by Ruby Dixon
He nods and flicks a hand at Aldar. “Remove it. It offends me.”
“Me too,” I say happily, and practically bounce to Aldar’s side.
The servant nods at his master. “Of course, Lord va’Rin.” He gives me another intense look, but there’s no hate or impatience in it. I think he’s trying to thank me. I’m going to take it as such anyhow. I just beam at him. We peons have to stick together, after all.
The collar’s off a moment later, and I rub my throat.
“Come here,” Lord va’Rin says, sitting down at a small, elegant table. “Aldar, is there enough breakfast for two? Milly will be hungry.”
My heart skips a stupid, stupid beat. I approach the table, careful not to sit down. “You remembered my name?”
The lord’s firm lips quirk. “You are the only human I have, after all.”
“Probably pretty glad about that one,” I can’t resist teasing. “I hear we’re a handful.”
Aldar clears his throat. “I will ask for more dishes to be sent up, my lord.”
“And tailors.”
“I beg pardon, my lord?” Aldar hesitates.
Lord va’Rin reaches for a sleeve of my tunic, clearly displeased. “She’s dressed like a servant, not my companion. I want new clothes for her, some appropriate for her size.”
“And shoes,” I whisper.
He glances down at my feet, and his hard mouth twitches again, as if he’s fighting so hard not to smile. “And shoes,” he says louder. “Tell them to bring an extensive catalog.”
“Of course, my lord.” Aldar bows again, and a moment later, I hear the doors close quietly. I’m alone with my owner.
Lord va’Rin. There’s a strange stop in the middle of his name I’m not entirely sure I can pronounce, but it’s a start. “I’m sorry if I made you upset,” I begin. “I woke up and didn’t know what to do, so I went to find other servants. They assumed I was…” What? A slave? A dog? “They put me to work,” I decide on tactfully. “I thought that’s what you would want.”
“I have dozens of servants with me. Why would I need one more?” He tilts his head, studying me, and his horns gleam in the sunlight. “You are my companion, Milly. I thought that was obvious from last night’s party.”
His companion? I lick my lips. “So, I’m gonna have to go for the obvious question and ask what it is you want from me.”
“I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending I don’t have an ulterior motive. Don’t insult mine by pretending you don’t know what it is.”
Fair enough. “Just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page is all.”
He inclines his head, still managing to look regal and yet masculine despite it. “Also know that I will not touch you until you ask.”
Well now, that’s a big assumption. “What makes you think I’m gonna ask?”
He smiles, showing a pair of pearly white, elegant fangs. “I don’t. And call me Varrik.”
“Varrik,” I murmur, tasting the name on my tongue. I like it.
4
MILLY
It has been a really weird three weeks since I first met Varrik. I wonder if it’s possible to love a guy and yet be completely utterly miserable at the same time.
“Miserable” is probably a strong word. I’m more like a square peg in a really round hole. I don’t fit in, and there’s not an hour in a day that passes that doesn’t make me painfully aware of the fact that I’m human, surrounded by a bunch of noble aliens called mesakkah, and to the vast majority of them, I’m one step above a drooling idiot.
It seems that Earth is well known to these aliens, but they call it a “Class D” planet, which means…idiots. They think we’re all idiots and not ready to join the Allied Federation of Worlds, which is kind of insulting. I haven’t seen anyone on Kes—this planet—that makes me think I’m incredibly stupid compared to them. The mesakkah I’ve met are hugely arrogant. Even Varrik, who I really like, is a spoiled rich man. I doubt he could tie his own shoelaces if left to his own devices.
In a way, it’s kind of cute.
Varrik is wonderful, though. I ponder his amazingness—despite his inability to tie a shoelace—over breakfast as I poke my food. The people here love a breakfast noodle that’s a bit like a pancake without syrup, and he makes a face when I add a heaping spoonful of jitai jam to my food.
“What?” I ask, pretending to be belligerent. And just because I know I can crack that stony expression of his, I deliberately add a second spoonful of jam to my noodles.
