He’d been pleased to see her and the kiss they’d shared was genuine. Some part of his general loved Maggie South, despite the fact they always seemed to be on opposite sides.
‘I understand this sits badly with you, Jürgen. All jokes aside, I am giving you a bail-out option. Christy can do it if you will not.’
He watched Jürgen carefully for any further indicator of unease.
Jürgen, it seemed, had learned his lesson from their scuffle earlier and merely inclined his big blond head.
‘I will do as you wish, my lord.’
Chapter 9
Days had passed. Sabra stared out the window, feeling numb. Maggie would come for her injection soon. The regular visits from Maggie had been the only thing that broke up the monotony of her day. Her belly was swollen, and her breasts sore. Sabra knew without asking that they could come and harvest her eggs soon. The thought made a cold sweat erupt over her body and shiver down her spine.
Countless times she’d tried to use her special talent to try and escape, but something — she was not sure what — stopped it from occurring.
Her room was not so different from the linoleum-lined medical room she’d first awoken in. The grey linoleum covered the floors and the first half of the walls. A single, lonesome-looking camp bed with a white hospital blanket completed the picture. They had taken her clothes, so she was dressed in a white hospital gown, tightly done at the back. If she did happen to escape she would attract serious attention dressed as she was. There were no books, there was no television. Nothing, until Maggie brought her a meal — a small metal tray presented and laid down on the cold linoleum.
Again she tried to camouflage — her body shifted to grey, but otherwise she didn’t sense the peculiar sensation. Was it because no one was there? Could she only use her mental ability when someone was present? She had no idea.
The scene outside the window was a dull one. Through the institutional beige of the vertical blinds, safety mesh patterned the world outside. All she could see was the rippling surface of a pale cement-sheeting fence, and a weed-ridden red paved path below. She could see the top part of a wall and the roof of the next-door house, but that was it. There were no other distinctive features. She had no idea where she was. Why, she may even be out of Perth for all she knew.
Sabra heard her own sigh echo around the horridly boring room.
‘Maggie!’ she called, and looked directly into the small camera situated in the far corner of the room. ‘Please come, I’m bored. You know this is a form of torture, don’t you?’
There was no reciprocal noise. Nothing stirred but the dull hum of the ducted heating system that warded away the cool autumn nights.
‘Agh,’ Sabra groaned, feeling increasingly distressed. ‘Please! I know I’m just your oocyte production machine but…seriously!’ She stomped down on the hard floor and her foot slapped against it. It made her wince.
Then the tears came.
Hormones . So many freaking hormones. The daily injections were wreaking havoc with her mental state. She was alternately as horny as a puppy, or overwhelmingly distressed.
I should have gone with Cain. Her body cramped with sexual tension. She felt wetness seep into the utilitarian white underpants she’d been supplied with.
Had she been at home she may have touched herself to relieve the pressure, but her blurry teary gaze caught the camera in the corner of the room. She would not lower herself to that.
She felt such a fool.
***
From the control room upstairs, Maggie watched the grainy image on the screen dispassionately, as Sabra hunched on the bed and rocked.
Faustus had returned to headquarters and left her in charge of the oocyte harvest. From the smell of Sabra, the first harvest should occur in two days’ time; she’d give her an ultrasound tomorrow, just to check.
She glanced to her left. The cook had made Sabra a meal, a healthy one at
‘I understand this sits badly with you, Jürgen. All jokes aside, I am giving you a bail-out option. Christy can do it if you will not.’
He watched Jürgen carefully for any further indicator of unease.
Jürgen, it seemed, had learned his lesson from their scuffle earlier and merely inclined his big blond head.
‘I will do as you wish, my lord.’
Chapter 9
Days had passed. Sabra stared out the window, feeling numb. Maggie would come for her injection soon. The regular visits from Maggie had been the only thing that broke up the monotony of her day. Her belly was swollen, and her breasts sore. Sabra knew without asking that they could come and harvest her eggs soon. The thought made a cold sweat erupt over her body and shiver down her spine.
Countless times she’d tried to use her special talent to try and escape, but something — she was not sure what — stopped it from occurring.
Her room was not so different from the linoleum-lined medical room she’d first awoken in. The grey linoleum covered the floors and the first half of the walls. A single, lonesome-looking camp bed with a white hospital blanket completed the picture. They had taken her clothes, so she was dressed in a white hospital gown, tightly done at the back. If she did happen to escape she would attract serious attention dressed as she was. There were no books, there was no television. Nothing, until Maggie brought her a meal — a small metal tray presented and laid down on the cold linoleum.
Again she tried to camouflage — her body shifted to grey, but otherwise she didn’t sense the peculiar sensation. Was it because no one was there? Could she only use her mental ability when someone was present? She had no idea.
The scene outside the window was a dull one. Through the institutional beige of the vertical blinds, safety mesh patterned the world outside. All she could see was the rippling surface of a pale cement-sheeting fence, and a weed-ridden red paved path below. She could see the top part of a wall and the roof of the next-door house, but that was it. There were no other distinctive features. She had no idea where she was. Why, she may even be out of Perth for all she knew.
Sabra heard her own sigh echo around the horridly boring room.
‘Maggie!’ she called, and looked directly into the small camera situated in the far corner of the room. ‘Please come, I’m bored. You know this is a form of torture, don’t you?’
There was no reciprocal noise. Nothing stirred but the dull hum of the ducted heating system that warded away the cool autumn nights.
‘Agh,’ Sabra groaned, feeling increasingly distressed. ‘Please! I know I’m just your oocyte production machine but…seriously!’ She stomped down on the hard floor and her foot slapped against it. It made her wince.
Then the tears came.
Hormones . So many freaking hormones. The daily injections were wreaking havoc with her mental state. She was alternately as horny as a puppy, or overwhelmingly distressed.
I should have gone with Cain. Her body cramped with sexual tension. She felt wetness seep into the utilitarian white underpants she’d been supplied with.
Had she been at home she may have touched herself to relieve the pressure, but her blurry teary gaze caught the camera in the corner of the room. She would not lower herself to that.
She felt such a fool.
***
From the control room upstairs, Maggie watched the grainy image on the screen dispassionately, as Sabra hunched on the bed and rocked.
Faustus had returned to headquarters and left her in charge of the oocyte harvest. From the smell of Sabra, the first harvest should occur in two days’ time; she’d give her an ultrasound tomorrow, just to check.
She glanced to her left. The cook had made Sabra a meal, a healthy one at
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