That last sentence dissuaded her from believing he was after nothing more than a fuck. There was something he wasn’t telling her, something that shone in his eyes as he looked at her, something underlying the way he moved that said it took everything in him to keep from pouncing on her. Something that said he was on the verge of having his way with her despite how gentle and controlled he’d acted.
More than that, it said she would’ve loved every moment of it.
Shay quickly pushed those thoughts aside.
Whatever his intent, she didn’t believe he was out to hurt her or her baby, and that was what mattered.
Picking up the credit chip, she curled her fingers around it and glanced at the food tray. The thought of having to take another bite from one of those cheap meals—not that she could imagine anyone of any species considering this real food—sent a shudder through her. As though in agreement, the baby gave Shay’s belly a little kick.
Shay smiled. “No, we’ll eat good tonight. I promise.”
Opening her hand, she looked at the chip in her palm, then turned her gaze to the piece of paper, her smile fading.
She had a decision to make, but she didn’t need to make itnow. Drakkal was giving her time to think. And though she was tempted to call him that instant and accept whatever it was he was offering, whatever it was that would keep her and her child safe, whatever it was that would guarantee a future for her baby, she had to think rationally. She had to know he was trustworthy.
But something inside her already said he was.
SEVEN
Nostrus drew in a measured breath and clasped his hands behind his back. He fought back numerous physical manifestations of his frustration—like the way his lower jaw nearly shifted forward, the way his tongue itched to slide across the fronts of his teeth, or the way his fingers twitched to curl into fists that would tremble with a primal desire to do harm. Allowing any one of those slips would be like blasting a hole in a dam; what would follow would be far worse.
A sharp pain skittered through his right hand, a reminder of the injury he’d suffered during his moment of utter failure. Even care from the best medical professionals and equipment in Arthos—including tristeel rods to reinforce the bone—hadn’t been enough to eliminate that ache.
The passage of three weeks hadn’t eased his anger.
“Nonsense,” Master Foltham said with a throaty chuckle. “You’ll come for lunch, and we’ll settle on the details face to face. I’m sure you can agree that’s the best way for such matters to be resolved.”
The small holographic image over Master Foltham’sdesk—the xendur named Gau’cil to whom he was speaking via the commlink—shifted in Nostrus’s peripheral vision as the xendur’s large, flexible bone head crest stood forward. Nostrus kept his gaze fixed on one of the wall panels ahead and allowed his mouth just enough movement to clamp his teeth on his tongue.
It's not my place to interrupt.
But that was wrong, wasn’t it? He was Murgen Foltham’s personal bodyguard and chief of security. His job, his purpose, was to assess and anticipate risks and protect his employer from them. He had a duty to speak up and make Master Foltham aware of the security risk posed by his invitation to Gau’cil. Yet Nostrus held his tongue, focusing on the pain of his bite, because he knew Master Foltham would only be annoyed by any interruption to hisbusiness.
Foltham would say,Don’t mind Nostrus. He’s the best in the business, but he’s a touch overzealous at times.And Nostrus would have no choice but to bite his tongue anyway because he knew even a dismissive comment like that was more praise than he deserved.
He was lucky to have maintained his position after the incident with the azhera. Hell, he was lucky to be employed here at all. He was as grateful for that as he was ashamed. It was a bitter thing to hold a position he no longer deserved.
“Very well, Foltham,” Gau’cil replied. “It is wise to conclude our business in person. All matters of true importance are determined thusly.”
“I’ve an opening the day after tomorrow,” said Master Foltham.
“Then let it be so, my friend. I will bring my wares, that you may peruse them personally.”
Nostrus released a long, slow breath. At least he’d have time to prepare this time. The azhera’s arrival had been anunexpected thing—as soon as Master Foltham had learned that the ID chip he’d wanted was ready, he’d insisted the forger send it over at once. Nostrus’s team had been informed a mere ten minutes before the azhera’s arrival, leaving them no time to make the sorts of arrangements and inquiries he normally would before the arrival of any guests.
Master Foltham’s decisions were often impulsive, but he demanded full compliance regardless of the difficulties his rash choices created. A former member of the security team had called such decisionsMurgen specials. That guard had been promptly fired and blacklisted by every security firm in Arthos.
But he hadn’t been wrong.
“I’ll have one of my people contact you tomorrow with instructions,” Master Foltham said. The glowing hologram over his desk vanished.
“Sir, I must strongly advise against inviting the xendur into your home,” Nostrus said with as much care and firmness as he could manage simultaneously.
Master Foltham laughed. “You worry too much, Nostrus. Everything will be fine.”
“After what happened, sir, I?—”
“Come sit, my boy. No need to converse from across the room.”