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pulsing between her legs.
    She lifted her gaze and found him watching her. Heat suffused her face, and she averted her eyes. Had he noticed her scrutiny? Pray not. Staring at a male was a punishable offense. Try as she might, she couldn’t help herself, though. He drew her like a whisperfly to a flame. Laughter had softened his stern features by the merest measure. His face seemed carved from stone, hard and unyielding, his square jaw darkened by rough stubble. At first glance, the lightness of his eyes gave an impression of transparency, yet when she dared to meet his gaze, she discovered the opaque silvery blue orbs reflected back what he saw. The only emotion she could read in the depths was hers.
    Omra drew a nervous hand through her tangled, dull curls. His crisp, dark hair lay compliant against his skull, tamed by his decree. He did not need the insignia dangling from his right nipple to denote his status. His bearing proclaimed it.
    “Do you have any more questions?” he asked.
    Dozens. Only an exceptional male granted a female the privilege to speak freely, but she hesitated, caution engrained by Protocol, underscored by anxiety. She discerned he would be honest with her. Would truth make the circumstances easier or harder to endure? Life with Alpha couldn’t be worse than the BCF . Moving her jaw to speak pained her, but she doubted she would receive another opportunity to have her questions answered.
    “W-why did you pick me?”
    “Your intelligence and your purity.”
    He hadn’t equivocated, and an embarrassed pleasure wiggled inside her. Alpha had called her intelligent! No one had ever referred to her like that. Not even her sire’s oldest son, who’d taught her the written Parseon language to the amusement of his friends. He’d order her to read passages from thick tomes, and they would roar with laughter as if she were a trained animal performing a trick. A mere child himself, he hadn’t known educating a female violated Protocol, a crime punishable by flogging. Nor had he predicted she would sneak into their sire’s library to devour other books. Geography. Politics. History. She had read about the Epic Radiation Flare that had almost decimated the Parseon race but had figured it prudent to pretend she had not.
    She bowed her head. “I am glad that I suit your needs.” She also knew that her sire would be pleased his strategy for her had paid off.
    He cocked his head and scrutinized her. “When the bruises fade, you will be attractive—for a female.” His surprised tone hinted of praise, despite the amendment.
    “Oh,” she said, nonplussed. Though Parseons could recognize beauty, they did not value it. Power, strength, and courage in battle mattered. All traits females lacked. But Alpha had commented on her appearance. Did that mean her countenance pleased him?
    He seemed to expect no other response from her, because he returned his attention to the road, and they fell silent. She inhaled the air, scented by wildflower fields and the fecundity of the soil, cleansing her lungs of the odor of misery that had infused the BCF and the acrid disinfectant that clung to her skin and clothes. She hoped she would have a chance to bathe again.
    A wonder of verdant hues filled her vision, from the mosses and vines clinging to the trees, grasses waving in the breeze, the vividness of the leaves themselves. A branch of a large, bushy plant slapped against the conveyance as they passed, and she plucked off a tender leaf. She stroked it, marveling at the smoothness, and raised it to her nose.
    “What are you doing?” The Commander frowned.
    She recoiled. “I-I am smelling a leaf.”
    He cocked his head. “Why?”
    Because she hadn’t been outside the BCF walls in a year. Because she hadn’t danced in a meadow, raised her face to the rain, woven a garland of flowers, or watched fallen leaves soar on the wind. Before she could devise a response, he asked, “What does it smell like?”
    “Pungent.