The General ✔️ (Zolan Book 1)

16

I close my dried lips and look around the tent. It's huge, just like its owner.

There are two pillars in the middle, armors and weapons stacked all over the place.

This is the definition of a man cave.

The furs I'm sitting on are pristine white from the coat of an animal only a man like The General could hunt. It's so clean that I stand up, not wanting to stain it.

Across from me is an enormous tub that can fit two people. That's where The General bathes. Naked, wet, with his huge thighs poking out of the water.

I'm out of place here. There are no holes in the roof, no discolored patches. This is the home of a warrior who has dedicated their life for the planet. The General deserves these luxuries, not me.

My hand combs down my hair; the same hair that Tantri pulled until The General sawed his hand off.

I shudder at the reminder of the meaty thud I heard when his hand hit the ground. My hair feels heavier than ever.

Reluctantly, I step toward the exit. I don't think The General will bend on having me around, no matter how much I bicker and beg. He's convinced that I'm crippled.

Gossip in camp is louder than ever. The ceremony the Entertainers had been practicing for was canceled thanks to the commotion, and they're not happy about it. The pretty ladies in their see-through dresses that display their nipples stare at me with ugly looks.

No one approaches me, though. I guess they want to keep both of their hands.

I pack some clothes, book, toothbrush, thin bone comb, and the medicine The Healer gave me. It feels like I'm doing the walk of shame as I return to The General's tent.

He's standing there, arms crossed over his enormous chest that's now bare, legs spread a foot open. I feel like a schoolgirl on the way to the principal's office, only that the principal is broader and taller than the school building.

"Come," The General says as he holds the flap wider for me. "It is going to storm. I don't want you in the rain."

I hug my bag tighter and enter. With another wary look at the furs, I sit on his work chair. It's huge — designed for a man his size, but it's better than his bed.

I advert my eyes from the military maps and important documents on the table and call out, "General?"

"Yes?" he asks, kicking off his boots.

"Where will I sleep?"

His fingers freeze over the ties at his pants. "Are the furs not to your liking? I can have them swapped for softer ones. I know your skin is far more sensitive than mine."

My eyes nervously flicker from the hands at his groin to his eyes. "Uh..."

"I am only bathing. I will not touch you."

I shake my head. "Right. Well, I don't need new furs. Can I have my corner?"

He looks bewildered by the request, glancing at his chest and then at me. "It will not be uncomfortable to lie beside me. My chest is not rock hard."

Oh, moons, he wants me to lie on him. The General wants to cuddle.

"Please. I just want some space."

He scowls. "Very well. Take my bedroll."

His fingers work his pants faster, so I look away. There's the sound of clothes ruffling, and then a loud splash as he sinks into the tub. Two hundred pounds of naked alien male flesh is basking in warm water. Any female would ogle, but I'm not any female.