by Kali Argent
“Brian,” one of the women in the group cooed, obviously trying to quell his anger. “Just leave it alone.” Her dark hair might have been black or brown or a dark red—it was kind of hard to tell in the dim light—and she swung it over her shoulder as she pressed against the guy. “Come on, let’s go back to my pod.”
“I’m not going anywhere until he pays me the demis he owes me!”
When he pushed at the female, shoving her back several steps, Trick had seen enough. Hurrying up to the group, he dropped one hand on Brian’s shoulder and slid smoothly between him and the girl.
“Let it go, Brian.”
“He fucking cheated me!” He blustered and bellowed like a wounded bull as he jabbed a finger toward a terrified looking guy about half his size.
“Nobody cheated you.” Calm, steady. Trick had broken up enough bar fights to know better than to lose his patience. “You lost. Accept it like a man.”
“What did you just say to me?”
“The universe spare me from fools,” Trick muttered under his breath. “I think it’s time to say goodnight, Brian.”
A string of curses fell from Brian’s lips as he swung out with his right hand, the move sloppy enough for Trick to easily sidestep the punch. “You’re taking his side!”
Resisting the urge to rub the knotted muscles in his neck, Trick just shook his head and sighed. “I’m not taking anyone’s side, but I am telling you that you’ve had enough. You’re making a scene, and frankly, embarrassing the hell out of yourself.” Pushing at the kid’s shoulder, he turned him toward the exit. “Go home, Brian.”
“Get your fucking hands off me. You can’t kick me out of here.”
As usual, the kid was spoiling for a fight, but he wasn’t going to get one from Trick. “I can pretty much do whatever I want in here, including kicking you out for disturbing the other customers.” He paused, chuckled. “That, and because I don’t much like you, either.”
Well, that did it. The damn kid lost all hold on his composure, screaming and flailing as he did his best to inflict as much bodily harm to Trick as he could. One, wide swing glanced off his jaw, but Brian was too drunk to do any real damage. Besides, it had been a long time since Trick had lost his temper, and he wasn’t about to break his streak because of some idiot with more testosterone than brains.
“Hey, break it up!” Aziza commanded the attention of the entire bar as she marched right up to them and shoved Brian back several steps. “Trick?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
She nodded, her lips twitching at the corners.
He didn’t know who had called for security, but while he wished it would have been under better circumstances, he was damn glad to see her.
“Brian, what am—” Whatever Aziza had meant to ask died in a vehement curse when Brian’s fist landed against her temple.
It didn’t matter that she could take care of herself. It didn’t matter that she was a warrior and had broken up hundreds of fights in the city. Seeing her stagger to the side as Brian gloated at his cheap shot, a cold, dangerous rage settled over Trick.
His mind went blank, devoid of all rationality and humanity as he launched himself at the asshole, grabbing him by the back of the neck and slamming his head down on the side of the pool table. Bone crunched, several people screamed, and Brian’s legs gave out, likely from the pain. It wasn’t enough.
Following him to the ground, Trick straddled him, plowing his fist into that fucking smug face again and again. Blood sprayed from Brian’s lips, his nose, covering his face and Trick’s knuckles. It still wasn’t enough.
“Trick!” Aziza shouted inside his head. “Trick, stop!”
The next time he pulled his fist back, fingers wrapped around his wrist, and the scent of wild vanilla filled his nose.
“That’s enough.” Aziza spoke next to his ear, leaning in so close her silky hair brushed against his cheek. “Let him go, nahan.” Her nose skimmed from ear to temple, nuzzling him as she applied more pressure to his wrist. “That’s it. You’re done. You’re okay now.”
Yes, he was done, but only because someone far more important demanded his attention. Shoving to his feet, he stepped over Brian’s prone form and reached for Aziza, dragging her into his arms. He still shook from adrenaline and anger, but he kept his touch gentle as he carefully lifted her hair to inspect her temple.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” The skin wasn’t even red, but he still wanted to murder the fucker who’d hit her. Hell, he might have if she hadn’t stopped him. “Does it hurt?” Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to the injury. “Do you need some ice? Should I call a medic? I can take you there. That might be faster.”
With a crooked smile, Aziza brushed their lips together to silence his rambling. “I’m okay.” There was something in her gaze, something he couldn’t name, but she stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. “I’m very okay, nahan.”
Then, there was that endearment. He didn’t know what it meant, but he easily recognized the affection in her tone when she said it.
Behind him, Zevon grunted—likely more in annoyance than from exertion—as he hauled Brian up from the floor and slung him over one shoulder with as much care as he might show a sack of laundry.
“I’ll take him to see a medic. Maybe they can do something about his fucking mouth while they’re mending his face.” He didn’t wait for a response before turning and striding toward the exit.
The crowd that had gathered while Trick had been doing his damnedest to kill the asshole slowly dissipated, returning to their drinks and conversations. The young woman who had tried to get Brian to leave with her looked a little lost, but she perked up pretty quickly when another guy wandered over from a nearby table and offered to buy her a drink.
Within two minutes, it was like nothing had ever happened. Yet, Trick still felt like shit.
“Want to talk about it?”
