Willing Skin. Copyright © 2015 Ella Drake.
All rights reserved.

Chapter One

Her head slammed back onto the table and her body flopped like one of those gooey worms in the bottom of a tequila bottle.

“The first time is the hardest.” The dirty, grimy tech leaned over her and stared down. His eyes bugged behind his goggles and his dark hair shone with grease in the dim light. She kept her stare on him, afraid if she closed her eyes, her body would implode. “Take it easy, lady.”

The tech hadn’t asked her name. She didn’t ask his.

“Is it done?” Her deep voice croaked and her eyes widened.

“Yeah. Takes getting used to.” He raised a brow and his smile slid into a sideways grin. “You’ll need to practice walking. The Scoriah have heavier bodies. Much taller. And um. Yeah. Practice the going to the john thing. And remember, don’t look at anyone else in the latrine unless you want your face broken.”

Her head jerked and she glanced down.

All the breath left her body and her face burned hot.

For thirty-two years her body had been pale, slightly curvy, medium height, and decidedly female. Geonate. That was no longer. Now she stared down a gray-tinged body with a mass of chest hair on a broad, muscular plane. Her hands lifted and the claw-like fingers nearly distracted her from what lay between her legs.

Her head thumped down.

She had a dick. That was fucking weird as hell.

“You gotta leave. Next customer will be here any sec. Go out the back door.”

“Need clothes.”

The tech shrugged. “Not my problem. You wouldn’t fit in mine, and you didn’t bring any. Out.”

She sat up. Her head spun like she’d just stepped out of a centrifuge. Her head pounded. She reached up to massage her temple and poked herself with her new claws. Blood ran into the corner of her mouth and her stomach heaved. Swallowing hard, she spoke as if she had a mouth full of Hemtai eggs. “Give me something to put around my waist.”

“Here.” The tech threw a towel at her crotch. “Get out, or we’re both going to be seeing the brig. Trust me. Next client would escort you there himself.”

She crashed to the floor. Her knees cracked loudly and she wobbled. Fumbling, she got the scrap of material to cover her new genitalia and weaved toward the door.

“Remember all the instructions. That skin suit will get you through their sensors, but if you act off, they’ll either beat you to such a bloody pulp that they won’t notice a human woman beneath the latest DNA tech mod, or they’ll space you. And again, there won’t be enough of you left to tell that you’re a species they’re duty bound to not harm on pain of death by immolation.”

She shuddered. The exo-diplomatic agreements didn’t apply to women under a death sentence.

The door shut behind her and she leaned against the wall and took a steadying breath. There was no turning back. Not now. She’d used all her resources, all her favors, and this was it. If this didn’t work, there was no hope to begin with.

“Don’t stare,” came a harried whisper.

She wrenched her eyes open. A group of women and children hustled past. One little boy stared wide-eyed as his mother tugged him away. A blush coated the young mother’s cheeks.

“Sorry,” she murmured in a deep burr.

The mother yanked her kid into her arms and ran down the corridor.

Clothes. She had no way to buy them and no idea where to steal them. Barefoot, with claws clicking, she trudged toward the docking bay. One way or another, she’d get aboard the Scoriah ship. It was that, or wait for the assassin to shove poison into her veins. And that’s if she were lucky.