Varrik shakes his head. “It’s incredible that humans have lasted as long as they have with such poor eating habits,” he teases, pretending to study his datapad.
“Humans are awesome. You’re just jealous that we have such intense metabolisms that we can appreciate sweets, unlike you mesakkah guys.” I take my utensils—which I still haven’t mastered—and spin the flat end of the stick in the noodles, swirling them into a ball before lifting it to my mouth.
He snorts, sounding like the arrogant lord he is. “Is that not my jam?” he asks in a lofty tone. “That particular concoction is made on one of my farms.”
I pick up the elegant jar and study it, and sure enough, it has his house symbol on it. “Neat. You must be proud.”
“Farming brings in a lot of money,” he says coolly. “There are no farms left on Homeworld.”
“Probably for the best. I don’t think Lady Ahiri would be very good at farming.”
“Lady dra’Niiron,” he corrects me. “Proper names are saved for only the closest of companions amongst the nobility, my Milly.”
“Then why do you let me use your proper name?” I ask, fluttering my lashes.
He pretends to study his datapad. “I grew tired of your incessant butchering of my house name.”
I snort-giggle at that, and a laugh rumbles up in his throat.
Gosh, I love his laugh. It’s rare, because the poor man is so jaded and world-weary that I don’t think he finds much to laugh at anymore. Hearing it is like a treat, and it makes me want to babble for hours and say all kinds of inane things just to get him to laugh again.
Varrik is wonderful.
I can’t believe I have a crush on an alien, but I do.
I swirl my jam-coated noodles around in my bowl, thinking. I know that he likes me as a friend. I’m the only person he talks to for hours on end, and he confesses things to me that I doubt others have ever heard from him. He tells me of Lady Ahiri’s plans to try and trap him into a mating, of Lord As’bro’s angling to get a lucrative mining contract that will save his family from financial ruin, and a million other bits of gossip I have no use for but digest anyhow, because I want to be able to share his world with him.
He never touches me, though.
We talk for long hours every night, and sometimes I fall asleep on the bed with him instead of in my cot at the foot of his palatial mattress. Sometimes I dream I’ll wake up to find him kissing me feverishly, but he never touches me. We’re friends and roomies, but I can’t help but remember that he bought me for more.
He’s never mentioned it again, though, and I worry he’s changed his mind.
“Do you have a walking robe?” Varrik asks, putting his datapad down and gazing at me thoughtfully as I finish the last of my noodles.
“I can walk in all my robes,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at him.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know, I’m just busting your balls.” I’ve learned that he likes my bold tongue, so I try to throw in human slang whenever possible. “A walking robe…that’s the one with the long train, right?” When he nods, I get up from the table. “Yeah, I have one. Boots, too.” After three weeks of being at Lady Ahiri’s house party, the tailors have been here every day and I have outfits and outfits and outfits. It’s a little intimidating, especially considering Varrik seems to wear the same thing over and over again, but I’m told that just like in human culture, females wear far more ornate clothing than males do.
<
br /> “There is a garden party we must attend this morning,” Varrik says, getting to his feet. “Do you need help dressing?”
I bite back a groan. The parties were fascinating at first, but over time, I’ve started to hate them. Every time we go, I feel like a freak. All of the other nobles stare at me like I’m a dog wearing a clown costume. It doesn’t matter that my clothes are elegant, subdued dresses emblazoned with nothing but the va’Rin house symbol. It doesn’t matter that I’m in head to toe deep blue, the va’Rin colors. All that matters is that a weird-ass human is at Lord va’Rin’s side. They all look at me like I’m a horror they have to endure, and I know it’s affecting Varrik’s standing with them. I see people whispering when he leaves, or having secret tête-a-têtes that quiet down when he walks past, and it makes me feel terrible.
Having a human friend shouldn’t make him a social pariah, but I know it does. I’ve tried talking to him about it, but he won’t listen to me. He just gets that icy look on his face and shuts the conversation down.
