by Ava Argent
“Where are you going?” His voice is whip-crack sharp.
“Away.” Just to head off any nitpicking I add, “I'm going to get something to drink. And eat. I'm hungry.”
“Halt.”
And what do I do? I halt. I screw up my face, disgusted with myself. What kind of dummy actually does that?
He's standing. I've got my back to him, but I know that much. I could probably pick him out of a dark room with his eyes closed now. It's like my body has decided to go on hyper alert with him around. Now is not the time to fall into lust with someone. I'm not the bad boy fangirl some of my friends are. I don't sigh over the serial killer anti-heroes you find on some TV shows. I like the good guys, the second lead doctors and workmates that are too good to be true in real life.
A baby brother warlord too pretty for words is not one of those guys. The alien part doesn't even figure into the equation given my heritage. He's complicated enough as it is.
So why am I still frozen, waiting for him to stalk me like a jaguar eying me from a tree? I can almost feel his breath sweep over my shoulders
And my lungs are choosing a really bad time to start acting up. Inhale at a natural pace, dammit.
“I am pleased your shoulder is repaired.”
Wow, he's close. “Thanks.” I manage to sound normal. “You did a good job.”
Fingers ghost over the shoulder under discussion. “It was my duty.” Invisible patterns are traced into my bicep and down, towards my elbow. “I take my responsibilities seriously.”
Whoa mama. The word responsibilities should not have that affect on me. “I can tell.”
To be clear, I would like nothing more than to turn around and jump M'anu's bones. I'm not a prude or a wilting heroine. I'm also not the kind of girl that gets swayed by a pretty face. I don't fall in with the 'live for the moment and save the regrets for later' philosophy. Know why? Because I've done that before, and the regrets part sometimes just doesn't outweigh the fleeting pleasure that brought me there.
So whatever is going on with M'anu, he's going to have to keep it under control until I get a handle on the situation. “Who's hungry? This girl. Let me know how the call goes.”
“Why are you shying away?” M'anu's voice is firm but confused. He knows how to cut like a knife, this guy. “I answered your call.”
Okay, that's not something you hear every day. I turn. “My call?”
His expression tightens. It's less sexy than it is just plain dangerous. “The mating dance.”
“Mating dance?” My brow furrows. “What mating—” Oh.
Oh shit.
Guilt and dismay swamps me. How was I supposed to know he'd misinterpret what I was doing? I mean, it's a misunderstanding, sure, meaning that no one is really at fault, but looking up into M'anu's face right now makes me feel like a gigantic ass. “M'anu.”
I don't know what to say beyond that. I don't have to. He can read my face. Worse, he understands.
And he is not happy.
The muscle layered under his jaw twitches. His pupils darken, which brings the flecks into brilliant relief until they are all I can see. My heart squeezes. Intergalactic badasses with sharp teeth and pink streaks in their hair are not supposed to look both hurt and accusing. You'd think I'd punched him, but I know he would have handled that better than this.
He gives me a once-over, passes by, and strides away.
For a second there I'm not sure if I should follow him. I didn't mean to lead him on. At the time I was just rubbing his nose into the fact that I took over his bridge. I didn't know badly coordinated Euro dance moves would be the equivalent of the Song of Solomon for him.
I hesitate, torn between leaving it well enough alone and making up for something I didn't even know I did wrong.
It's his back that does it. It's so straight and unyielding that it calls to me. Even now, he looks like a proud Roman. I have no way of knowing if this is just a passing disappointment or something more for M'anu, but suddenly that doesn't matter. What matters is that my heart does this flipflop of dread, and I know that I have to at least put my hand out there.
I run, sprinting past him and spinning on my heel with my arms out, totally blocking his way. “Whoa! Don't walk off before we talk about this—Jesus!”
My voice ends in a squeak when he suddenly bends down and brings his face in close. It's hard and tight, his lips thinned into white lines. He clamps his hands firmly on my hips and literally lifts me off of the ground. Like, oh here is a vase I need to move let me just get that type lifting. It's effortless and startling. No human man could do that. I'm not big and I'm not little, but basic Earth physics declares that what he's doing should be impossible.
He turns sharply to the right and sets me down precisely. I'm out of his way. He lifts his chin and turns around again, walking away.
I stare after him. I'm speechless. Stunned. Astonished. You get the picture. There's only one sentence my flabbergasted mind can latch onto.
That was...hot.
Instant flooding of my pussy hot.
That's never happened before.
Not like this.
M'anu halts abruptly. His head tilts to the side so that all I can see is his razor-sharp jawline, his nostrils flaring. He inhales deep, the sound clear over the hiss and hum of machinery around us.
Uh oh.
I was not expecting that.
Chapter Six
My eyes go big as plates. I scramble mentally for some sort of solution, but all I can focus on is the slow angling of his torso. If I thought his eyes were brilliant before, they're freakin' luminescent now. This sitch just go serious.
If I had enough spit, I'd lick my lips. But I can't. I don't. I'm stuck in the sights of a Ferissian who can apparently smell how much I want him, and the knowledge of that somehow makes me even wetter. My skin heats in a blush. I'm so embarrassed and turned on right now I don't know up from down. I'm naked without losing a stitch of clothes.
