by Ruby Dixon
My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything today myself. “There’s no dispensers.”
Her mobile little brows go up. “What do you mean, there’s no dispensers?”
“Too much maintenance,” I say. “The parts break down too much. Eat a protein bar.” I pull my hands free from the wiring and notice that my arm is twinge-ing, a sure sign that my body’s about had it for the day.
“I’d eat a protein bar if I had one,” the human female says in a sharp voice. “But no one left me anything to eat or drink. Don’t you have supplies?”
I do, but I mostly eat them raw, straight from the container. With a heavy sigh, I wipe my greasy hands off on a rag and push away from my table. I shoot a glare at her for interrupting me as I get up and walk slowly over to the boxes of supplies that I never bother to put away. I pull off the lid, pick up a bag of dry noodles, and hold it out to her.
She moves to my side, smelling like flowers again, her soft-looking hair drifting around her face in tendrils. I hate that part of me wants to bury my face into her mane and just breathe deep. Hate that. It means I’m just as stupidly susceptible to a human as any other male out there in the universe.
The female—I forget her name—looks at the nondescript bag and wrinkles her nose. She looks up at me. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Cook it.” I eat the noodles hard and plain, mostly because I don’t care.
“Cook it?! On what?” She gestures around me.
Maybe I’m being a perverse keffing ass, but I’m enjoying this a bit too much. I move over to my welding station, flick it on, and then gesture at the open flame. “Here you go, princess, since I have to do everything for you.”
She gives me a scalding glare and marches over to the flame, bag of noodles in hand. “Where’s a cooking pot? Utensils?”
I shrug.
Her jaw works back and forth, and she looks as if she’s about to start spitting venom. “Again, I’ll repeat myself. What am I supposed to do with this? You don’t even have the basics.”
I gesture at the room. “You are completely surrounded by junk. Get creative. Improvise. Figure it out, or shut the kef up.”
A moment later, the bag of dry noodles smacks into my goggles. It jostles several of the smaller components against my face and scratches at my skin.
Stunned, I pull the goggles off and rub my nose, where I’m now bleeding just a bit. “What was that for?”
“For being an unmitigated ass.” She lifts her chin defiantly and crosses her arms. “You’re a terrible host. Where’s a comm-link? I want to call Adiron and tell the crew to come get me. It’s obvious I can’t stay here.”
I rub the blood off my nose bridge. “There’s no working comm-link. This is supposed to be an abandoned station. Not gonna seem very abandoned if we’re constantly sending out comm signals all over the universe, is it?” I don’t tell her that I have a private communicator in my quarters for emergencies. This doesn’t qualify as an emergency in the slightest. A tantrum, yes. Emergency, no.
“So I’m trapped here?”
I spread my hands, my cybernetic one creaking as I do. “I’m just as thrilled about it as you are.”
The human female gives me the most ferocious little scowl, marching right up to my face and glowering at me. She stabs a finger close to my face, angry. “You…you…”
Her expression changes and she goes silent.
“Me, me,” I goad. “Come on, spit it out. I what?”
She lowers her finger and plants a brilliant smile on her face. It’s…startling. She seemed interesting-looking enough when she arrived here, all big dark eyes and slender, delicate form. But when she smiles, her face transforms and she lights up like the sun, and it steals my breath away. This human is…beautiful.
Annoying, but beautiful. That’s going to make being around her even more difficult.
Her smile radiates, and she tilts her head at me. “You need to be nice to me.” Her voice is oddly sweet, her tone completely different than before.
“I do, huh?” I’m not fascinated by her smile. I’m not. I’m not. “Why is that?”
“Because Sleipnir decides if he needs to attack based on whether or not I like a person.” She tilts her head, still giving me that fascinating smile.
I’m suddenly hyper-aware of her scent and how soft her skin looks. How she has these intriguing breasts that are far more prominent than anything I’ve seen on other females. How small and delicate her features are. I’m so busy staring at these things that it takes a moment for her words to sink in. “Sleipnir?”
