fingertips pruned. It was the best place to think, something magical in the way it banished anxiety and left the mind open to spontaneous clarity.

A waterfall spray filled the tiled enclosure with steam. Heaven could not recreate the bliss she felt when she stepped beneath the spray. A groan, eyes closed and her head tipped back to soak her dark hair. The deep espresso darkened to ebony, the mane falling down to the middle of her back. She graced herself with stillness, with peace. Time slipped away, her skin flushing from the heat. The sound of water let her mind wander, from favorite food to reevaluating her life choices.

She’d let him get to her. Manipulate her. Peel away the armor to find the vulnerability locked behind closed doors. Malcolm Book belonged to her; he did not get to decide her emotions. Yet, in the fateful moments when he pinned her down and took his pleasure from her, she felt a startling loss of control. It would not, could not, happen again. Soraya had not risen above the men in her lineage to allow a servant to dominate her. A fallacy of weakness, and little more. It faded, replaced by a startlingly potent determination. Whatever he believed he accomplished, Malcolm Book would never again destroy her composure and compel her to serve his goals.

Eventually, she bathed. It favored every soap and scrub, shampoo and conditioner, and she was not devoid of choices. She languished in the mild aromas floating in the steam, but even Soraya couldn’t spend her life in the shower. 

Fresh from the en suite bathroom, her wet hair braided, Cobra waited for her outside the door. Arms crossed, a severe frown between his eyebrows, he was intense but unreadable. The round of his bald head caught the gentle yellow light—manufactured by Crowne Solar, she was sure—and he tipped his chin down to meet her gaze. 

She’d learned quickly that the man was impossible to comprehend by expression alone. The depths of his eyes promised access to multiple universes, but getting past the invisible boundary proved impossible. They were neither friends nor colleagues; Cobra worked for her, and their relationship ended there. Quick words spoken back and forth. Little more than a faint smile when amusement struck. 

No amusement sparked in the enormous man’s expression.

“Come with me, Ms. Santiago. There is something you need to see.”

They did not speak during the walk to the security room. Botwin Botanicals had cameras at every angle; the blind spots were few, and invasion of privacy came with the opportunity to live on the grounds. Soraya didn’t like the epiphany, given what she’d just done. Her rosy cheeks blanched, a butterfly flurry rolling through her belly.

“Oh.”

“I’m not here to prove to you that the security team enjoyed the show. Watch the penthouse recordings. The past year is ready for viewing.”

The heaviness of the room resonated with silence. She’d never felt such dense quiet, as if gravity suddenly weighed more and there was no escape route. Soraya stared at the still form on the screen, Malcolm standing in his penthouse with rigid posture. Every hard line and jagged edge stirred heat between her thighs. She pressed them together, but the cotton leggings were not thick enough to subdue her carnal desire. He was clean-shaven in the security video; when had he stopped shaving? For the first twenty minutes, it seemed like a looped recounting of a disciplined man’s day. He slept very little, worked too much, and rarely spent time with anyone outside the laboratory. Some days he walked with resolution and passion, and other days he seemed exhausted and nearly deflated. It piqued her curiosity, but why did the man’s gait change without a true pattern?

The only nuances she spotted involved the use of two showers after nights he didn’t spend in the Penthouse. One left his skin a roasted pink that he healed by the time he left the other one. And he had peculiar sleeping habits when he did take advantage of his king-sized bed. He was an avid side sleeper, and the one time he slid onto his back, terror tightened his body. Sheets were thrown asunder, and he bolted upright in a cold sweat. She noted he did not sleep for the rest of the night. 

Over and over, she watched the night terror, trying to figure out why he reacted to the position in such a way. They all had secrets, but she was someone who enjoyed unraveling them before the confession. And they always confessed in the end. 

Cobra returned, and she attempted to shoo the large man away. He stopped the loop she’d lost herself in, and laid a hand on her shoulder. The weight of his thick fingers drew her full attention away from the screen, and she looked up at his looming shadow.

“Ms. Santiago, the behavior against you today was irregular. The E.S. Co. collar is a flawless design. Dr. Book has never shown grievous insubordination until today. May I suggest we keep him Muted and for you to deal with him personally after he's done with surgery? Or perhaps you have a more inspired approach?”

His words were direct, his voice deep and even. She wondered what demeanor he’d take on if angry, and decided she wanted nothing to do with such a situation. It took her nearly half a minute to realize she was staring at the man, guardian of Botwin Botanicals, and had no idea what to say. 

The chair made no noise when she stood. Her eyes narrowed, disapproval coercing a frown. 

“Do your job, Cobra,” she said, an accusation hidden within the four, terse words. “Nothing more, nothing less. Do what I hired you to do.”

Soraya left Cobra standing by himself, more questions uncovered than answers gained.