His boots do a soft slide over the floor. He's face to face with me. There's more than five feet between us that might as well be five centimeters. His expression has morphed from hurt to knowing and satisfied. He's not smirking, he's baring his teeth. Open-mouth, here kitty kitty teeth.
I've been the center of his attention before. To tell the truth, I don't think he's ignored me once in the entire time we've known each other. I know what it's like to be his prey.
This feels ten times more alarming.
The air crackles with tension.
He steps forward.
I finally manage to suck in a breath but force myself not to back away. No running. Running triggers chasing instinct. I don't want to be chased. Oh hell, does that mean I want to be caught?
No. My nerves are shot through with electrical impulses, like a leg that's fallen to sleep trying to wake up again. I'm hypersensitive to everything, including all the not-inconsiderable complications M'anu the Ferissian brings into my life. If I give in, I'm accepting more than a pair of broad shoulders and gorgeous eyes.
He's too intense. Too complicated.
Oh god, did he just purr?
I strangle a whimper.
He takes another step forward. I reach out blindly and find the railing, gripping it tight without taking my gaze off of him. Nobody's ever looked at me like I was the center of his universe before. I can see why it would be addicting.
This guy is a world of hurt and confusion in the making.
I'm no coward, but I'm no fool either.
I try to think of something that will diffuse this ticking time bomb but he's already there, filling up the space as if it were just waiting for him to come. He towers over me. I knew that before, but it's never more clear to me than it is at that moment. It's not just the predatory way he's staring at me. It's the way his whole body curves to enclose mine. Trapping me in? Or protecting me?
I honestly don't know.
He angles his head to the side, bangs brushing my forehead. I hold perfectl
y still. His cheek ghosts over mine. His mouth comes so close to my pulse point, and I tense, only to jump when he takes in my scent lustily. “Mmm.”
Well, that wasn't unsexy. I swallow. “M'anu.” His name passes through my lips in a breathy whisper. “This is not what I intended.”
He doesn't respond verbally, but his cheek slides over mine again. Catlike affection?
My lids slide down without conscious thought. To have his teeth so near to my neck, the most vulnerable part of me, should be terrifying. Yet fear is the last thing on my mind right now. His presence, his pure maleness, is drugging my senses.
This is the most erotic experience I've had in a long time—and he hasn't even kissed me yet.
My eyes crack open, focusing on his neck. His jaw. His cheek. His mouth. It's a tragedy that it's still all the way over there, so close and yet so far.
It wouldn't hurt to try it once, I realize. I had regrets in the past, but I also had some really good times. Part of being young is to take chances. Live a little. So what if M'anu is different from me? That's part of the excitement of discovery, right? I just need to make sure I don't get in too deep, is all.
I lean in. He watches me, eyes hooded. I'll have to raise up on my tiptoes to reach him. He's bending in, but he wants me to come to him. The gleam in his gold flecks says that louder than words.
So near. I close my eyes, anticipation stirring my blood, my heart galloping along for the ride.
He's so warm.
His breath breezes over my skin. “Agmoiria...”
Agmoiria?
I'm so badly startled that I veer off, missing his face completely. He grunts, angling back to see me, but I'm concentrating on the icy bucket that just dumped itself over my head.
Agmoiria. Not Jules. Not even Judith. Frick, not even Jenner.
Doesn't he know my name?
I cast my mind back and try to think of one time, one measly time, when he called me something other than 'female' or 'the Agmoiria'. My hands wedge up against his sternum, not pushing, but not letting him get any closer. I come up blank.
He doesn't even know my name, and I'm thinking about not getting in too deep.
I'm an idiot. I'm already in too deep, and he just proved it to me with a single word.
Smooth, Jules, I think with a short laugh. Way to be all adult about this.
When the hell did this happen? It's not like M'anu was running around doing his own mating dance or anything. I exert pressure on his (built) chest and shake my head.
It's not his fault. I'm the dummy. Well, maybe we're both the dummies, and space ships just aren't big enough for the two of us. “This is crazy,” I tell him with a touch of bittersweet humor. “Animal Planet gone galaxy.” I can't really bring myself to look away from his ear while I try to get myself into order.
His long fingers snag my chin and force me to meet his gaze. He's frowning ferociously, confused. “Why are you still talking?” he half-demands. There's an ocean of bewilderment in his tone.
This time I laugh for real. Well, one thing was intergalactic—males don't like playtime to be interrupted. “Because I realized something—don't ask me what—that made me decide this is not the way I want to go with you.”
He shakes his head. “That does not make sense. You are aroused. I am aroused. We want each other.”
I have to settle for the lamest sentence in the universe. “It's a mental thing.” I try not to cringe. God, it's like saying 'it's not you, it's me'. Ugh.
He hasn't budged an inch. I can see that brain working through the situation. As physically superior as M'anu is, a girl would think he doesn't have too much upstairs. That's not the case here. Just by talking to him I know he's no meathead. He's just simplistic. Basic. Not a lot of gray, complicated area with this guy.
If you're a threat, he kills you. If you're attractive, he fucks you. If his brother needs him, he gets his hands dirty. No bullshit.
