Chosen by the Senator (Under Alien Law Book 3) Read online

  “Oh.” She felt slightly disappointed, but not surprised. Hardly anyone would claim to have her fascination with spanking. It was her dirty little secret. Nillson knew about it, but only because he liked to visit. He never spanked anyone, just watched. Or gloated, as one of the other regular girls commented once. His creepy behavior was well-known.

  The senator continued to alter his pace until he matched hers. “I assume you like going there?” he asked.

  There seemed no reason to lie. Nobody knew Paige Lester that well. Unlike the mayor, who was an honorary member of the club. If Nillson had taken him, then the mayor was also at risk of adverse publicity.

  “I find it enjoyable. I don’t always, you know, get…”

  “Spanked?” The word rolled off his tongue unfettered by nerves. “Because you are good?”

  She guffawed. “I’m not sure my getting spanked has anything to do with being good or bad. I get money, you see.”

  “You’re paid!” He halted and took her arm, spinning her to face him. He had furrowed tramlines forming on his forehead. “Somebody pays to beat you?”

  “Not like that. The guests pay a membership fee to the club, and I and a few others go along and in return for spanking, we get our expenses paid and tips, good tips. It’s more like a job and it helps pay for my rent and stuff.” She eased her arm out of his grasp. “I don’t want my friends to know.” She tugged on the bag and he handed it to her. “Look, I should get back home. I’ve exams coming up.”

  He pursed his lips. “I’m sorry, I’ve offended you—”

  “No, oh, no. I’m just shy about it. I don’t usually tell anyone.” Except she’d just told an alien from somewhere far away. It was turning into one hell of a bizarre day. “My roommate doesn’t know.”

  “On Halos, there is no shame in having such needs. If you enjoy pain with your pleasure, then it is the responsibility of a mate to fulfill those wishes. Naturally, we also discipline offenders. Disobedient soldiers are whipped. Prisoners are punished.”

  They weren’t speaking loudly; even so, the sidewalk was deserted. Thank goodness, she thought. However, she was intrigued by what he said. She wanted to know more.

  “Would you join me for an evening meal? In the hotel?” he asked.

  A hundred tiny shivers erupted down her warmed back. “Why?” she whispered.

  “I’d like to know you. I think we can learn much from each other.” He spoke so naturally, unhindered by the social norms of her species. Clearly, the Vendu spoke what was on their minds.

  “Sure,” she said. Would she tell her friends that an alien had asked her out on a date? They’d never believe her. She hardly believed it herself.

  He smiled—a charming one, too. The Vendu had all the facial features of humans, and something more. Maybe what set him apart from human males were the dark moons of his eyes and the sheen of his skin.

  She swung her bag onto her shoulder. “I have to go that way.” She pointed to a side street that led to the student accommodation block.

  He stepped out of her way. “Three days’ time, I have an evening free. I don’t have many left. Eight in the evening. I shall see you?”

  “Yes,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Senator.”

  “Jamen. My name is Jamen.”

  “Paige. I’m Paige Lester.”

  He watched her until she disappeared around the corner. By then, her legs were shaking and her mouth had gone dry. What the fuck was she doing? Going out with a strange man was risky, but an alien warrior? She should have said no. But, she hadn’t. Instead, she had leapt at the opportunity to meet him again. He had dangled some invisible lure before her and she had to find out exactly what it was.

  As she swiped the access card to her building, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. “Paige,” a voice snarled in her ear. “We should talk.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She recognized the voice. His fingers pinched harder. “I… I—”

  “Shut up, and come with me.” He dragged her away from the door toward a waiting car. She kicked her heels but it was futile. If Mayor Nillson wanted to talk, nothing would stop him.

  Chapter Four

  Following his encounter with Paige, Jamen researched the rituals of what dating involved—a meal, light alcohol, pleasant conversation on neutral matters, some interest in childhood and families, work, and minor compliments on appearance.