“The carinoux who’s right behind you,” she says in a sweet, sweet voice.
I hear the menacing growl a split second later.
10
SOPHIE
Sleipnir has the worst timing.
Of course he'd show up in the middle of an argument with Jerrok the Jerk and start growling. The cat's protectiveness is on full display as the scales along his spine suddenly flare, turning into spikes, and his ears flatten. His lips curl back and the jagged teeth look twice as menacing as he prowls forward, toward me.
I'm not scared of him, but I also can't let him kill Jerrok.
So I keep smiling even though it's practically painful, and I try to remember the tactics I used to get Sleipnir used to the va Sithai brothers. I take a few steps forward, keeping my tone friendly and sweet. "The carinoux is very protective of me," I coo at the startled junker. "So I have to talk like this so he doesn't eat you."
Jerrok remains completely still. After a long moment, he breaks into a smile, too, and grits out a pleasant-sounding, "When were you going to keffing tell me that you brought a keffing pet into my keffing home?"
Sleipnir keeps on growling as he pads forward, so I close the distance between myself and Jerrok and put my hand on his shoulder in a friendly way, and then pat his chest. I keep smiling and even manage to force out a reasonably cheery-sounding laugh. "What, you mean you thought I arrived here by myself? You thought I was that much trouble that I'd get dumped on you instead of going with them to the Slatra system?"
"I did think it was a little odd," he agrees in a pleasant voice, still beaming at me in that too-fake way.
It's distracting, being this close to him. He's an asshole—and he smells like layers of grease and sweat. But without the oversized, clunky goggles, I can see his face. And he's…normal looking.
Maybe even handsome.
He's also a hell of a lot younger than I expected. All that dirt and the rags he wears make him seem an indeterminate age. His hair is covered and his horns are tarnished, so I thought he was older, and the lower half of his jaw is smudged a dark shade of sooty gray from working on whatever the hell he's doing all day long. But with the goggles gone, I can see bright blue skin, a proud, armored nose and brow, and an intelligent, sharp gaze.
I would say that he had attractive eyes, because his lashes are long and thick, but one eye is completely cybernetic, the pupil a strange metallic gray instead of black, and it makes his gaze slightly jarring.
He smiles again, and it's just a hint more menacing as he leans toward me. "No one told me there'd be a carinoux."
I pat his chest. "No one told me I'd have to make my own food. I guess we were both lied to about this situation."
He grunts.
Sleipnir goes still and hisses.
I watch as Jerrok tenses. He looks at me, waiting. "Call off your pet."
"He's probably hungry." I can't resist smirking at him. "Maybe you look edible."
To my surprise, the tops of his cheeks flush, the rest of it hidden by dirt.
Oh god, I hope he doesn't think I'm flirting with him. Immediately, I back away, and Sleipnir tenses, ready to spring. As damage control, I make kissy noises to the carinoux and drop to my knees. "Come here, good baby. Your new friend Jerrok the Jerk is going to make us dinner. Isn't that right, Jerrok?" I keep my voice sugary sweet, and the carinoux pads over to me, his spiked sc
ales flattening. He rubs his big head against my jaw and then licks my cheek with raspy strokes of his tongue.
"I guess I can't say no." Jerrok moves slowly toward the open flame and turns it up a little. He grabs a metal box and sets it over the fire, watching as the top becomes red-hot. As it does, he digs around in a cluster of metal containers, finds something that looks like a pot, and drops it with a hard thump onto the makeshift burner's surface.
He turns and looks at me, giving me the tightest, pissiest smile I've ever seen.
I fight back a laugh of my own, because it's clear he's not thrilled with the situation. I suddenly feel…powerful. A little bit more in control of my situation. With Sleipnir at my side, Jerrok can't run roughshod over me and be an unmitigated prick. He has to be somewhat nice. He has to feed us.
And he can't force himself on me.
That last thought brightens my day. I rub Sleipnir's ears and scratch his jaw happily as Jerrok fills the pan with water from a hidden spigot and tosses noodles in to boil. His movements are that of someone who's very resentful of having to do so, but I don't care. He knows this place and I don't. Eventually I can make my own meals, but it won't kill him to do a little cooking.