Even so, I’m not dumb. I do as little as I can to shame him. I keep my head down, don’t talk to anyone but him, and I never, never use his name in front of the others. I don’t want to add fuel to the fire.
“Get dressed,” Varrik tells me, getting to his feet. “Where is my manservant? I need a fresh robe.”
“I can help you with that,” I say, as if I help him get dressed all the time.
He looks over at me in surprise, then shrugs and touches the fastening at his neck, and the robe drops to the ground.
And he’s fucking naked in front of me. Jesus Christ, I’m so not prepared for the sight before my eyes. I thought maybe he’d have alien undies or something on under there, but he’s completely bare…and far more muscular than I thought. Every inch of him is dark blue and utterly glorious, and I stare at the rippling chest down to the cock that lies against one hard thigh. Oh mercy, there are a few differences there, but I can’t get past the sheer size of him.
Or, okay, the clit-teasing thing on top.
Or the ridges on his cock.
Okay basically I can’t get past any of it and I’m staring. Hard.
“Do you know where my robes are at, Milly?”
“Uhhh.” My mind is blank. I can’t stop staring. “Robes. Yep.” I force myself to turn, robotically, and head toward the massive closet full of extremely similar-looking robes. I tug one down and bring it out to him, noticing that he’s got his hands on his hips as he stares out at the gardens, as if being buck-ass naked around me is totally and completely normal.
Mutely, I hold the robe out to him and notice that he’s got a nice, tight bubble of a butt underneath the tail that swings lazily back and forth. I never thought I’d be creeping on a guy’s tail, but I have to admit, his looks pretty fine.
He glances over at the robe, then at me. “That’s not a walking robe.”
“There’s a difference? They all look the same!”
Varrik’s mouth twitches again. “Let me show you.” He moves toward the closet and starts to point out the different kinds of robes, even though they all look the same to me. Morning robes. Evening robes. Robes for meetings with nobility ranked higher than him. Robes for meetings with nobility ranked lower than him. Robes for meeting non-nobles. Robes for meeting for business. It’s something to do with the sigils around the hems and the different collars and sleeves, but I’ll be damned if I can concentrate on any of it. He’s standing right next to me, naked, and I keep peeking over to see if his dick is this long and thick while soft or if he’s hard.
I can’t tell without touching, and I suspect he won’t let me touch. Ever since that first night he hasn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in me other than friendship, and it’s throwing me for a bit of a loop. If he wants me in that way, shouldn’t he show it? Just a little?
He takes the robe and slips it over his shoulders, still talking about hems and fabrics and I’m not listening. My brain is busy wondering if I’m brave enough to try and push him a little. Get him to show that he still likes me in that way. Is it playing with fire if I do? What if he claims me and takes me to his bed and then gets rid of me because the challenge is gone? What if he thinks humans are gross?
I’m so vulnerable as his slave.
“Well?” Varrik says, and I blink to alertness.
“Well what?”
“You need to dress in a walking gown,” he tells me. “For the party outside.”
“Oh. Okay. I’m sure I have one of those.” My clothing is in an adjacent closet, probably reserved for the wife of whoever normally stays in this room. I go to it and stare blankly at the clothes, trying to remember which one is for walking. “Maybe I should get Aldar to help me.”
“No.”
I’m surprised at Varrik’s tone. He practically growls the syllable out, as if the very thought offends him. Wasn’t Aldar going to help him dress just a few minutes ago, though? It makes no sense.
But he gives me a long, narrow-eyed stare that makes me shiver for reasons I don’t understand, and then he moves past me into my closet and selects a gown. “This one.”
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, feeling shy.
“I know.”
Well, gee. No I’m doing it because I want to or I want to see you naked. No nothing except I know. If there was a chance he liked me before, it sounds like it’s dead now. No need to play coy or be shy about getting naked in front of him. It’s just another day at the office for him. With a sigh, I drop my sleeping gown to the floor and step out of it. I’m wearing panties and a bra-type band that I had the tailor make for me, so at least I’m not completely naked. It’s just a swimsuit, really. Nothing more revealing than that.