  He laid the tablet on the bedside table. The research notes were part of the information file sent to him before leaving Halos. Some of it had been compiled by his brother, Galen, who was a judge and mated to a human, Zara. Galen had sentenced Zara to a whipping for disruptive behavior during a student exchange visit, but then he’d changed his mind and taken her to his house to complete a different punishment. Her chosen ordeal had brought the couple together and now they were paired for life. Something that Jamen would never have believed of his brother two years ago when Galen left Halos to begin work as a high judge in New Ayres Rock. Remarkably, Galen wasn’t the only Vendu to have found love with a human. The First Couple, Marcos and Freya, had begun their passionate affair on a prison colony. Freya had written the introduction to human courtship techniques.

  Vendu males also courted and initiated the process. Females generally did not approach a male, unless prompted by another male. A man would choose a female, usually as and when a suitable one became available, then after introductions, which included a list of sexual preferences, and if she agreed since she was entitled to refuse, he fucked her. Then he might decide to meet again for further bonding. If they really connected, they would breed, assuming the couple was fertile; if not, they moved on to another pairing. If they lived together, it was purely for convenience.

  Humans were more cautious. They took time—weeks and weeks, it seemed, according to Freya’s lengthy notes. He had only had a little over two weeks.

  Rising from the bed where he’d reclined, he selected a suit from the wardrobe. Before he left his home planet, he’d commissioned a range of suits that fitted with Earth’s fashions: a jacket with lapels, shirt with buttons instead of magnetic seams that melded together, and loose-fitting pants, unlike his molded ones. And in the place of regulatory black, he’d chosen dark grays and blues. The Vendu preferred uniforms or authentic clan clothes that dated back to ancient times when they fought with swords and spears.

  He brushed down his sleeves and combed his thick locks of black hair off his forehead. Satisfied his appearance was optimized, he left his penthouse suite and took the express elevator to the ground floor and the dining room.

  She was waiting by the door, shuffling nervously on her high heels. He paused to admire the delightful creature: stockings, tight-fitting dress without sleeves, and a skirt that hovered above her knees. She’d shapely calves, he noted. He already knew she had a shapely ass.

  When he moved toward her, she jerked slightly, as if caught off guard. She raked a lock of hair out of her eyes with a noticeably trembling hand—a nervous habit he’d watched her perform a few times in their brief encounter outside the university. He rather liked it.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello. Your dress is very… appropriate.” The greeting ritual was brief. He remembered she wasn’t required to kneel or bow her head. Neither should she address him as sir. He already expected her to use his given name and not his title. Those things he decided were acceptable, as long as she remained courteous.

  She straightened her skirt. “Thank you.”

  He held the door open and she walked into the restaurant with a degree of grace. High heels were not a problem, which meant she was used to dressing up.

  The chief operative in the restaurant, a man named Gustave, pointed them to a secluded corner far away from other diners. Jamen and Gustave had come to an arrangement. Because Jamen was unfamiliar with native food, he had asked Gustave to serve him different dishes each night, then he was saved the awkwardness of not understanding the menu. Jamen had used this technique throughout his time on Earth and it had worked well.

  Gustave positioned the chair behind Paige and shook out a napkin over her lap before handing her the menu.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Jamen sat opposite. Her politeness toward those who served them was also noted. He believed servants should be respected. The Vendu relied heavily on the serving classes. When they conquered a world, they typically used the captured population as slaves, and the best trained and most reliable were offered prestigious roles on Halos. However, Jamen had no plans to turn Paige into a servant. He doubted she would accept such a lowly position.

  She thumbed through the menu, her eyes darting about the pages. Her skin was pale, perhaps a little too pale and her hands still shook. For somebody who was accustomed to being spanked in front of people, she was surprisingly anxious.

  “You pick,” she said suddenly, slamming the leaves shut.

  “Not hungry?” He frowned. Was she ill?