Not really, and even if he did, he’d been away from the bar for too long. “I should get back to work.”
“Your shift ended ten minutes ago.” Raising an eyebrow, Aziza glanced over his shoulder and jerked her head upward. “Dillon looks like he’s doing fine without you.”
Trick looked over at the bar as well and frowned. He didn’t know Dillon Makers that well. They mostly just exchanged a few words in passing during shift changes. It wasn’t that he had anything against the guy, but Dillon was just one more reminder that Last Stop wasn’t really his. It never would be. He just worked there, and if the Aleucian’s gave him a little more freedom than most, that didn’t mean anything other than he was good at his job.
“Come with me.”
Snapping back into the present, he looked to Aziza and frowned. “Where are we going?”
She chuckled, as if she knew a secret she didn’t want to share. “You’re so suspicious.”
Ah, now he got the joke, and while he couldn’t laugh, it did pull a grin from him. “She does have a sense of humor. Imagine that.”
“Your hands are covered in blood, and you look like you might rip someone’s head off if they breathe on you.” She didn’t tease him any longer, but there was no judgment in her tone, either, no condemnation. “Come, nahan.”
Yeah, she had a point, and honestly, he just wanted to be alone with her until his head stopped pounding. Wiping his hands on his T-shirt to remove as much of the crimson as he could, he jerked his head toward the front of the bar.
“Lead the way.”
He kept an arm around her waist as they exited Last Stop and navigated the corridors to the nearest bank of lifts. When the doorway leading into the elevator proved too narrow to allow them both pass at the same time, he paused, unable to let her go.
Aziza just smiled, pulled his arm away from her, then took his hand, linking their fingers together. She hadn’t said a word since they’d left the bar, not telepathically or otherwise. Most people he encountered said a lot without ever uttering a word, whether through a look or their body lan
guage.
He expected her to twitch or fidget. He thought he’d see at least a measure of restless energy in her stance. He accepted that she’d probably watch him in that way people did when they wanted to say something but knew it wasn’t the right time.
Aziza was just…still.
Her presence comforted him like nothing else could. Her silence was a balm to his frayed nerves. Her touch calmed, and her smile chased away the last vestiges of anger.
For those reasons, and a whole list of others, he had to be honest with her, no matter how much he would rather not talk about the past.
“When I turned twenty-one,” he began as she swiped her badge over the scanner in the lift, “I started working at this pub as a bartender.”
The lift started to climb, chiming with each level they passed. Aziza didn’t speak, but she nodded that she’d heard him, then waited patiently for him to continue.
“It was just this little nowhere place, but they did steady business. Mostly old timers and locals who came in to drink after work.” It had been kind of boring, actually, those first few days. “Anyway, it was a couple of months into it, a Saturday night, and the place was packed. I don’t even remember why now.” A college football game, maybe. “These two guys got into it. I mean, they were going at it, just wailing on each other.”
The lift glided to a smooth stop on Level 2, the curved door slid open with barely a sound. “Keep going.” Still holding his hand, Aziza led him out into the stark-white hallway, then turned to the right. “What happened next?”
“I went to break up the fight, got hit, and completely lost my shit. It took three guys to pull me off the guy.” Trick had walked away with a sore jaw and bruised knuckles. The other man had spent weeks sipping his meals through a straw. “I just completely blacked out. I honestly don’t even remember what happened, and it scared the hell out of me.”
Still, he’d tried to write it off as a fluke, a one-time thing. It didn’t mean there was something wrong with him. For a while, he’d even managed to convince himself of that, too, until it had happened again. And again.
“Long story short, I almost beat a guy to death in the parking lot of a supermarket for backing into my car. Spent the next six weeks in a treatment facility to address my rage issues. Worked a lot on learning my triggers and how to control my anger.” He hadn’t taken any of it lightly, either. He’d wanted to be there, to get better, and for a while, it had worked. “Before today, my last incident was almost eight years ago.”
By the time he finished speaking, Aziza had already scanned herself into her quarters and was urging him across the threshold.
“This time wasn’t like that.” Automatic lights glowed to life as they entered, illuminating a room only slightly larger than his own living pod. “This time, you were able to stop. What was different?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He still wasn’t proud of what he’d done, but it could have been so much worse. “You, sweetheart.” Crowding against her, he tilted her head up with a knuckle under her chin, bending to brush a soft, chaste kiss against her lips. “It was you.”
Somehow, she’d managed to cut through the rage and shine a light to lead him out of the darkness. Her voice. Her touch. That damn, delectable scent of wild vanilla that seemed to cling to every inch of her.
“I guess I should be thanking whoever called for security.”
She was giving him that look again, like she’d never seen anything like him. “No one called the guards.” Each word was spoken aloud and enunciated very clearly. “I was already coming to find you.”
“Zevon?”
“Moral support.” Her smile turned a little self-mocking as she shrugged. “I’ve never told anyone I love them before. He thought I might find it a little intimidating.”
Trick could certainly see how that would be intimidating. The Aleucian’s didn’t have a word for love. Hell, they didn’t even really believe in the concept of it, considering it to be a fleeting, fallible emotion. So, the fact that she was willing to say it, to bend to his ways, was a really big, fucking deal.
