Chapter 2

Ava POV 

No touching. No eye contact.

The camp's rules replay over and over in my mind, but the problem is—I never got the full list. The Mistress Elara dismissed me before I could finish my "How to Stay Alive Around a Master" lesson.

I really hope I have my mop nearby because I feel like I might pee myself from fear.

My gaze breaks away from his piercing blue eyes, but my entire body remains frozen. My mouth moves before I can think.

"I'm so sorry. I didn’t expect you," I blurt, my voice thick with nervousness, making my already heavy accent worse.

"Stand," he orders. His voice is deep, gravelly—like it’s made of pure fire and stone, shaking my chest with every syllable.

I scramble to my feet so fast that if he told me to launch myself back to Earth, I might actually try. My eyes stay locked on his pants—rugged, caked in mud, made from the hide of some beast only a warrior like him could take down. His boots look like they’ve walked across worlds, trampled over enemies, and carried him through endless battles.

How many miles has he traveled? How much blood has he waded through to earn the title of General?

"Bend over. Grab your ankles."

I freeze.

Then, as if reality has finally caught up with me, I take a single step back. That’s it. That’s all I manage. But that one step feels like the first of many down a very dangerous path.

Did he just tell me to assume the mating position?

"Huh?"

Before I can react further, his hands move. They’re massive—strong, veined, and slightly tinted red, like the blood of his enemies never truly washes off. His fingers reach for the ties on his breeches.

My legs clamp together so fast it should be a superpower.

"I'm not an Entertainer!" I shout.

His hands stop mid-motion. General Kaelen doesn’t stop for anything. The stories say he moves like a king—collected, powerful, always in control. Hesitation is for the weak, not for leaders.

"What are you saying, human?"

My whole face burns as I try to push the words out.

"I don't want you to... to take me."

I've been with a Panja male once before. It was awful. And I doubt the experience would be any better with him. He’s probably skilled, sure, but I know how proportions work. Judging by the size of his hands, well... I don't think my body is built for this.

"You’re rejecting me."

It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

"Uh… yes?"

For the first time, he falters. This man has survived countless battles, but I might be the first thing that’s ever truly caught him off guard.

"Sorry!" I grab my things as fast as I can and dash out of the tent like my life depends on it.

He could stop me easily—one step and he’d have me trapped. But he doesn’t move. I guess I’m not worth the effort.

In my rush, I leave behind some of my supplies. And my dignity.

At least I didn’t pee myself.

I still can't believe what just happened.

No man has ever looked at me like that before. The Panjas don’t find me attractive. I’m too small, too human. When I first arrived, the Mistress Elara actually laughed at me when she thought I was applying to be an Entertainer.

Over the years, I’ve heard plenty of insults—mocking my odd features, my "unnatural" appearance. The others make sure I never forget that I don’t belong.

Even finding work was a nightmare. Nobody wants to hire a creature they barely tolerate.

So why did General Kaelen choose me?

He’s not like the other men. He’s a leader. Leaders don’t think like everyone else. Was he curious about my body? Did he want to study a human the way he’s conquered everything else on this planet?

I have no one to ask. No friends, no allies. And if the Entertainers found out I was the first woman he approached? They’d tear me apart.

I overheard them betting on who would get to "ride" him first. Those women are ruthless.

Whatever. I’ll just avoid him.

Hiding has always been my best skill.

By the time I finish my chores and head to the kitchen, the sky has darkened. A new energy crackles in the air—something electric, something dangerous.

The Masters are starting to arrive.

"Sylas, can I speak with you?" I ask hesitantly.

I hate talking to him. He’s difficult.

He turns, his scowling face making my stomach twist. He’s an older Panja, and compared to General Kaelen, he looks… weak.

General Kaelen’s face is carved from strength, his black beard thick, his jaw sharp. His short, war-torn hair gives him an almost feral appearance.

Sylas, on the other hand, is bald, his skin sagging off his bones. He has the usual ridges and icy-blue eyes of his people, but age has dulled his features.

"What do you want?" he snaps. Spits, actually—right at my feet.

He’s never liked me. I confuse him. He doesn’t trust me. And with their world at war, trust is something the Panjas don’t hand out easily.

"I was wondering if I could be reassigned," I say carefully.

I can’t clean his tent anymore.

Sylas’s eye twitches. His hand jerks. And then—

Smack.

The slap echoes, loud enough to be heard back on Earth.

I don’t cry. I don’t flinch. I don’t even move.

Not anymore.

"How dare you complain on your first day?" he snarls. "Get back to work, you lazy, worthless thing!"

Others pass by—Entertainers, Masters. No one stops.

No one cares.

They have a war to prepare for. They have bigger problems. I am not one of them.

To them, I’m just another weak thing. Another stray to be kicked aside.

I don’t fight back. Fighting gets you nothing. I bow my head, pick up a basket of laundry, and force myself to move.

Dignity doesn’t put food in my stomach. Survival does.

After finishing the day’s work, I finally get my meal. The Panjas eat their food cold. That means I eat my food cold, too. I tell myself it will taste better one day.

Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll believe it.

On my way back to my tent, I pass two Masters rutting into Entertainers, their deep growls making my cheeks burn. I don’t stop. I don’t look. I just keep walking.

Inside my tent, I scrub myself down with water, change into my nightgown, and curl up in bed.

My book waits for me—a rare treasure, though I can barely read it. It’s written in the Panja language, and I’ve spent years trying to decipher it.

It’s about psychology.

The Panjas don’t study the mind the way humans do. But this book—this one book—holds discoveries that fascinate me.

When I was fifteen, I wanted to go to college, to study psychology properly. But instead of a university, I ended up here, on an alien planet, cleaning bloodstained tents.

Still, I can’t help my curiosity. The Masters… they’re a mystery.

Why are they so cold? Why can’t they laugh? What do they think about when they’re alone? And more than anything…

Why does sex turn them into unstoppable warriors?

What does it do to them?

The thoughts swirl until my mind settles on an image.

General Kaelen.

Naked.

My face burns as I yank my book over my head.