  “No, I mean, yes. Just, this is not where I typically eat. I’m living on a shoestring. I have to eat out of cartons.” She glanced around the vast salon. Only a handful of other people were eating in the hotel. It was a quiet night.

  He wasn’t sure what a shoestring had to do with food. He guessed she was poor. Students on Halos were accustomed to frugal living, too, although it was supposed to do with building character rather than a lack of money. All young people had to learn the basics of survival because nobody knew where they might be sent in the Empire and some conquered planets were more inhospitable than others.

  He waved Gustave over. “Pick something, please.” With the simple request, he handed back the menus.

  She chuckled. “Well, that’s one way to do it.”

  “It’s effective,” he agreed.
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  She fidgeted with her fork. “So… you invited me, and here I am.”

  “Yes. Tell me about yourself.” He opened with the first question that Freya suggested. It seemed appropriate.

  She started hesitantly. “I’m an only child. I come from the north, by the Great Lakes. There’s no university up there because the lakes are poisoned and nobody wants to live there anymore.”

  “Poisoned?”

  “Polluted. By radiation and stuff. From the war with you.”

  Talking about the past was proving awkward. He changed tactics. “What are you studying?”

  “Infrastructure and politics. Because we’re having to rebuild following your invasion. It’s a long, slow process.”

  He ignored the reference to the war, unlike infrastructure, which was more relevant. “We have plenty of experience at world rebuilding.”

  “To your specifications, I assume.”

  Gustave arrived with a basket of bread rolls. “I’ve chosen the steak for you. Wine?”

  “You will select the optimum palate cleanser,” he batted back. Gustave hastily retreated. “Yes, we have requirements when we build colonies. What about politics?”

  “We have to reestablish our institutions. Globally and nationally. The Earth Defense Council sets the agenda. Lots of committees and councils.” She sighed, puffing out her lips. “I guess I want to help in some way.”

  “We have councils too. War councils, mainly.” He had failed to establish any line of conversation that caused her to smile.

  Gustave poured red wine into the glasses.

  She pinched the glass stem hard with two fingers. She was still nervous and hunching her shoulders into a ball. There was nobody watching or listening to them. Jamen had checked his room for infiltration devices and covertly carried an alerter around with him. If anything dubious came close to him, it set off a warning alarm. Vendu spy detection was far more advanced than the humans. Plus, Gustave had ensured Jamen always had space around his table.

  “Councils,” she said slowly. “Who gets to be on them?”

  “Senators. Members of the imperial family and advisors to the emperor.”

  “You’re not elected?” She took a quick sip of the wine, which then turned into a longer mouthful.

  “We are appointed by the emperor from a list proposed by the governors of the colonies and clans. No citizen need be involved in governance. They are productive in their own ways.”

  “Hardly a democracy, then,” she said before drinking half the contents of the glass.

  Jamen wondered if the wine helped her relax, because it seemed to have the opposite effect. She continued to wriggle and glance around the room, as if she expected somebody to leap out at her.

  “We don’t pretend to be democratic. When you have a huge empire, it is too complex to manage a democracy. Earth should take lessons from us. The Empire is strong because we rely on few leaders and obedient citizens.”

  “Like you.” There was a soft smirk accompanying her snark. He let the disrespect go on the basis she was struggling with something. He wanted to know what that was.

  “Yes. I have been selected to serve as a Halos senator. My family are warriors.” He was one of twenty-five senators put forward by the warrior clans of Halos; the other fifty were appointed by the governors of conquered worlds. Only the colony on Earth had not appointed a senator. The reason was obvious. The Vendu couldn’t appear to be in control of the planet, even if they believed they could overrun it with ease. The humans were not a species to be subjugated. They were to be the Vendu’s allies and hopefully in the future, provide mates. In return, Earth gained from the technical advances gifted to them by the Empire. He made a mental note to speak to the Imperial Bureau for Environmental Regeneration about the Great Lakes. Perhaps their scientists could help clean them.