With a long-handled spoon that looks like it was made out of welded parts, he stirs the pot. The scent of askri noodles—the tart, extra-salty dish that's a big favorite among the mesakkah—fills the air.
"Sleipnir eats meat," I point out. "Do you have any freeze-dried stock? Or protein cubes? He'll eat that if he has to, but it won't keep him full."
Jerrok shoots me an irritated look. "I'm not going to feed that beast—"
Sleipnir growls, lips curling back again.
"It's okay," I say sweetly, rubbing the carinoux's ears.
The alien male purses his lips, glaring at me, and goes to the containers in the back of the room. He makes a lot of noise, digging through crates and pushing aside junk, and then he pulls out a large, metal-edged container stamped with some sort of writing I can't read. He glares at me, then puts on a big fake smile to make up for it, clearly pandering to my protective cat. "He can eat my emergency supplies," Jerrok says in a fake-charming voice. "Though I'm going to run out of food faster than I anticipated if I have to feed both of you."
"Suck it up," I say sweetly.
"When were you planning on telling me?" he asks, just as sweetly.
"Probably right after you stopped biting my head off for breathing your air." I stroke Sleipnir's heavy brows as he settles down on his haunches.
I could swear that Jerrok's mouth quirks, as if he's fighting back amusement. "Air's a precious commodity on a station."
"Mmm." I want to say that there's plenty of air to go around, but what do I know? Maybe there isn't. "Is it going to be a problem that we're here?"
"Oh, it's already a problem." He continues in that saccharine voice. "I'm going to keffing murder Adiron for springing this on me, though it does answer a few things."
"Answer things?" I echo, curious.
"Not important." He runs his fingers along the edge of the crate, and I notice he wears a glove on one hand but not the other. Something metallic creaks and groans—and I could almost swear it's Jerrok himself—as he pries open the lid, and then a puff of air escapes the container. He picks through the packages, then pulls one out and tosses it to me as Sleipnir tenses at my side. "Here. He can eat this."
I study the tightly wrapped hunk that feels a lot like a football. "What is it?"
"Meat-stock. A rump of some kind. Got it from a buddy that lives on a farm planet. He sent me a few crates because he complained that I eat nothing but 'station trash food.'" His smile becomes tight, wintry. "That rump's supposed to feed a family of four for a week, but I'm guessing it'll feed that thing for about an hour."
He's not wrong. Sleipnir eats a lot, and he has to be hungry after the long day we've had. I run my fingers over the wrapping. "How do I open this?"
Jerrok lets out a heavy sigh. "Must I do everything?" When Sleipnir growls, he lets out a second sigh, and then smiles brightly again. It feels so fake. I can practically cut the tension in the room. No wonder Sleipnir's so touchy.
I get to my feet, keeping my movements easy, and walk over to Jerrok. "You're making him nervous," I say in my most charming voice. "Let's not make the massive, fanged animal nervous, all right? Now, show me how to unwrap this."
He does without another word of protest, and reveals a dark-looking, tight, unpleasant-seeming raisin of a roast. As I watch, he adds a spoonful of water from the spout. Immediately, the rump expands, becoming juicy and increasing in size until it practically covers the table. Sleipnir approaches, his nostrils working, and when he puts his head up on the table, I reach out to push him back.
Jerrok stops me, grabbing my hand in his.
Startled at his touch, I look over at him as he puts another fake smile on his face. "Don't come between a predator and his meal," he murmurs, voice soft and pleasant.
Sleipnir won't do anything to me. I want to speak, to point this out, but the words have died in my throat. I feel strange. Part of me wants to rip my hand out of his grip, and part of me wants to linger, to wallow in the feeling of a gentle touch. It's been so long.
His thumb lightly skates over my knuckles, and then he lets me go, turning back to the noodles. "Come and eat so you can get out of my space."
