Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,97
in front of him now. “How to cook.”
Lucy might be intelligent. She could speak, maybe even read or write. But any knowledge she had was taught to her by Weston and the old mothers, including morality. Her moral compass, so immature and tutored by inhuman minds, had been corrupted. He was sure that the Nguoi Rung, being intelligent ancestors of modern humanity, could be taught right and wrong. But like humans, they could also be taught to hate. To be evil.
“It doesn’t bother you that I’m talking to you?” King asked.
Lucy stopped with a rock blade in hand. “Why should it?”
“Because I’m like you.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow, which was more of a start to the hair on her head than an actual eyebrow. She smiled, revealing her sharp canines. “You’re nothing like me.” She squatted next to him, playing with the rock blade. “I’m strong. You’re weak. I’m smart. You’re dumb.” She thumped her chest. “I’m Nguoi Rung. You’re human.”
“Weston is human.”
“Father is alpha. Not human.”
King sighed. She was totally brainwashed.
Lucy stood and hunched out a hip. “You’re food. I’m hungry.” Then she laughed. Her voice sounded like any other teenage girl’s.
“How old are you, Lucy?”
Lucy sharpened the stone on another, chipping off flecks and creating a fresh sharpened edge. “Three.”
“You’re not three,” King said.
Lucy spun on him. Angry. “Am too! Father explained it to the other man before I killed him.”
King did his best to hide his growing concern. “What other man?”
“Big. Bigger than you. Dark skin.”
Bishop.
“How did you kill him?” Bishop would be hard to kill. Short of—
“I took off his head.”
King’s shoulders fell, along with his resolve.
Bishop was dead.
King fought back his mix of despair and anger, focusing on the problem at hand like he’d been trained to do. Let her think she’s three. Maybe they aged differently. She still acted like a teenager.
“Is this a kitchen? Do you know what a kitchen is?”
She huffed. “This is my room. Not a kitchen.”
“Well, I like your room,” he said quickly, fearing he’d offended her. “It’s very pretty.”
Lucy paused. The slightest of smiles shone on her face.
“Do you have a bed?”
A confused look slowly appeared on her face. Then she looked at him like he’d just pissed his pants. “You’re sitting on my bed.”
Despite King’s internal revulsion at this Neanderthal girl sleeping on what undoubtedly served as both cutting board and bed, he managed to force out, “And your bed is very comfortable.”
Lucy looked at him. “I don’t like it. It’s hard.”
“Why don’t you get a new one?”
Lucy scrunched her face. “A new one?”
King nodded. “A nice soft one.”
“Father says this bed is good enough. Fit for a princess.”
“My bed is soft,” King said. “Like sleeping on a cloud.”
Lucy sat at the edge of the stone bed. She rubbed her hand on the surface.
She’s hooked, King thought. Now to reel her in. “You know if we got married, you could sleep on my bed.”
“What is married?” Lucy asked.
“It’s what people do when they love each other. You’re not married?”
Lucy shook her head no. Her face grew serious.
“Father wears a wedding ring. He must be married to someone.”
Lucy looked baffled. She wasn’t bright enough to figure out she was being played, but she had enough sense to put together the puzzle pieces he’d laid out for her. Marriage equals love, which she apparently understood, and Weston was married. Ipso facto, Weston was loved, and she wanted what the father had. She wanted to be loved that way, despite having no idea what that meant. She looked in King’s eyes. “And you would marry me?”
“Absolutely.” The conviction in King’s voice was convincing, but not quite enough.
“Why?”
King smiled. “You have pretty eyes, for one.”
Lucy looked away, the faint bit of cheek not covered in fur revealing her blush.
“And like you said. You’re smart. I’m dumb. You’re strong. I’m weak. You’re Nguoi Rung . . . and I want to be.” Lucy looked at him again. “What’s not to love?”
“But I am a princess here. A favored child.”
“You listened to Weston speaking to me in the cave, right?”
Lucy nodded.
“You heard my name. What he called me?”
Lucy nodded, then whispered. “King . . .”
“You may be a princess here, but marrying me will make you—”
“A queen!” Lucy’s smile was wide now. “How we get married?”
“An alpha has to do it.”
Lucy bit her lip. “He won’t.”
“We can ask.”
She looked unsure.
“The worst he can do is say no.”
This seemed to resonate with Lucy. She nodded. “Okay.” She headed for the door.