Something moved behind the azhera. It took her a moment to realize the movement was from his tail. His broad-shouldered frame filled most of the doorframe, leaving little of the corridor visible around him.
“I paid him so he would be forced to accept that you weren’t his anymore. I wasn’t going to keep you as a slave,” he said.
“You expect me to believe that? You were there for a reason, with all that talk about deals and rutting.”
The azhera bared his fangs to release a sigh that was punctuated by a low, brief growl. “He was a client. Didn’t know about his zoo until he brought me down there to show it off. All I wanted was to conclude my business with him and get out, but the zhe’gaash wouldn’t shut his mouth.”
Shay’s brow furrowed. She’d encountered words to which her translator could attribute no meaning, but never in direct conversation like this. “Zee gash?”
“Zhe’gaash,” he corrected. “It’s a word in an ancient Azheran dialect that fell out of common use a long time ago. It’s someone who’s…dishonorable, disgraceful. Cowardly. Those aren’t exactly it, but it’s along those lines.”
She tilted her head, sweeping her gaze over his body. He was dressed in black pants with reinforced knees and cargo pockets that would’ve fit perfectly with the uniforms of most private security companies and law enforcement divisions back on Earth, and a gray shirt beneath a form-fitting jacket. Though she couldn’t be sure what anything was made of here, the material of that jacket looked to be leather; it was a dark, rich brown with the slightest hint of red, and it brought out the subtle copper highlights in the fur on his face and mane.
He wore a belt similar to the one she’d stolen from him, its hip holster empty. Though his lower legs from mid-shin down were clad in black leather wraps not unlike the upper portions of combat boots, his feet were bare, and his toes were tipped with wicked looking black claws.
“Deciding whether you want to rob me again or not?” he asked, just as drily as before.
She met his gaze. “Maybe. Some of your other stuff sold for more than I expected.”
He narrowed those intense green eyes and asked in a slightly strained voice, “Did you sell my belt?”
“I think you mean my belt.”
His ears flattened against his head, and he muttered, “Vrek’osh, that was my favorite belt.” Moving slowly, he lifted his right hand and combed his fingers through his dark mane, tugging the fur back. “Look, terran, when I said I wanted to start over, I—”
Shouting from down the hall called the azhera’s attention to the side. From the sound of it, Ostik and Zira were arguing again, like they did most days. Drakkal turned his head toward the disturbance.
Shay found herself studying his strong jawline and admiring the patterns in his fur. It really was quite appealing. Despite his animalistic traits, she found his appearance far more masculine than bestial. She was suddenly tempted to reach out and touch his fur to see if it was as soft as it looked.
What the fuck am I thinking?
She was reaching for the door control—meaning to shut it while he was distracted—when he turned his face toward her again. His gaze flicked to her extended hand, and he frowned. Her hand paused. Why did it fucking pause? And why did she feel a little pang of guilt over what she’d been about to do?
“I want to talk. Can I come in?” he asked.
“For real?” she asked. “You really expect me to believe that you weren’t trying to buy me as a sex slave, or that you’re not going to make me pay for robbing you and leaving you naked in an alley?”
He shrugged his right shoulder; she swore she could almost see the play of his powerful muscles through his coat, even though that didn’t seem possible.
“I’ve been naked in worse places. You can keep your gun on me, and I’ll keep distance between us. Whatever makes you feel safe, terran.”
“I’d feel safe if you left.”
He turned his head, glancing first right and then left before swinging his gaze up across the ceiling as though taking in the entirety of the apartment complex. His brows rose questioningly when he returned his gaze to her.
“Yeah, okay, so maybe I don’t feel safe here at all,” she said snidely, “but your being here definitely isn’t making that better. You looked like you wanted to eat my face yesterday!”
His expression darkened. “That’s just how I look, damn it. It’s not my fault!”
“So you’re really trying to tell me that this is all a big misunderstanding because you suffer from RBF?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Shay snickered. She couldn’t help it.
