by Kali Argent
Every human had received vaccinations upon arrival in Hope, so she couldn’t be ill. Their carefully synthesized inoculations protected the residence of the city from all manner of illnesses, from bacterial infections to sexually transmitted diseases.
“I’m sorry, she didn’t say.” Rayan tapped the side of his earpiece and then motioned to the display in the center of Raxcor’s desk. “I saved the message if you’d like to listen for yourself.”
Before Raxcor could respond, Mesa swept into the office, bringing with her the wonderful aroma of dark roast coffee. “Sorry I’m late, but I brought coffee.”
“I already brought coffee.”
Raxcor’s hand twitched on his desk at the undercurrent of smugness in Rayan’s tone, and he had a brief but vivid image of backhanding some manners into the little shit. Fortunately for everyone, Mesa demanded his full attention.
Her white, flowing blouse hung off her shoulders, bunching up around the waistband of her wrinkled slacks, and her ensemble looked remarkably like the clothes she’d worn the day before. Her ebony waves appeared mussed, as if she’d just rolled out of bed, but the dark circles under her eyes spoke of a restless, sleepless night.
“Rayan, please excuse us.”
Though he looked disgruntled by the dismissal, Rayan nodded once and left the room without argument. Once they were alone, Raxcor rounded his desk, took the mug from Mesa’s hands, and placed it on the glass end table. Then he eased down on the arm of the sofa and folded his arms over his chest.
“Talk to me.” He spoke aloud to emphasize the importance of the matter.
“Raxcor, I said I was sorry.”
“I don’t give a damn about you being late.” The paleness of Mesa’s skin and the thin worry lines that marred her forehead tugged at Raxcor’s heartstrings. Another emotion played just below the surface, a strange, unfamiliar feeling that made his muscles vibrate and his pulse accelerate. “You look like hell. Talk to me.”
“Just a late night.” Mesa cleared her throat and looked away, unwilling to meet the male’s intense stare. “It won’t happen again.”
It had been impossible to sleep. Knowing Anson roamed the corridors on Level 6, that he had access to her pod—and therefore her—whenever it pleased him, terrified her. So, she’d sat up most of the night, huddled in her favorite chair, just watching the door of her pod. Anson never came, but by the time the alarms blared the next morning, Mesa had come to an important conclusion.
She couldn’t wait around for something bad to happen.
“Does that mean you’re staying?”
“Actually…” Mesa combed her fingers through the ends of her wavy locks and scuffed the toe of her sandal across the snow-white carpet. “Well, this will be my last day. I’m sorry. I know I said I wasn’t leaving until the end of the week, but…something came up.”
She’d been late because she’d stopped by the Relocation Resource department on her way into work to not only check on her job transfer, but also to request to be reassigned to a new living pod on a different level. There had been one available on Level 16 that she could move into the very next night. Mesa hadn’t hesitated.
“You spend a lot of time apologizing.” Rising to his feet, Raxcor stepped closer, towering over her as he crowded into her personal space. “I can’t stop you from leaving, but I think I at least deserve an explanation.”
She didn’t retreat from him, though he practically stood on top of her. The top of her head reached just above his clavicles, forcing her to crane her neck to stare up at him. He made a fair point, but she couldn’t give him what he wanted. Even if he believed her, how could she possibly make him choose between her and his family? Looking into his bright blue eyes, she bit down on her bottom lip and winced as she swallowed past the constriction in her throat.
“I–I have to go.” She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her by the elbow to stop her progress. Dejectedly, she dropped her chin to her chest and stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Raxcor. I have to go.”
He didn’t release her. Instead, he turned her to face him and cupped the curve of her jaw in his massive hand, urging her head up until she was forced to meet his gaze again. The transparent scales that covered his palm felt smoother than she’d have thought, warmer, and only slightly raised.
“Whatever it is,” he promised, “I’ll help you. I’ll make it right. Talk to me, mishka.”