Flustered, I step away, watching as Sleipnir drags the massive roast back out of the room to go eat somewhere in private. He's leaving a bloody trail, but I guess I can clean that up later. "You smell," I say absently, rubbing my hand.
"What?"
"You stink." I look over at Jerrok. "Don't touch me again. You're filthy."
With the world's saltiest “polite” smile, he slaps a steaming pile of noodles into a bowl and holds it out to me. "Your meal, princess."
I really dislike this guy.
11
JERROK
This is a keffing mess.
I'd wondered at why the va Sithai brothers had insisted on leaving their small, delicate human with me. I'd wondered why they were quick to leave my station, too, when they've lingered for meals and shared drinks in the past. It all makes sense now. They didn't want to confess about the carinoux.
And now I'm stuck with it AND the human until they return.
I think about it, and the scrappy little human who lifted her chin and snapped at me. She should be grateful that I let her stay here. She should be grateful that I fed her. That I don't just make a vid call to one of my corsair contacts and have them take her off my hands.
Instead, I keep thinking about the way she lashed out at me with her tongue, fearless in her anger. I think about the way that it changed so quickly, and how her tone went from biting to sweet. How she moved closer to me and put her hand on my chest.
My cock stirs at the memory.
My eyes sting and feel dry, and I take my goggles off for the second time this day to rub them. As I do, I notice the grease smears on my skin and I wonder what she thinks of my appearance. She probably finds me disgusting. If she could see my pathetic cybernetic parts under the layers of clothing I wear, her expression would likely change to pity.
I hate pity.
Just thinking about her irritates me. She's ruined my calm, and I suspect it won't be back until she leaves with that animal. In a way, I suppose I'm glad that it's here—that it's not the human taking massive, smelly shits in my terrarium. It's the carinoux. That's the only good thing about this situation, because that expensive creature is going to mow through my food supplies. No wonder Adiron was quick to offer more credits to pay for the female's board. He knew what he was getting me into.
I fantasize about choking him. Just a little. Just enough to get that dopey grin off his ever-smiling face. Funny how we both served together in the Threshian Wars and he rolled out of the conflicts completely unscathed, whereas I'm a mess. The universe is unfair that way. Adiron walked out of a year in the trenches with a smile. I walked out
with one arm, one leg, and half my innards missing, and a head full of noise.
I need a carcinogel.
I grab one from my dwindling stash and head for the terrarium, absently thinking about how I'm going to get extra food for that damned carinoux. One of my regulars brings me supplies at a pretty stiff mark-up, but he's not due to come by for at least another month, and that thing's going to eat everything in about a week. I do have some parts I need to drop off at a nearby station, but I was hoping that I'd be able to find someone to pay enough (and was reasonably trustworthy enough) that I could avoid leaving my home entirely. It's starting to look more and more like that won't be the case.
To my surprise, my distracted steps have brought me to the human's quarters instead of the terrarium. Her door is open and I can't resist moving into the entryway and looking in. The human's quarters are neat and tidy, her things put away as if she has always lived here. On the bed, the female is curled up against the massive body of the carinoux, her eyes closed. The creature opens one and watches me but doesn't move.
"Go away," she murmurs in a sleepy voice.
I almost do as she says, and then I remember that this is my home. She's the guest. So I remain in the doorway, clutching my carcinogel and pondering her form under the blankets. Her head rests on the carinoux's flanks and she looks peaceful and content.
I envy her that.
"I said, go away," she repeats, her voice light even as she strokes the carinoux's scales. "I know you're still there. I can smell you."
I lift one of the layered rags I wear and sniff it. Maybe it's a little ripe, but surely it's not that bad. Then again, does it matter? "I'm just making the rounds," I tell her defensively. "Don't flatter yourself."
"I don't give out freebies," she says in that same sleepy voice.
Freebies? Does she mean—
I jerk backward, stung that she would come to that conclusion. Does she think I'm going to rut on her the moment the va Sithai brothers turn their backs? Even I am not that crass a fiend. "I wasn't asking," I say defensively.