Trick’s heart hammered up into his throat, but he forced himself to swallow and ask, “How about now?”
“Still intimidating, but not for the reasons you think.” She shrugged, but there was too much tension in her shoulders for it to be called casual. “I don’t care anymore. I know what I want, and I’m not going to let anyone tell me it’s wrong.” There was no hesitation as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep, searching kiss filled with promise.
It was damn near perfect, but he still wanted the words. “Say it, Zi. Tell me.”
“I love you, Trick McCall.” She bit down on her bottom lip, pausing before blurting out the rest in a rush. “I want you to be mine, if that’s okay.”
Be hers. That was the Aleucian’s version of love, but it was so much more than humans could even conceive. She was asking for forever, for a bond that went so deep, he couldn’t even comprehend it.
“I love you, too, sweetheart.” And he wanted it all, everything she offered. He didn’t give a damn what words they used or what other people thought of them. He just wanted her. “I’m very okay with being yours.”
CHAPTER SIX
I love you.
Aziza still couldn’t believe she’d finally said it. The words had felt foreign on her tongue, inadequate, but she knew she’d done the right thing as soon as she’d seen the look on Trick’s face. Still, what she wanted from him, what she wanted to give in return, went far beyond some vague, abstract ideal.
What she wanted couldn’t be explained with words. When she wanted it, however, that was a different story.
“Right now?”
Trick laughed, the sound warm and rich as he walked her backward, deeper into her quarters. “Oh, yeah, sweetheart.” His voice dropped in both octave and volume as he dipped his head, trailing his lips up the column of her neck. “Right now.”
“Thank the fucking stars,” she breathed, unaware she’d spoken aloud until Trick growled at her.
She didn’t even know humans could make such a noise, but it sounded amazing coming from him. It sounded…right.
For too long, she’d kept her distance, held herself back. She’d kept their relationship regulated to brief touches and occasional kisses, not daring to allow herself more. Now, she wanted everything. She wanted to touch him, taste him, explore every inch of him without haste or encumbrance.
Incapable of audible speech, she spoke her next words into his mind. “If I do something wrong, you have to tell me.” Tilting her head back to give him more access to her throat, she reached for his tight, leather pants, working the buttons open with fumbling fingers. “Promise you’ll tell me.”
“Wait.” Trick’s hand lowered to rest atop hers, stilling her movements. “Is this your first time?”
“With a human,” she answered honestly, pushing his hand away impatiently. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m not worried about you hurting me.” This time, he didn’t try to stop her, but he hadn’t gone back to kissing her, either. “What do you think you might do wrong?”
Aziza sighed. Why the hell did humans feel the need to talk about everything?
“Human females, they’re…softer. Not as strong. Not as aggressive.”
She didn’t mean that human women couldn’t be assertive in their wants and desires, or that they never took a more dominant role during sex. Speaking in terms of pure physicality and instinctive drive, however, she was nothing like those females. It wasn’t something she could really explain, but mercifully, Trick didn’t ask her to.
“I know exactly who you are,” he said, confident, assured. No uncertainty. “I’m not asking you to be anyone else, Zi. Don’t hold back. Don’t worry about what a human woman would or wouldn’t do. Follow your instincts.” He arched a dark brow at her. “Even if that means holding me down and having your way with me.”
She shook her head quickly, pausi
ng on the third button of his fly. “I wouldn’t do that.” A human male wouldn’t want to be reminded that she was physically stronger than him. Not the ones she’d met anyway. “I won’t do that.”
Trick chuckled again. “Follow your instincts,” he repeated. “You might let me play the hero sometimes, but I have no illusions about who you really are or what you can do.” His grin turned cocky as sin as he reached out to trail the back of his hand up the center of her throat. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise, my ego is not that fragile.”
He wasn’t giving her permission exactly. What he offered felt more like…approval. Follow her instincts, he’d said. Don’t hold back. Show him everything, give him all of herself, even if he might not accept it.
There really was only answer.
Grabbing the waistband of his pants in both hands, she jerked hard, popping off the last two buttons. She kept the parted fabric gripped in her fists as she pushed at his hips, moving him where she wanted him but stopping just short of shoving him against the door.
Careful. Controlled. She’d never let anyone hurt him, especially not herself.
Instead, she arched her neck to kiss him, using her body to press him gently but firmly against the solid, closed door of her quarters. He tasted like honeyed wine, like something sweet and exotic, all in one tight, muscular package. Fire flooded her veins, burning her from the inside out, and she growled ferally as she pushed her tongue deeper into his mouth.
Heat poured from him, a heady weight that settled over her, making her delirious with desire. She wanted more, needed to feel more of his bare skin against her palms. Too impatient to remove his shirt for him or request he do it himself, she slid her hands up his chest, tangled her fingers in the collar, and split the fabric right down the middle.
Pressing her hands flat against his pectorals, she practically purred in admiration. She wanted to explore every inch of him, to run her tongue and lips over all those deliciously hard muscles. She wanted to trace every bulge, valley, and curve with her fingers, then do it all over again with her mouth, until she’d erased every memory of any other females from his mind.