The General: A Once It Gets Dark Prologue

I step behind her. Close. Her warmth sinks through the fabric of my uniform. My body presses her against the red door of her dwelling, molding her against my cock. Her ass beneath her tight blue pants feels delicious. Soft and firm at the same time. Fertile. Ready.

I breathe in her aroma. It fills my head with smoke and makes my stinger prickle.

I lift my hand to prevent her from screaming. I am, of course, perfectly within my right to do what I am about to do, but I have no need for dramatics now. I have come to get things done, to purge my mind, and go on with my night.

But before I can cover her mouth, she turns. Her eyes take me in and widen. They are the color of moss and trees, like the forests of my home realm. I cannot wait to see them break. Cannot wait to claim her, push myself all the way into her wetness, and pump her fragile body full of seed and venom.

“General?” she asks, her warm voice full of awe and recognition.

I hate that word—the title that humans have given me. A flawed translation for what I am. Still, to hear it from her lips makes my tsin’ich tremble in my veins.

I give her a tentative smile and bow my head. Maybe I will not need to resort to force after all. I plant my hands against the lifeless wood of the entrance, closing her in just in case. I will not, I realize, be able to let her go before I have had her.

I leaned back on my bedding, eyes closed and fingers wrapped firmly around my cock, stroking myself as I envisioned the encounter with the woman I had seen earlier tonight.

I did not usually imagine such elaborate scenarios. In fact, I likely had not done so ever since I had been an adolescent. Carnal necessities were nothing but that: a nuisance that needed to be taken care of in order to keep the mind and body functioning at their highest. In other colonies, I had made use of bed slaves for that purpose. More pleasing and more efficient than my own hands. But in the human realm I had refused to debase myself with one of those beasts. Until tonight. Until her.

I tightened the hold right above my stinger, stroking more fervently.

She turns her supple body towards me. Her gentle fingers find my face and trace the scar of my oath all the way down from my brow to my jaw. Her touch is balm on the ever-present pain. Slowly, her lips part, and she returns my smile. She leans in closer. An unnecessary invitation, yet I accept.

I kiss her, carefully holding back. Trying to find a balance. To let her feel the fire of my need without damaging her. She makes a soft sound, and I push my tongue into her mouth. She opens, allowing me in, allowing me to give her my venom, to ready her body for mine, prepare her womb for my seed.

She tastes even better than she smells—salty and sweet. I conquer the impulse to bite down and see if her blood is as delicious as her mouth promises. Not tonight. Her voluntary submission to me is so exquisite. I do not want to ruin it by frightening her. By making her truly aware of what I am and what my kind is capable of. What I am capable of.

Her muscles tense as my venom spreads in her mouth. I know that it is painful to humans, and right now, I am producing an extraordinarily large amount. I do not care. She will have to learn to cope with pain when I have her. The glands right underneath my cheekbones tingle. I grasp her by the back of her neck and pull her closer. The wood of the door chafes my hand.

Slowly, my essence finds its way into her bloodstream. Her scent changes, merging with mine, and I am unprepared for the effect it has on me. It calls images to my mind that I have never seen before. They speak of union, of belonging, of family.

I grunted. My cock felt heavy in my hands. Where in the ever-loving fuck had that come from? Were those even my own thoughts? The entire scene seemed eerily detailed—real. More a vision than a fantasy. Above me, through the opening atop my kir’s fireplace, a star sparkled, unusually bright for the light-tainted sky of the capital. I pressed my eyes shut, the tightness in my loins growing ever more unbearable, the more vivid the images became.

I close my fist into her hair. Her fingers tangle into the straps of my armor, but instead of trying to free herself, of trying to push me away from her, like the predator I am, she draws me closer.

As she molds her soft form against mine, the movement draws her shirt snug, outlining the roundness of her small breasts. I increase my pressure.

“Please!” Her word—it almost undoes me.

I am so hard my cock pokes painfully against the sturdy fabric of my uniform pants. She lifts her leg, opens herself for me, our clothes the only barrier to our union.

She trusts me. She is giving herself to me, right here on the street, before the eyes of her people. Although human conventions do not allow for such behavior.

The realization awakens a new impulse in me: the wish to shield her from the scrutiny of those monsters. I lift her into my arms, her hair briefly tickles my face, and suddenly the need to keep her secluded and safe and all to myself is overwhelming.

The inferior human door rips like paper under my well-aimed kick. I carry her to her sleeping chambers and place her on the bedding.

I am right above her now, and when her legs part, I insert my body between them. She looks up at me, her lips open on a labored breath, her cheeks flushed in the color of the sundown. Her fingers begin to fiddle with my pants, nimble like spider legs and equally as ineffective. Her touch, rubbing me through the fabric, almost makes me burst. I take her hand and force it into the bedding next to her head.

I undo the fastenings of my uniform with two practiced tugs. She draws in a sharp breath and presses her lids closed. I realize that I am almost crushing her finger bones.

How beautiful her skin contrasts with my green one. A part of me wants to tighten my grip, to see her turn red beneath my pressure. Instead, I let go and sink to her body, pulling my pants down with the movement. Sweet relief as my cock springs free. I place my hand between her legs. Her heat radiates through the fabric, and the air becomes saturated with her scent.

Mine.

The thought cuts me like a knife, and I press my digits harder into her.

She gasps. Her eyes are glassy, as if she had fallen ill with fever, but instead of a disease, it is I who brings about her heat, my venom burning her body from the inside. Is it hurting her? For couples with low compatibility, the effect on the woman can be highly unpleasant. I study her face for signs of discomfort and catch myself at the absurd thought that I would want to get this over with quickly should my essence be causing her pain.

She wraps her free arm around my neck, draws me to her, seeking out my skin with hers. I allow myself to be guided. Instinctively, I put my exposed forearm against hers, easing her need for closeness that my venom has awakened.

Her breath brushes my face as she speaks. “General Tsul Vo’ren.”

“Ren,” I say, and her eyebrows draw together.

“Call me Ren, mishtz’in.”

Candy—there is no word that describes her more aptly.

Her arm tightens around my nape, and she drags me toward her lips.

“Ren.” She whispers right before my tongue slides into the warm wetness of her mouth. I am losing myself in her taste. When I can barely take it anymore, I let go of her arm. For an instant, my eyes catch on her wrist. It looks bright against her bedsheets. And again, an uninvited image appears in my soul: a binding mark—my name glowing beneath her skin. I flinch. I would never submit my bed partner to this tyranny, but the wish to own her is so strong my mind is not my own anymore, and it is leading me to places I have not been before.

I sit up on my knees, and her little sound of protest makes my lips curl. My magic tickles as it escapes my blood and runs over my skin. I need to be inside her, now.