“Give me a few minutes of your time. In private. If you feel that threatened, you can always shoot me. You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I could shoot you now.”
The azhera nodded. “But you won’t.”
She arched a brow. “You’re so sure about that?”
“I don’t doubt you’re capable. But if you truly thought I was going to harm you, you would’ve shot me in that tunnel weeks ago.”
Shay stared at him for a moment, lips pressed together. Finally, she sighed, took several steps back, and waved him in with the blaster. Her arms were burning from holding it steady for so long, but she for damned sure wasn’t going to point it anywhere but at him. “Get in and shut the door.”
His ears perked slightly. Though it was a relatively subtle change, Shay had the impression that it was the result of deep surprise and delight he was trying to hide. Keeping his palms raised and facing her, the azhera stepped forward, stopping to press the button and close the door behind him once he was through the doorway.
He seemed even bigger now that he was inside her apartment. Her landlord, Vrisk, was at least half a head taller than this azhera, but she’d bet the azhera could rip that scaly son of a bitch to shreds with his bare hands.
“Weapons?” she asked.
“Only two.” Keeping his left hand raised, he slowly moved his right down to his belt. He flipped open a container behind the empty holster and removed a hilt identical to the one she’d found in the stolen belt. He tossed the hilt onto the floor near her feet.
“And the other?” Shay prompted. It wasn’t just her arms bothering her now; her feet were aching, and that discomfort was slowly working its way up her legs. And that wasn’t even counting all her now-typical pregnancy pains. Without letting the blaster waver, she backed up to the table.
The azhera’s brow furrowed as Shay lifted the utility belt—formerly his belt—off the back of the chair, laid it atop the table, and sat down. She rested her arms on the table, keeping the blaster trained on him, and stifled the relieved sigh that threatened to escape her. How could it feel so good just to rest her arms and take some weight off her feet?
His expression didn’t ease, and his gaze lingered on Shay as he slowly shrugged off his jacket, revealing a sleek, black prosthesis with red highlights that ended midway up his left bicep. He draped he jacket over his right arm and moved his right hand to the top of his prosthesis. His fingers pulled an unseen release. There was a soft hiss, a much louder click, and Shay’s eyes widened as he slid off his arm. The stump beneath ended several centimeters above the point where his elbow would’ve been and was capped with a curved metal brace that had an open socket on the bottom.
Without looking away from her, he walked forward and gently placed his prosthesis on the floor beside his discarded knife.
Shay stared at the prosthetic limb for a few seconds before raising her eyes back to him. “I…was not expecting that.”
“And I didn’t expect to find you at Foltham’s, but here we both are.” The azhera walked toward her, his pace measured, and grabbed the empty chair.
Shay leaned back in her own chair as he drew closer. She was wary of him, but there was no flare of panic, no wave of fear. Despite everything, she believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt her.
That didn’t mean she’d let her gua
rd down, though.
He dragged the chair backward until it was several meters from the table. He draped his jacket over the back of the chair and sat down. The chair groaned as he leaned back. Though he kept his right arm loose and relaxed, he moved the remnants of his left like it pained him to keep it still—or, perhaps, like he was uncomfortable to have it exposed. Overall, he assumed a casual posture, but his tail, which hung off the chair to one side, undulated restlessly.
“My name is Drakkal vor’Kanthar,” he said. “But just Drakkal is fine. You willing to share yours yet, or do I just keep calling you terran?”
Shay tilted her head. “We’ll see. How did you find me?”
“City surveillance. Used it to track you back here from the tram station.”
“Why?”
For a few seconds, his features were strained, and indecision danced across his expression. “I didn’t get you out of that place just to toss you into this city with nothing. I know how hard that is. I…was in a similar situation when I first came. But I had help.”
“Why me? Why not any of the others trapped there? All the others?”
Drakkal’s brow furrowed. “You were the only one I had the chance to save.”