For just a moment, she forgot to be strong, forgot to be guarded, and leaned into his touch, sighing as she rubbed her cheek against his palm. Just as quickly, though, she jerked away and shook her head. She couldn’t stay, and she refused to cause more trouble for the male.
“I can’t.” She cleared her throat and backed away quickly toward the exit. “I can’t be here. I have to go.”
“Mesa, wait.”
Raxcor reached for her again, growling when she ducked away from his advance. She was scared. He’d seen it in her eyes, but he couldn’t protect her if she wouldn’t trust him.
“I have to go,” she repeated, shoving past Rayan just as he entered through the sliding doors.
Rayan huffed, readjusting his tie and jacket, but he wore a pleasant smile when he spoke. “Is everything okay, sir?”
Frustrated, Raxcor flashed his fangs at the guy as a deep rumbled vibrated through his chest. “Fine.”
Or it would be, once he found out what had Mesa so spooked and destroyed it.
CHAPTER THREE
“Of course, he chooses today to notice me.” Mesa waved her half-empty glass at Trick and huffed.
“Maybe you’re the one who hasn’t been paying attention,” the bartender suggested as he mixed drinks and placed them on a tray for the server.
“What’s that? Is that whipped cream?” Pulling her knees under her on the stool, Mesa leaned over the bar and poked one of the shot glasses with her index finger.
“Blowjob shot.”
“I want a blowjob!”
“Don’t we all,” Trick muttered. Taking the drink from Mesa’s hand, he dumped the contents into the sink and set the glass to the side. “Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re done for the night.”
“Yeah, okay.” Honestly, she’d reached her limit two drinks ago, but whatever. “I should be getting back to my pod, anyway. I have to pack.”
“Yeah, you should, but not alone.” Trick jabbed a finger at her. “Wait here, and I’ll find someone to walk you back.”
“Trick, I’m perfectly capable of—”
“Wait here.” He pinned her with his deep brown eyes, his gaze unfaltering as he dried the condensation from a couple of longnecks. “Just sit tight.” Then he disappeared to the other end of the bar.
“You shouldn’t be here all alone,” a familiar, gravelly voice said from behind her.
Tensing, Mesa fisted her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead. “Go away, Anson.”
“Oh, don’t be that way, little one.” His fingertips skimmed down her arm, the scales on his skin sliding against the soft fabric of her top. “I’ve been very patient with you, but I won’t wait forever.”
Just one more day. She only had to make it through one more day. Then she’d be transferred to Level 14, living on Level 16, and hopefully all the harassment would cease. One more day, and Raxcor would never have to know what a foul bastard his baby brother really was.
“You’re going to be mine, Mesa,” he whispered in her ear. “Hope is a big place, and life would be much easier with a special friend like me.” Anson leaned in closer, blanketing her back, his lips just a breath away from the curve of her throat. “You might even like it.”
“What I’d really like is for you to drop dead,” she answered through clenched teeth. “We don’t always get what we want, though.”
“One day…” Trailing off, he scraped his elongated fangs over the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. “One day, you’ll thank me.”
Anson was one of the few Aleucians she’d met who actually preferred to speak
aloud, though she had a feeling he mostly did it to mess with her. Unlike Raxcor’s deep, masculine tone that sent shivers through her each time he spoke, Anson’s voice reminded her of the hiss of a serpent—cold, mocking, and potentially deadly.
“Today isn’t that day,” she answered with as much dignity as she could muster.
“You know, I think it just might be.” With a deep, raspy chuckle, Anson curled his muscular arm around her waist and hauled her off her seat, spinning her into a shadowy corner of the bar. “One bite,” he murmured, pinning her back to the wall. “That’s all it would take, little one.”
Aleucians didn’t have marriages like humans. They claimed mates. It was a life-long commitment, a deep and powerful bond, and they’d annihilate anyone who came between them and their intended. From what she understood, it was intense, consuming, and unlike anything her human mind could truly comprehend.
Still, she wanted it…just not with Anson.
“Let me go.”
