Sleep. It was elusive prey. Scott lay in his bed, his mind in turmoil. His right to live his life his way had been taken from him. The world had gone mad, thinking him nothing more than something to help with human progress. He had become a tread on the wheel, being pushed into the mud with all the weight of expectations from others crushed down upon him. Only, they were not hopeful for him. They were only hopeful for results.

The sense of betrayal deepened when he thought of his own country. His own government had shattered any belief he might have had in them. Scott had hoped the American ambassador would show up, clear up this mess, and send him home. All of this had to be some sort of mistake, even if the whole magic thing was real. Mr. Smith, the ambassador’s aide, had told him he would see the ambassador, but to not be hopeful of going home anytime soon.

A part of him died today. He felt weak and there was frustration in not being able to protect himself. A depression was beginning to set in. How could he find a way out of this? Chrysalis was a spiteful woman. It was clear she wanted no part of this world government witch hunt and she resented him for being…

“Married. And Mom wasn’t there to see it,” he murmured, thinking of her. His mother had always been hopeful he’d find a nice girl, settle down and be happy. Scott had the looks and the personality to be a great husband, she had once told him.

So why had he never found Miss Right? Over the years, there had been a few women, some of which he had been hopeful of. But, for one reason or another, the relationships fizzled out. One of them had said he had a son, but she disappeared somewhere in the west coast, having found someone else to be with.

How old would his son be now? Four? Five?

Scott would never see him now. The sentence of life without parole had been passed down, without a trial, without due process, without charges. He was guilty of being chosen for something beyond his understanding and his cellmate was a woman who was always angry.

At least she had the body of a goddess and the looks of an angel.

Thinking of Chrysalis took him out of his depressive mood. The woman was a paradox; a selfish conqueror, yet Scott sympathized with her. A succubus with the blackest of hearts, but the man’s thoughts were filled with her. She was the sort of girl who commanded attention whenever she entered a room. Proud, confident, and a woman used to being in control, Scott thought she must be having thoughts like his own. How did he feel about her to this point? She was shameless, thought little of him, and he was maybe a little intimidated by her. Curiosity for her and who she was battled with the constant fear he had of her. On top of that, she was a war criminal, if what he had heard was true. His ring finger itched.

I love her.

I hate her.

I am so confused!

His stomach grumbled. At least he wasn’t too far into his funk to ignore his hunger. With a sigh, Scott sat up. What time was it? The clock on the nightstand said it was a little past three in the morning.

Putting on his glasses and flip flops, he shuffled from his room and down the short hallway to the living area. It was a large room, the living room to the right and the dining room to the left. The kitchenette was just past the dining room. The walls were gray and concrete, as was the floor. Large area rugs covered it. He studied the walls and the ceiling, thinking this must have, at some point, been a part of a much larger room. From what he remembered from when he first came here, the building had been the largest in the complex. Its design was different from the other buildings, leading Scott to think it might be newer.

The history of this place…had it once been a prisoner of war camp during the Second World War? It was possible. How many Germans never made it home from places like this? Scott wondered. His imagination loved to toy with him, even if the images in his mind were not very pleasant.

Setting those thoughts aside, Scott noticed the television was on in the living room. As he entered, he went between the living and dining areas, his eyes searching out and finding Chrysalis on the couch. He was surprised, considering what time it was. Maybe she was also having trouble sleeping? She was wearing the same robe from earlier and sitting cross legged, snuggled in a blanket. Her right hand held a remote on her lap and she was watching the screen with keen interest. The dark woman was chewing on the tip of her finger. On the screen was a Russian woman and she appeared to be giving a stock report. His heart thumped in his chest.

Should he say something to her? He paused and considered. Conversation was going to happen, even if he delayed. “Hey,” he said. The next several footsteps had him in the kitchen. He began rummaging through the cabinets for food. “What are you doing?”

“Learning,” she replied, sounding irritated. The tone seemed to be normal with her. The channel changed. It sounded like a news network, the British Broadcasting Corporation. It was nice to hear English.

Fishing out a can of soup, he stared at the label. Of course it was in Russian. Was this borscht soup? Beet soup in a can? Was it even soup? For all he knew, it was a can of lard. The red and white label made him think of another soup brand. Deciding to put his man pants on, finding out what was in the can and eating its contents became his mission. His stomach rumbled in agreement. Setting it on the table, he started going through the drawers in search of a can opener. On the counter there was a note. He paused in his search and read it.

Mr. Bronson

Your insulin has been delivered and placed in the refrigerator. The doctor has included instructions. I am aware you already know how to medicate yourself. The needles should be in the bag on top of the refrigerator. Your lisinopril and atorvastatin have been included. If you have any questions, there is a landline for anything you might need to improve your quality of life. It is a direct line and there is always someone there to answer.