Shay had a feeling that his response was only part of the truth—there was something more he wasn’t saying. She studied him a little closer, and when her eyes met his again, she recalled the heat, the desire, the need that she’d seen burning in their emerald depths. “So, you’re telling me it wasn’t to be your freaky sex slave? You just wanted to help a helpless female?”
That fire rekindled in his eyes, which searched hers for a few seconds before he spoke again. “You weren’t helpless.”
“You didn’t know that.” One corner of her mouth quirked. “Clearly.”
“I knew you were a fighter. I saw it in you right away.” He shook his head and made a sound partway between a grunt and a chuckle. “Didn’t expect you to rob me, but I wasn’t really surprised. You’re a survivor. All you needed was the right opportunity. And I do want you, terran. Just not as a slave.”
Keeping the gun trained on him, Shay cleared her throat and glanced away. That didn’t save her from the mental image of him standing in that maintenance tunnel with his long, thick cock jutting toward her. “That was obvious.”
Her gaze dipped to the tray of now cold, congealed food, and her lips pulled back in disgust before she returned her attention to him. “So after that pronouncement, why should I trust you?”
“Because you’re pregnant and alone in an alien city, living in a shithole.”
Though he was right, she couldn’t help taking some offense. “I’m surviving.”
“And I want to give you more than just survival.” He leaned forward, settling his elbow on his thigh. “I know what was in my pockets when you robbed me. Living frugally—like you are—you might get as much as four or five months out of it before it dries up. Considerably fewer if the owner of this dump takes advantage and adjusts your rent at a whim, like a lot of these gresh navari do. You can’t get real work because you were a slave and have no identity here. If you go for something legitimate, the authorities will be notified, and that’ll cause you trouble. So if you keep working jobs like passing out flyers and getting paid off the books, you might stretch your funds out to as long as half a year.
“But your cub will come before then, won’t it? And once that happens, it’s only going to get harder. How are you going to work with a little one? Who can you trust to care for your cub?”
Indignation swept through her. Her hand tightened around the blaster’s grip, but she kept her finger away from the trigger. The strength of the resentment burning inside her was unreasonable. He was right. Shay knew he was right, but that didn’t make hearing it any easier. As much as she’d tried to deny it, the fact was that she was floundering. There was little hope, no help, no sign of relief.
But this azhera—Drakkal—was offering her help. It was tempting, and it also ratcheted her suspicions up through the stratosphere—if this planet even had a damned stratosphere.
Nobody did anything for free.
“I freed you from that place,” Drakkal said, his voice low, deep, and oddly passionate. “I haven’t come after you for my belongings. And I literally disarmed myself for you. I’m not asking you to come to my slave dungeon to pleasure me, terran. I can give you a safe place to live and work that pays well. A chance to build a future, to build a present.”
“Why? You freed me, shouldn’t that be enough for your conscience? Why didn’t you just let me go and forget about me?” Her brows lowered as she stared at him. “You were looking for me before yesterday, weren’t you?”
His ears perked and flattened, and his tail sped. “I’ve looked for you every day since the first. I’ve scoured this city. I wasn’t lying when I said I want you, terran. You’ve consumed my thoughts.”
Drakkal stood up and stalked toward her, slowly but confidently, and once again, Shay had the impression of powerful muscles shifting beneath his clothing and fur. She watched him approach, her body frozen in something like awe, the blaster forgotten. When he reached the table—standing only a meter away from her now—he placed his right hand on the tabletop and leaned forward.
His scent—leather and sweet cloves underscored by something wholly, uniquely him—struck her, as potent as any drug she’d ever used. That scent was familiar by now, almost soothing. It was the smell that clung to the clothing she’d taken from him, the smell that lingered on his jacket, which, despite everything, she still had tucked away in her bedding. She hadn’t understood why she couldn’t part with it, only that it was her only comfort in this damned city.
“I want you and your cub safe and secure,” he said. “That’s my priority. The rest will happen naturally.”