He hands me the robe, practically tossing it over my head, and walks away.
I sputter, then bite back my irritation at his arrogance and slide the robe over my body. Guess he didn’t even want to see me in swimwear. Frowning to myself, I slip my bra off so it won’t interfere with the deep cleavage, muttering about his pissiness. I shove my arms through the long, embroidered sleeves and reach for the auto-fastener in the back. No matter how I twist, though, I can’t reach the one mid-back. It has an intricate set of laces programmed into it, and they make a braid up my spine when completed, but I’ll be damned if I can reach the toggle to start it up. After twisting a million ways to Sunday, I come out of the closet and give Varrik a pleading look. “Can you help me if we can’t call Aldar? I can’t reach the fasteners.”
Varrik nods tightly and moves to my side. He doesn’t look at me, and I wonder if I’ve somehow offended him. The man’s hard to decipher. I know a lot of it is because he’s around all these horrible nobles all the time and has to wear a poker face constantly, but I’d really, really just like a hint of how he feels about me.
“Turn,” he says quietly as he approaches.
I do, holding my hair up so it doesn’t snag in the auto-fastener.
I hear him inhale sharply, and before it registers in my brain, his big hand lightly skims down the back of my neck and traces down my bare spine.
Oh.
My nipples prick with need and I shiver all over. If I’d wanted a sign, it’s right there. He still wants me.
I’m so absurdly pleased. I wait for him to touch me again, to trail his fingers lower, to slide the gown off my body and take a good look at me. Is this why he didn’t want to look in my direction? He was being polite while I stripped down in front of him? But he did the same for me…or was he hoping I’d be overcome with lust, too?
It’s entirely possible I’ve been reading him wrong, and the thought makes me so happy I want to laugh.
Instead, I wait, utterly tense. Do it, do it, I chant silently. Touch me. Touch me.
There’s a gentle whirr, and then the auto-fastener tightens the dress against my body.
Damn it.
I turn around and look up at him. “Thanks.”
His mouth is pressed into a firm line and there�
��s an unreadable expression on his face. I suspect it’s utterly deliberate, and it makes me want to kiss that hard look off his mouth. He’s so utterly controlled all the time that I just want to lick him all over and make him go wild. The thought sends another shiver through me.
Varrik’s frown increases. “You’re cold?”
“Just thinking about the garden party,” I lie. “They’re so much fun I can hardly stand it.”
His mouth twitches on one side. “They’re meant to be social events, for houses to intermingle and make alliances. I don’t know if fun is even on the agenda.”
I make a face.
Varrik just gives me that typical icy stare, but he’s making no move to put on his boots or brush his long hair back into its normal queue. Could it be that he doesn’t want to go either? I wonder if I can sweet talk him into staying up here. The thought of spending yet another beautiful day in the presence of all those snooty vultures makes me want to scream. Sure, it could be worse…but it could also be a hell of a lot better.
So I decide to try some persuasion. “Varrik, do we have to go?” I bat my eyelashes at him, trying to look innocent and sweet. “You know they all hate me.”
“They still have to tolerate you because you are with me.” His expression is cool. “Has anyone said something to you?”
“They don’t have to. I can see it on their faces. The way they treat me. They ignore me or look at me like I’m a piece of lint.” I shake my head and then impulsively reach for his hand. Part of me expects him to pull away and I’m absurdly pleased when he doesn’t. I squeeze his big hand in my smaller ones. “I know you like my company but…I think it’s not a good thing.”
He goes very still. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” I say. “Having me at your side is causing all kinds of problems.”
His eyes narrow. “Such as?”
I give him an exasperated look, throwing up my hands. “You know exactly what I mean! You’re here to hobnob and make all kinds of handshake deals with the other nobles, right? But since I’m with you, they’re treating you like a pariah. They go around you. They whisper about you. I see it happening. I’m embarrassing you.” I bite my lip. “You’re losing face having me at your side. I think I should stay in.”