She shoved against the alien’s chest, but she could have been pushing on a brick wall for all the good it did. The trembling started in her hands first, but quickly spread to the rest of her body. He knew. He knew about her transfer, about her changing pods. He knew it all, and he’d been watching her. She could see it in his eyes, and her heart sank when she realized no matter where she went, she’d never escape him.
“Please,” she whispered, “just let me go.”
A massive hand with long, slender fingers landed on Anson’s shoulder, jerking him backward with enough force to make him stumble a step.
“Unless you want something unfortunate to happen, let the female go.”
The male connected to that hand towered over them both, his face a mask of barely contained rage. And while he spoke calmly, almost elegantly, Mesa could hear the building explosion lurking just below the surface.
“Raxcor?” He looked out of place in his pristine uniform and shiny black boots, but she’d never been so happy to see him. “Why are you here?”
“Quiet, Mesa. I’m discussing important matters with my brother.” His steely gaze turned on Anson, and his upper lip curled over his pointed fangs. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Anson grinned, his posture completely relaxed. “I was just offering to buy Miss Adair a drink. Surely there’s no crime in that.” His lips hitched higher on one side, transforming his expression into an obnoxious smirk. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think you were showing favoritism, would we?”
“No,” Raxcor answered, his tone still deadly calm, “we wouldn’t.”
Before his brother could say anything else damning, Raxcor fisted his hand in Anson’s long, golden hair and jerked him backward, practically bending him in half. With a hard shove, he anchored him against the wall, grinding his smug face into the cold, white metal.
Raxcor had never met the bartender, Trick McCall, but when the human male had contacted him to ask if he was available to escort a “very tipsy” Mesa back to her pod, he hadn’t hesitated. Walking into the tiny, basic pub, he hadn’t been able to picture his assistant patronizing such an establishment. The music wasn’t as loud as some of the other bars he’d seen in Hope, but it still blared at a volume loud enough to make him cringe.
The white walls and furniture did little to brighten the dimness. With lights only in the center of the room and over the bar, it left every corner of the pub in sketchy shadows. It was in one of those shadows where he’d spotted Mesa. At first, he’d been overcome with jealousy, watching the Aleucian male grinding against her, groping her, leaning in far too close.
Then he’d heard her speak, had sensed the distress wafting from her, and his jealousy had instantly morphed into a white-hot, unadulterated fury.
“How dare you,” he growled into his brother’s mind. “We are meant to protect the residents of Hope.” With another rumbling growl, he pulled Anson a few inches away from the wall, then slammed him forward with enough force to dent the metal. “You disappoint me, little brother.”
They’d never been extremely close, but Raxcor never imagined his brother would behave in such a disgusting manner. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder how many other females had fallen victim to the guard. The mere thought made his stomach churn and pushed bile up into his esophagus. He also had to wonder how much worse it had been for Mesa, how long it had been going on, and a new rage burned in the pit of his stomach.
He should have known. He should have protected her.
A tiny, delicate hand touched his elbow, drawing his attention away from his brother to a pair of frightened green eyes. Mesa looked so small, so fragile, nothing like the feisty and hotheaded assistant he was used to seeing in the office.
Still holding Anson’s face against the wall, he used his free hand to gently cup her pale cheek. “Are you hurt, mishka?”
Her bottom lip wobbled when she smiled. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Physically, she appeared to be unharmed, but her entire body vibrated as she stared up at him. “Wait for me at the bar. Speak to no one.”
“Raxcor—”
“Go.”
“Don’t hurt him,” she whispered as she backed away. “He’s your brother. So…just…don’t hurt him.”
Raxcor couldn’t promise what she asked, so he turned away, staring at the back of Anson’s head until her retreating footsteps faded. “The females in this city are not your playthings,” he told his brother, “but more importantly, you should have learned by now not to touch what belongs to me.”
“You haven’t claimed her,” Anson countered with a cruel laugh. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Maybe she even liked it.”