“The rest?” she asked, mentally shaking off the effects of his nearness and scent even if her body couldn’t ignore them. Her thighs were squeezed together, her toes curled upon the floor, and something had kindled low in her belly, something that hadn’t sparked in months.
Was she…attracted to him? Attracted to an azhera?
“It’s in your eyes right now, terran, even though you’re resisting. That’s all right. I’m patient.”
Shay forcefully hardened her expression, but she couldn’t stop warmth from flooding her cheeks; he’d caught her with her guard down. “So certain, azhera?”
He slid his big hand across the table’s surface and settled it over hers, apparently unbothered by the blaster she was pointing at him. His palm was strong and rough but also warm and comforting. “I am.”
She swallowed, remaining completely still. She knew she shouldn’t have allowed him to get this close, knew she should’ve slipped her finger behind the trigger guard, knew she should’ve pressed the barrel to his chest…but she couldn’t. His eyes held hers, their slitted pupils expanding until there was only a thin ring of vibrant green around them.
For several seconds, Shay and Drakkal remained like that, with eyes locked and bodies connected in that small but somehow intimate fashion. Then Drakkal lifted his hand away and stood straight. Still moving with deliberate care, he dropped his hand to one of the pouches on his belt and opened it. Shay’s eyes widened, and her finger shifted toward the trigger.
He withdrew a small notepad and a pen.
Shay’s brow furrowed as he set the pad on the table, fumbled to get it open one-handed without releasing his hold on the pen, and then pinned it beneath the side of his large palm. He clicked the pen open and wrote something on the paper.
When he was done, he took the top of the little pad between the claws of his forefinger and thumb and held it toward her. “My contact information. Think about what I said.”
She didn’t move. He lifted the pad slightly, gently urging her to take the paper. Shay finally gave up the pretense. She wasn’t going to shoot him, and if he’d meant to harm her, he would’ve done so back in the tunnel that weeks ago. She laid the blas
ter on the table, keeping one hand over its grip but turning its barrel away from him, and used her free hand to tear off the paper. The characters printed upon it were in Universal Speech—and in surprisingly neat handwriting, despite the size of his hand compared to the pen and pad. It was a comm ID.
Drakkal tucked the pen and pad into their pouch and closed it. Once they were away, he fished a credit chip out of his pocket and placed it atop the table. “Whether you decide to take my offer or not, this should help you keep afloat for a while longer.”
Startled, Shay stared down at the credit chip. Her father had taught her from a young age to always be prepared and adaptable, to respond to unforeseen occurrences quickly and confidently. But she was caught off guard by this; her time on the wrong side of the law had taught her that people weren’t kind, weren’t charitable, weren’t willing to help others unless they somehow benefited from it. This…couldn’t be real. Nothing was given for free, not in her world.
But Drakkal wasn’t asking anything of her. He was simply giving.
She looked up at him. “Is this a trap?”
“It’s money,” he said flatly.
“You know what I mean. You use this as bait to lure me to you, honey to attract the fly, only to spring the trap once I arrive seeking aid. Nothing is free, azhera.”
To Shay’s surprise, she didn’t flinch away when he extended his hand and hooked a strand of her hair with his claw.
He lifted the hair gently and took it between his fingers, rubbing it between their pads. “Make no mistake, terran—I want you so much that it hurts, but I’ll help you however I can whether I have you or not. I want you safe above all else. All the rest is up to you, but you have no obligations to me.
“I understand your suspicions, your indecision. I understand your reluctance to trust. But you can trust me. All I need is the chance to prove it to you.”
He withdrew his hand—not without a hint of reluctance—and turned away from her, crossing the room to crouch over the items he’d placed on the floor. He returned the knife to its case before lifting his prosthesis. Rising, he moved the prosthesis into place. It clicked into its socket. He flexed his cybernetic fingers in the same way a person might’ve tried to work away pins and needles. And all the while, Shay watched him.
Untamed Hunger Page 10