Who knew a male like this would intrigue me?
I take hold of his wrist gently. So far he's been up front with me, and I don't want to be the one that brings in games to our interactions. I have to give a better explanation. “I didn't dance for you on the bridge, and I felt bad for making you think so. Nobody's ever picked me up that effortlessly before and it called to my primitive instinct.”
He's pleased by that, his lips quirking.
“But,” I add, because there always is one, “I think that this heat between you and me is just something that happens between two people too close together for too long. It's not something I would feel normally.”
That wipes his smile away and he huffs.
My fingers wrap around his wrist tighter and I tug, signaling that I want to be let go. I can never in a million years make him release me if he doesn't want to. He doesn't look like he wants to, glaring down at me like I just took away his favorite gun.
It's only when he lets go that I realize it never occurred to me that he wouldn't.
Holy hell. I've placed a lot of trust in this man. I had no idea how much until this very second.
Talk about scary.
But M'anu being M'anu and not some human male, he doesn't step out of my space. He's there, bigger than life as ever, challenging me. I know what this means. If I want this to come to an end, I have to be the one that backs down, not him.
Animal kingdom alpha male stuff.
I shake my head. Dudes.
I've got a lot of pride, but I'm not the kind of girl who will belabor a point for the sake of hubris. Time to make my exit.
I step around his—and I can't stress this enough—wide body, his arousal cloaking him like a second skin. For an instant I wonder what he looks like under that gray long sleeved shirt, and that is seriously the last thing I ought to be thinking about right now. Get it together. Geez.
“Oh.” And this is important, too important to take a smooth stage left without saying something. “Agmoiria is just a title, by the way. My name is Jules.”
xxxxx
That did not end in a satisfactory fashion.
I stand stock still, gaze centered on the empty spot the female occupied a moment ago. I listen to the echoing of her retreating footsteps, my head tilting so I can catch the very last vibration before she rounds the corner and disappears. The white noise of the ship cocoons the silence once more.
I allow it to sink over me, absorbing the hemming and hawing of the vessel. It soothes me, and yet the familiarity of my surroundings allows me to focus on the new, intoxicating scent in the air.
I inhale. Female.
The female.
Agmoiria.
Jules.
Her name, or title as she calls it, does not concern me. What preoccupies me is not that sound. It is her smell, and beneath that the perfume that signals she desires me. It pulls at my mind, which urges my body to turn and finish what we have barely started.
I move my head minutely to the side, looking at the rail she has abandoned. I lift a finger and trail the tip over the bannister. Still warm.
She believes that this is done. “A mental thing” she said. She claims that our attraction is due to close quarters. I see no reason the origin should influence the outcome. I want her. She wants me. That is enough.
I begin to walk, allowing my feet to take me where they will, one precise step at a time.
I didn't dance for you on the bridge, and I felt bad for making you think so.
For a moment she pitied me. Even if it led to her eventual arousal, the thought is galling.
But she desires a strong male, I remind myself. I did not imagine the lust I smelled. Still smell. She finds my physical ability to lift her attractive. Primitive.
'Primitive' is a concept with which I am intimately familiar.
My people value a balance of technology and tradition. We embrace the convenience of space and all of its wonders, but part of us will never be more than we are. It's encoded in our nature. Our need for combat is merely one of our engrained behavio
rs.
The need to mate, for example. She may find it strange, but Feruz's actions are nothing exceptional for Ferissians. He found a female he admired and wanted to pair with. Doing what he must to ensure that is a choice, yes, but our characters are uniquely suited to seeing that task through to the end.
It is now my turn to choose.
How strange that realization is. This was to be a simple mission. Grab the girl and get her out of the way once she serves her purpose. Yet I recognize this moment for what it is—seen through the lens of my people, it shines clear and bright.
She will no doubt find it curious and sudden. That does not agitate me. Ferissians are a practical people. Warriors especially are taught to capitalize on an enemy's weakness while eliminating their own. That means accumulating weapons, skills, and people that will make them stronger. Feruz decided Bethina, while wild, complemented him.
Does the Agmoiria complement me?
I continue to walk, each step matching a thought. This is no instant decision, no choice to be taken lightly. All the angles and variables must be considered, yet the end comes down to one of two answers: yes or no.
The Agmoiria is a fierce woman from a clan of formidable females. That is desirable. I am after all a fan of combat.
She is however small. Weak in comparison to myself.
She does not cower.
She has the capacity to be shrill when I do something to displease her.
When I please her, however...I rumble at the memory.
Despite my initial impression, the Agmoiria is indeed intelligent.
Ironically a little too intelligent. It would be very difficult to keep her in check. The incident of the bridge comes to mind. Yet her creativity and resourcefulness are to be esteemed.
She is correct; a small space and strange circumstances has made me aware of her in a way I would not have been previously. Regardless, I have taken note, and there is no undoing that. I do not find her to be unworthy. I find her...enthralling. Still, this is not about emotional or physical response alone. A lifetime is very, very long when spent with the wrong partner.
Half-human, delicate of structure in contrast with myself, childbirth would not be easy for her.