Starlight

Scott tossed the note aside. He found an unmarked brown paper bag and opened it. He pulled out two bottles of pills and a box of insulin needles. Setting them aside, he opened the fridge. Sure enough there was a small glass vial of insulin. It was even the brand prescribed by his doctor. There was also a box of insulin pens to take before meals. Soon the bottle was on the table while Scott opened the box of needles. Filling the syringe, he lifted up his shirt with one hand and injected the insulin just to the left of his belly button. Recapping the needle, he looked around for a garbage can.

“What did you just do?” the sound of Chrysalis’ voice made him jump.

After taking a moment to recover, Scott took a deep breath. He looked for and found the garbage can at the end of the counter. Into it went the used needle. “I have Type One diabetes. My pancreas can’t produce insulin naturally, so I have to inject some into my body in order to process sugars,” he explained as he put the insulin back into the fridge. He opened the pill bottles and got a pill from each. “Diabetes is a disease and I have to deal with it.”

“So, my mate is diseased,” Chrysalis deadpanned. Scott glanced over his shoulder and saw she had turned with her back to the television and was leaning on her elbows on the back of the couch. “I am married to a diseased ape. How wonderful. And there is no cure?”

Your attitude sucks, lady! Annoyed with the dark woman, Scott decided to humor her anyway. “There is one still in testing. There was a woman recently cured of it in testing. I was hoping to be put on the list of recipients of the new treatment, but it’s far too expensive. My health insurance won’t cover it because it’s so new.”

“And the pills?”

“Mostly preventive maintenance. One is for my kidneys and the other is for cholesterol.” Scott resumed his search for a can opener. He found it in the third drawer he opened and pulled it out. “I also have to take a fast acting insulin before meals to keep my blood sugar levels from getting too high.” Was there a blood sugar monitor? He blinked and checked the bag again. Nope. “Shit.”

“What?” Chrysalis was curious.

“They forgot to give me a means to check my blood sugar levels. They got everything else here, but no blood glucose monitor. Idiots!” He threw his hands up in frustration. Turning, he pressed his back to the counter, grinding his teeth and gripping the edge until his knuckles turned white.

The dark woman studied him, tilting her head first to one side, then the other. As she did so, she chewed on her bottom lip. He was oblivious to her stares, muttering under his breath and closing his eyes. Chrysalis reached out for his emotions, tasting them. With thoughtful care, she broke down and separated them, her innate abilities still hers to command. Much to her surprise, it was far easier to draw from Scott’s emotions than it was that other human. She had tried with her display earlier with Mr. Smith. Drawing upon his emotions had been like reaching through thick sludge. The reward had not been worth it. Starlight Glimmer was protected against her.

With Scott, there was nothing barring her from feeding off of his feelings. He was easy prey. She hummed to herself, withdrawing herself from feeding. Chrysalis was not sure if he could sense her or not. It was too early to experiment. There was also the issue if the rings were responsible, or if it was the love spell Cadence had cast, or both. One thing was plain to the fallen queen; Scott did love her. Planted love, not from him, but from Cadence. It was an imitator, yet Scott thought it was from himself. It was a quiet little flame, one he was fumbling with. He did not understand it as there was also a part of him that hated Chrysalis. The insults she had hurled at him, the insinuations; Chrysalis could feel they had been burrowing under his skin. Now they were festering to the point where he should be harboring a strong dislike for her. But the flame...the little unkillable flame. It had been planted by and reinforced Cadence.

Was it the rings? It made sense.

The one emotion that stood out, the largest layer of emotion wrapped around him was fear. Scott was terrified. He was trying to cope and failing. The stress was mounting and he was struggling to keep himself from flying apart.

As Chrysalis withdrew, she considered her options. One way or another, she had to find a way to escape from the monkeys. If there was binding magic between herself and the red-headed ape, then she would have to take him with her. It was unavoidable if that was the case. It would also make things more difficult to manage. Perhaps even impossible. The fallen queen considered she might need the annoying and diseased ape. Chewing on a nail, she turned on the couch and sat down, drawing her legs to her chest.

Her unwanted ape was diseased, it needed maintenance. This would not do. Chrysalis was intelligent enough to assume she was stuck with him. Her own experiments were needed.

The ape began to play around in the kitchenette again. He was muttering, saying something about pans and shoving them up specific political posteriors. Chrysalis half paid attention as her mind began making several plans at once. She rose to her feet and padded towards Scott. He had his back to her and had the can opener and can in hand.

Sneaking up behind him, Chrysalis found she was glad they shared the same height. She had the slight advantage, if at all. The dark woman frowned for a moment taking a moment to look at the man’s back. She studied his form. Larger than the average human male, she guessed, but not by much. He stood tall and straight, hinting at some pride in himself. How others saw him was important, she guessed. Chrysalis knew she could be wrong. Reading human body language was new to her, but posture she felt was one of the keys. Out of habit, he stood with his shoulders rolled back and did not hunch over the kitchen counter.

He was working the can opener, focused on the can revealing its secrets in his grip.

It was time for a little experiment. Chrysalis reached out with her hands and with the lightest of touches laid her palms against his shoulder blades. She needed to learn about human intimacy and if they were social creatures or loners. Suspicions leaned towards the former, though the latter felt plausible.