  “You must have it easy, especially as it seems unelected representatives can do whatever they want. So why come here when you govern so much better than us?” Her aggressive tone starkly contrasted with her cowering demeanor—she spoke words but acted edgy and uncertain. He really didn’t think she was trying to insult the Vendu, because her questions came across as ill-conceived and somewhat reckless.

  “It isn’t our place to interfere with Earth’s political state.” He savored the wine—a full-bodied flavor. He enjoyed Earth’s drinks more than their food.

  She dissected a piece of bread, but didn’t eat a crumb of it.

  “Still no appetite?” He was increasingly concerned by her behavior.

  She blushed and the coloration highlighted the rise of her cheekbones. She was pretty when not so pale.

  Gustave laid the plates of steak and vegetables before them and she stabbed at the meat with her knife. Blood trickled out. Her shoulders slumped.

  He leaned across the table. “You don’t like steak? Why did you not say?”

  “I do like it, although I can’t afford it. It’s just too… pink.”

  Jamen waved Gustave back to their table. “Cook hers more, please.” He pointed at her plate.

  “Of course, sir.” Gustave collected the offending dish and spun on his heels.

  She giggled.

  “What?” Jamen raised his eyebrows as she continued to chuckle. Finally, she was losing her stiffness.

  “It’s just, I feel sorry for him. You’re giving him all this responsibility and he’s used to specific instructions up front. You would say: I want it rare or well-done.”

  “He never asked how you desired your dish.” Jamen found human rituals around meal times confusing. Who was serving whom?

  “I think he’s a little intimidated.” She smiled.

  Jamen stared at her. Her face had lit up to reveal two neat rows of white teeth and faint smile lines that wrinkled around her eyes.

  “Are you intimidated by me?”

  She paused. “No. Not you.”

  “But somebody else has upset you.”

  The smile evaporated and she nearly knocked over the glass by her hand in her haste to remove the smile from sight. The trembling suddenly deteriorated.

  Now he understood what was going on. “You’re spying on me for somebody?”

  The color drained from her face. “Oh, please. I…” Her voice disintegrated and tears filled her eyes. She reached behind to grab the back of the chair.

  “No,” he said quickly. “Don’t go. Stay. Tell me what is going on.”

  Her pitiful state touched him. She was obviously upset and not in control of her emotions. Instead of feeling anger at the situation, he wished to rectify it.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, her voice barely reaching him.

  “Why?” He pushed his uneaten food to one side and leaned closer.

  “He’s going to tell my friends. And, worse, he’s threatened my internship.”

  “I thought you were a student?”

  “I finish next week after my last exam. Then hopefully I’ll graduate. After that, I have an internship at the City Hall for a year.”

  “You’re talking about Nillson, aren’t you? He’s threatened you?” He hated the man even more now.

  She nodded. “He knows about the Bow and Tie. He knows that I have this thing for… spanking,” she said quietly, looking over her shoulder. Gustave hadn’t returned.

  “And he will use it against you. Is it illegal, what you do?”

  “Oh, no. But it’s humiliating. For those of us who like it, it’s okay, but I’m not sure I want my parents or friends to know. They might think I’m nuts.”

  “Nuts?”

  “Crazy. Mad.”

  “Oh.” He leaned back in his seat. “How did he find out about us meeting?”

  “He watched us walking along the street together. He thought it suspicious. Then, before I got home, he pulled me into his car and demanded I told him what was going on. I had to tell him about us meeting.” She chewed her lower lip. “Sorry.”

  Demanded meant coerced—she was vulnerable. “Don’t apologize. Nillson wants to know what exactly?”

  She hung her head. “I shouldn’t tell you. I’m supposed to be loyal to him, not you.”

  “By spying on his behalf? That is not good. Just ask me. What have I to hide? I’m a politician, not a general. I don’t work with the military or intelligence. My expertise is in lawmaking.”