Five
Catarine
The assassin—the blade—Sithe—looks like a nightmare cloaked in gray, and yet he asks so politely.
The same way that he informed the green-skinned Eruvisans of their fate. Calm, patient, and fully intending to cut them down without a second warning.
He let me live.
And here we are.
I obeyed his rules. Now he is obeying mine.
You have to know my name. How many people have I had s*x with in my life? I barely remember the names of my shipmates. In the four years since I lost myself, I have never demanded anyone’s name.
But in those four years, I have never had s*x with all my senses.
I will not forget this.
And if his story is right—if he’s a typical Arrisan who goes to a mass orgy once or twice in his life—then he will never forget this either.
I do not want to die.