Scott tensed the moment there was contact. He paused in what he was doing and turned his head to look over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” Curious and suspicious, he went back to work on opening the can.

“I want to see something,” she replied, smiling. These apes were not as thick in body as ponies and were only half the size of minotaurs, but they did have the bodies of hunters.

“You gonna suck the love out of me?” he asked with little sarcasm.

Was that curiosity? Chrysalis blinked, hesitated and considered. Yes, he was curious!

“I already did a little skimming,” she confessed, watching her hands as they rubbed up and down his back. Hmm, he could use more muscle. Can’t have an under muscled minion.

“You what?” He removed the lid and set the can opener aside. The can was lifted to his nose and there was an experimental sniff. “Ew and no.” The opened can was held over his shoulder. “Smell this.”

A pungent odor assailed her nostrils. She had no idea what it was she was smelling, but it was earthy and very strong. Chrysalis recoiled, making a sour face as she shoved herself away from Scott. “Tartarus!” She covered her nose with a hand. “What is that?”

Scott stared down into the open can with a face devoid of hope. “Dinner. There’s nothing else in the cupboards. Cans and cans of this stuff.”

“If you think I am going to partake in that,” Chrysalis said, pointing at the stink-in-a-can, “you’re mad! Call room service. They said we could call if we needed anything. Tell the other apes to feed us.”

“This isn’t the Hilton,” Scott told her as he shook his head.

She assumed it was a reference to something a bit more posh than their current accommodations. “We are in a gilded cage, my little ape. Use the communication device they provided for us. I am hungry and I am in a body that requires the same food you do.”

He stared, then turned to face her, “What the hell is your problem? You keep calling me an ape. What’s with the racism?” The anger billowed up so fast as to catch Chrysalis off guard.

“Because that is what you are,” she told him, narrowing her eyes. “You are not a pony. You are not a griffon. You are clearly not a changeling. You are an ape. A monkey. A simian with slightly above average intelligence who might be of use to me. It’s not my fault you live in a world lacking in sapient diversity. And the term you’re looking for is ‘xenophobia’.” She moved forward, surprising the man by pressing into his body with her own. Arms snaked over his shoulders and around his neck, locking in place. “I don’t hate other species, my dear ape. Only a select few.”

His anger melted, giving way to arousal. Were all sapient simians like this? Scott blinked and stared, not knowing what to do. His cheeks colored and Chrysalis smiled into the man’s eyes. She unleashed her pheromones, having already discovered she could control them at Mr. Smith’s expense. Eyes dilated as he stared into her eyes. Harlequin emeralds held his green-blue orbs in entrancement. Chrysalis unleashed her femininity with devastating effect. Enticing him, with great care she peeled away his emotional and mental defenses. She needed to know her pet monkey. It was far too easy.

“I don’t hate you,” she went on, feeling his arms move around her waist. “I find you tolerable. Will you please order us something to eat?” She nipped at his nose. “Please?”

Chrysalis could feel his heart pounding harder in his chest. Around her finger he wrapped himself, so eager to earn a favor. Touch was very important to this monkey, she decided. This was too easy. Refraining from feeding, she took this moment to study her prey, to know him and how to best manipulate him with minimal effort. Did he want her breasts pressed up against his chest? Yes. Yes he did. Did he want to shove his crotch up against hers? Oh, well, that was such a silly question. Scott’s dick was rock hard. He was ready. The ape wanted her, his hands already on her ass, fingers groping. Chrysalis noted it was not an unpleasant experience. Dissecting his actions and filing his mannerisms away for future use, Chrysalis fell upon her own experiences. His hands were now searching up her robe, touching her bare flesh beneath. His heart rate accelerated, his breath quickening. The air about him was that of a hopeless romantic, until this moment. He wanted her, to be inside her, to fuck her senseless.

A blind, deaf changeling would have caught on to his animalistic lust.

“Okay,” came the reply. Head tilted, he moved in for a kiss.

It never landed. She pushed him away, tittering as she teased. “Good.” Her hips swayed in a seductive manner as she spun on a heel and flounced back to the couch.

Scott was abandoned, his arms hanging as a look of bewilderment stuck on his face. “Goddammit!” His lust chased after the dark woman, a futile endeavor. It left him hanging in more ways than one. The poor man was in an uncomfortable position and it came with a little pain. “God fucking dammit!”

Chrysalis laughed at him. “It’s not going to be that easy, my little ape. You’ll have to earn it.” So your training begins, my ‘husband’. We must prepare for what is to come. “Food now, if you please!”

At least there was no more fear in the room. The angry monkey would be most entertaining while he dealt with his new problem.

Author's Notes:

So...yeah...that feeling. Show of hands from anyone who had a love interest do this to you!

Next chapter: Russian food, a waiting game, and Chrysalis discovers My Little Pony.

There might be gagging, outrage, and disbelieving laughter.