“Bastard,” Raxcor snarled.
Spinning Anson around to face him, Raxcor cocked his fist back and drove it into his brother’s face, smiling at the satisfying crunch. Blood spurted from the male’s nose and splattered over the ivory wall, dotting the pristine surface in drops of crimson. Anson groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, but that didn’t stop Raxcor from hitting him twice more.
When Anson lost consciousness and crumpled to the floor, Raxcor simply left him there and turned away with a derisive snort. Ignoring the crowd that had gathered to watch the altercation, he tapped the button on the side of his earpiece, relayed orders to the guards to detain Lieutenant Anson Wyeth, and strode over to the bar to find Mesa. He didn’t have to look far.
She waited for him at the end of the stone bar, twisting her fingers together and chewing roughly on her bottom lip while she shifted from foot to foot. Even frightened and a bit disheveled, she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. With his protective instincts in overdrive, he marched right up to the female, lifted her into his arms, and kissed the top of her head as he walked them out of the pub.
“Are you okay? Do you need to see a medic?”
Mesa didn’t fight him, not even half-heartedly. With a contented sigh, she dropped her head to his shoulder and curled against his chest. “No, really, I’m okay. Thank you for the rescue.”
“Always, mishka.” Although, he hated that she’d been put in a position to need rescuing in the first place.
“I’m sorry about, Anson,” Mesa muttered, her eyes downcast, and her shoulders rounded.
He wasn’t. “This isn’t the first time,” he surmised. “He’s the reason you requested to transfer.” It all began to make sense to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Warm, pleasant tingles spread across Mesa’s skin and traveled up her spine, but she battled back the moan building in her throat. She didn’t know why Raxcor had been inside Last Stop, or why he’d suddenly started referring to her by the strange Aleucian word that roughly translated to “mine.” Moreover, she’d seen Raxcor lose his temper before, but nothing like what she’d just witnessed. None of it made sense, and trying to figure it out made her temples throb.
“He’s your brother. I couldn’t.” She hadn’t wanted to come between family, to hurt Raxcor like that, and… “Reall
y, who would you have believed?”
Carefully, Raxcor lowered her to the ground beside one of the lift doors reserved exclusively for guards and administrators, holding her steady until she found her balance. Then he slid a finger under her chin, tipping her face up until she met his gaze.
“I will always choose you, Mesa Adair.”
“Why now?” Tugging at the ends of her hair, she pulled away and stared down at her bare toes. “Don’t answer. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“It’s late, and that’s a conversation for another day.” His long hair cascaded over his shoulders where it had loosened from its customary leather tie, and the chiseled lines of his jaw hardened visibly as he pointed to the lift door. “Get in.”
“Don’t be silly. My lift is that way.” Mesa pointed down the long, curving corridor and tried to sidestep her boss, but the male moved to block her exit, trapping her against the nearest wall. “Raxcor, what are you—”
“Mesa…” Raxcor trailed off and shook his head wearily. “Just…be quiet.”
He sounded so frustrated, so tired, Mesa couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re behaving very rudely.”
“And you are giving me a headache.” Placing both hands against the wall, caging her between his muscular arms, Raxcor leaned closer until his warm breath fanned over her face. “Why do you fight me so?”
Licking the moisture from her top lip, Mesa breathed shallowly through her nose as she stared into Raxcor’s shining blue eyes. Instead of answering his rather vague question, she decided to ask one of her own.
“Why are you here?”
“You needed me,” he answered simply. Then his brow furrowed, and he leaned away just an inch to study her more fully. “Why are you here? This isn’t like you.”
“It’s been a bit of a rough week if you hadn’t noticed. I didn’t know how to tell you about Anson, didn’t know if I even should.” Once the dam opened, everything she’d been holding inside for weeks came spilling out in a rush. “I like my job. I don’t want to transfer, but I couldn’t see any other way. I’m glad Rayan is working out, but a small part of me hates that little fucker. Petty, I know. Now, I even have to change living pods.”