Nostrus groaned as his eyelids fluttered open, head lolling.
Drakkal fished a credit chip out of his pocket—unmarked and untraceable, the only sort he used—and briefly linked it to his own holocom to load it with credits.
The read out ticked up to one hundred and eighty-thousand credits.
He flicked the credit chip onto the floor in front of Murgen. “Your payment. She’s mine now. Forget that, and there will be consequences. Let this be proof—you’re not untouchable.”
THREE
The female terran’s scent would’ve been all Drakkal could focus on were it not for the feel of her supple little body tucked against his side. When he’d first put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, her tension had been unmistakable, but she’d offered no protest—unlike Murgen Foltham, who’d blathered on and on as Drakkal had walked the female out of the cell. Only the closing door had silenced the durgan.
In fact, the terran hadn’t said a word as, following the map on Murgen’s holocom, they’d driven the hovercart to a rear exit that led from the zoo into the Undercity’s maintenance tunnels. They’d been unable to take the cart beyond that point, and Drakkal had left Murgen’s destroyed holocom on the driver’s seat.
Drakkal glanced over his shoulder. The dimly lit tunnel stretched on behind him, as empty as it had been since they’d entered it. These tunnels crisscrossed Arthos, providing discreet pathways to the savvy.
Though being forced to travel on foot had slowed them down, Murgen’s predicament likely hadn’t been discovered yet.There was still time. And if things came down to a fight before they made it back to the hovercar, Drakkal had Nostrus’s blaster strapped to his belt.
The terran was as much a distraction as she was a motivation. Drakkal had to remain mindful of potential pursuit, had to ensure they were following the correct path through these confusing tunnels, had to keep the terran safe—all while his groin ached and his cock struggled against the restraint of his pants.
Apart from his ceaseless battle against lust, this all seemed too easy. They’d walked out the back door of Foltham’s zoo unchallenged—no guards, no alarms, just a blast door that had opened after a prompt from the stolen holocom. Was Foltham’s security truly so lax, or was there more to it?
Arrogance. Thatgresh navarilikely never imagined anyone would have the balls to pull something like this.
The female, too, didn’t seem quite right. She’d been quiet and cooperative thus far. Where was the fierce little creature Murgen had described? Where was the warrior who’d injured several security guards? She was Drakkal’s mate—there was no denying that—but she was more than she appeared. She was cunning, and Drakkal knew nothing about her. He needed to remain wary.
Don’t be stupid.
Or stupider, anyway.
And yet his attention continually returned to her lovely scent, to her delectable little body—how he craved to peel off the jacket and bare her skin to him again, to feel that skin against him—and the fleeting, random brushes of her soft, warm breath over his fur.
Focus. Time to start thinking this out.
They’d escaped Murgen’s manor, but the danger hadn’t passed. Drakkal had crushed Murgen’s holocom and left it withthe hovercart to avoid having it traced, but there was at least one other means by which Drakkal and the terran could be tracked.
He halted, placed his hands on the female’s shoulders, and guided her to stand in front of him, facing ahead. She attempted to pull away, but Drakkal held her firmly in place. He took extra care with his prosthesis; though he’d had the cybernetic limb for a year, he still sometimes underestimated its strength, and he had no desire to harm this female.
“Be still,” he said. He slid his right hand up her neck, sweeping aside her long, golden hair to press his fingertips over her spine.
She stiffened. “What are you doing?”
Drakkal paused, ears perking. Though her voice was hard, demanding, and guarded, it was also amongst the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard. His hunger for her intensified.
Clenching his jaw, he forced his fingers up slowly, moving them toward her skull. “Murgen likely implanted a tracker in you. Most of his type do that with their slaves.”
“I’m not a slave.”
Drakkal halted his fingers when he felt a tiny nub beneath her skin; it moved when he shifted his finger from side to side. “Something tells me he sees it differently. Hands on the wall.”
She turned, raised her hands, and flattened them against the wall. “The last guard who told me to put my hands on the wall wound up with a broken arm.”
Drakkal guided her head forward until her forehead also rested against the wall. The threat she’d made was as comical as it was endearing, given their size difference. Her bravado was almost enough to heighten his desire, but he’d been a fighter for long enough to know not to underestimate anyone based on size alone.
“You’ll want to try breaking my arm in a second,” he said, “but you’d just hurt yourself more.”
She widened her stance and took a deep breath. “Whatever it is you’re going to do, do it.”
He gathered her hair together, twisted it into a loose bundle, and moved it aside, clearing the patch of skin where he’d felt the tracker. Placing his right hand on the side of her neck with his fingers beneath her jaw and his thumb pressed against the back of her skull, he forced her head forward to a sharper angle; her resistance was brief but surprisingly strong.