It's an easy promise to make. "I'll leave early tomorrow, I swear," I tell him, and then tilt my face up for a kiss, because I know that'll make Riffin happy.
The next day, I'm mindful of my promise to Riffin, but when I go in the next day with my baked goods, the cage is gone. Instead, a new cot has been placed in Crulden's room with soft, standard blankets. They're the same ones I wash dozens of every day at my other job, and I know them well. Crulden isn't sitting on the bed, though. He leans over the sink, touching his face as he gazes in the reflective panel behind the sink that acts as a mirror. He regards himself thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw.
The moment I go into the hall, he turns to look at me. It's like he wants to see my reaction to the fact that he's now free. His gaze moves from my face to the stool inside his quarters, and then back to my face again, his tusk-filled smile growing broader.
It's practically a dare, that smile. He's wondering if I'm brave enough to step inside now that he's loose.
"That's a change," I say, clearing my throat as I set down the fresh batch of waffles in the hallway.
The guard at my side nods. "Lord va'Rin's orders. Of course, our weapons have been upgraded, too. If there's a hint of trouble, we've got stun settings on everything." He pats his blaster at his waist. "And Crulden agreed to be fitted with a stun collar in exchange for getting rid of the cage."
"Did he, now?" That makes me curious. I didn't notice it, but Crulden's so filthy and his hairy mane so wild that the collar might be lost underneath all that fur. "This is wonderful news."
"You sure you want to go in there?" the guard asks. "No one would blame you if you want to wait."
I glance over at Crulden, who leans against the sink, his gaze on me. The guards wouldn't blame me, but Crulden would know I was a coward. Whatever game he thinks he's playing with me would be done, and then what does that mean for our progress? Would he lose respect for me? I'm not sure why that matters, but it does. "No, I'll go inside. Nothing's changed as far as I'm concerned."
Crulden's smile grows wider, and I try to ignore just how many enormous, sharp teeth he's flashing in my direction. At this point I know him well enough to know that he's trying to intimidate me to see how I react. So I put on my favorite “amiable human” smile and fill the bowl with Crulden's portion of food, then open the door.
He straightens, no longer leaning against the sink, but remains there, his body tense.
"If you rush me, I'm going to spill this good food all over the floor," I say, letting my voice grow a touch tart. "And while it's much cleaner, I still wouldn't eat off of it."
The rumble of laughter he lets out tells me that I've “won” this round. "It's nice to see you, human."
I arch a brow at him as I approach in slow, measured footsteps. I keep all my movements around Crulden slow and deliberate, just in case. I don't want to find out the hard way that he has a prey drive. "You know my name."
"Bee." He breathes it out, and goosebumps flare all over my skin at the soft sound. "You never call me by mine."
Do I not? If I do, it's not often. I consider this. "I think it's because to me, Crulden is someone else. You're cloned from his tissue, but you're not him. So calling you by his name feels disingenuous because everyone thinks of him as a bad man. And we're trying to prove that you're a good one."
He takes a step toward me, and I notice his toes are clawed just as heavily as his hands. How did I never notice toe claws before? "You don't think I'm bad?"
God, how does he make me pause with every simple question? Why isn't there an easy yes-no answer to be found? Because the truth is—I honestly don't know. Crulden's becoming very good at pretending to be tamed, but I suspect that's all it is. Pretend. But I've done some reading up on the original Crulden—all terrible, terrible things—and it doesn't fit the man I know, either. There are stories of Crulden ripping off faces the moment he met people, or tearing women limb from limb at banquets…or worse.
So I don't think he's as bad as that guy…yet. But I think he absolutely could be if he wanted to be. He could be worse, if he wanted to be.
I swallow hard, thinking. He takes another step toward me, as if impatient to hear what I'm going to say, so I blurt out the truth. "I think you have the capacity to be good. I just don't know if you want to be."
Crulden grins at me again, and I don't know if he's amused or pleased or a cat playing with a mouse. "I guess I need the right sort of incentive. All boils down to that."
"So you've said before." I hold the bowl of waffles out to him, waiting. I refuse to back up or to show fear. If I let Crulden bully me, he'll absolutely keep pushing until he breaks me, and I'm not interested in being broken again.
"Gotta have something to look forward to," he says softly, and takes the bowl from my grasp. As he does, his fingers brush against mine. I bite back the gasp that threatens, but I'm startled at the small touch. His fingers are big and warm against mine, the pads slightly raspy as they brush against my softer skin. Goosebumps prickle over my body, and I blink up at him.
It's the first time we've touched.
Then I wonder, has he ever been touched? Or did they treat him like an animal the moment they pulled him from his pod, determined that he was the monster they expected him to be?
The thought makes me strangely sad. If everyone was constantly saying what a brutal monster I was, wouldn't I deliberately go out of my way to show them just how brutal I can be? Has anyone ever been truly kind to him? With this thought rolling around in my head, I hold my hand out to him. "Would you like to touch me?"
His eyes grow hooded, his nostrils flaring.
Immediately, I realize what I've just said. "Hands," I breathe. "Hands. I wondered if you had been touched as a friend. I'd like to be that friend."
Of course, now I'm thinking very un-friendlike things. Shit. So, so many un-friendlike things. He studies the hand I have outstretched toward him, my slightly curled fingers, my vulnerable palm. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"
"Should I be? Do you plan on hurting me?"
Crulden's fingers skim over my palm, and the touch is so ticklish and light that I have to bite back a gasp. He strokes his finger over the center of my palm, and I realize I didn't think this through at all. I thought we'd, I don't know, hold hands and squeeze them like buddies. This does not feel buddy-like in the slightest.
He places one big hand under mine and then clasps my smaller one between his. "You're as soft as I imagined."
I notice he pitches his voice very low, likely so the guards in the hall can't hear. I want to ask if he's been imagining me a lot, but I'm not sure I want to know the answer. "You can trust me, Crulden. I want to be your friend. I want to help you live a full, happy life here on this planet. Will you let me help you?"
The splice gazes at me, his hard eyes on my face for a long, long time, my hand sandwiched between his oversized, clawed ones.
"You're right," he finally says. "I don't like that name."