Kraving Tavak (The Krave of Everton Book 4)

by Zoey Draven

  Finally, he chucked the device away from him and stalked from the warehouse, his legs striding down a familiar path as if on auto-pilot.

  Reji’s bar was on the outskirts of the main road. Ravu didn’t care for it much but Tavak liked the grime and the aging, groaning bones of it because it kept most away. The beings that frequented it kept to themselves, came to drink, came for the quiet companionship of knowing others like them were near, and then they left for the night. On occasion, beings from off-colony would come if they were staying on Dumera on the vessels at port. It was those that Tavak always kept a close eye on, especially around her.

  That night, he arrived later than usual to see such a being—one he didn’t recognize—with his wide belly to the bar, speaking with the human female. Stella.

  His jaw tightened. Though the entrance was out of her line of vision, it was like she sensed him near—which discomfited him in itself because he feared he knew why—because her gaze immediately tracked to him.

  His fists clenched at his sides when her wide, slow grin flashed and made his cock rise in his pants, like she alone controlled it. These days, that wasn’t entirely untrue. Tavak cursed under his breath and hurried to his usual stool at the end of the bar.

  Why do I vauking do this to myself? he often wondered.

  Not a moment later, a familiar shadow hovered opposite him and a steel goblet of Luxirian brew, sloshy black liquid and foamy at the top, dropped down in his line of vision. She’d filled it all the way to the top—though she’d been careful not to spill any over—and when his gaze rose, her dark eyes flickered back and forth between his own.

  She smiled.

  “You look like you could use a drink,” she murmured, voice throaty and absolutely sinful in the sweetest way possible. Tavak had often marveled that an unremarkable wisp of a human—which was what he first thought when he first encountered her two months prior—could have a voice like that. How wrong he’d been about her.

  It was her favorite joke. Tavak knew he was a surly bastard and probably looked like he could always use a drink.

  He didn’t say anything to her but he kept her eyes, wondering how long she’d linger tonight. He dragged his goblet towards him and lifted it to his lips, watching her eyes flash to them when he licked the foam away.

  He scented her arousal almost immediately. The male halfway down the bar probably could too. Humans always seemed surprised—and embarrassed—when other beings could scent it but he’d long realized how dull their senses truly were.

  Tavak wondered how much longer he could do this.

  Stella cleared her throat—a familiar human act which made him freeze—and met his eyes again. She didn’t hide her desire well but she hid it well enough. But Tavak had been a whore for over a decade and so he could spot desire, no matter how hidden, like others could spot the sun in the sky. It had always been obvious to him.

  No matter how subtle, she couldn’t hide that from him. He’d known she’d wanted him from that first moment, when she’d stumbled into him at the docking bay two months ago. He’d glared and growled, “Watch where you’re going,” but her lips had parted and her eyes had shone, not with indignation at his rudeness, but with interest.

  Tavak would’ve been wise to avoid her after that. She’d slipped from his mind almost as soon as he’d stalked away that day, but then she’d shown up at Reji’s bar, begging for a job from the older Reku’io male, who had half a mind to sell the land and leave Dumera for good to live with his son on an outpost nearby.

  But with Khiva’s labs, with Dumera as the base for firestone production, business was good. The bar was doing well and so Reji gave Stella the job. After a month of her doing well, Reji left to visit his son and wasn’t expected back for another few weeks.

  It was hard, laborious, tiring, dirty work, no doubt. But the human female had done it all, without complaint, and she still wore a smile for anyone who came in.

  “Another brew, female,” the outsider towards the middle of the bar suddenly slurred. He was an older Nzonitian and judging from his clothes worked in engineering on a vessel, stained as they were with black grease. “Make it extra strong.”

  “Of course,” Stella replied. “Right away.”

  What surprised him was that the Nzonitian hadn’t spoken in the universal tongue but rather in a hybrid language, a mix between old Luxirian which seemed to dominate these parts of the Quadrant, and Nzonitian. The crew language, it was called. Spoken mostly on smaller, diverse colonies like Dumera and on board larger merchant vessels.

  What surprised him was that Stella had spoken it right back. Effortlessly and perfectly accented in all the right places. What surprised him was that as much as she talked his ear off on slower nights, he realized that she’d never really spoken of where she’d come from. Her family. A mate, perhaps. Or of how she’d come to be on Dumera.

  And Tavak realized that that bothered him.

  “There any brothels here?” the Nzonitian asked, pressing himself into the bar as if he needed the stability. The other alternative was to fall in a heap on the floor. “I don’t leave until the morning.”

  Tavak stiffened at the question, his hand tightening on his goblet where it rested on the bar.

  Stella cleared her throat again, making Tavak’s shorn claws curl into the bar slab. “No. Not that I’m aware.”

  There was one, of course. There was always going to be one in a place like this. But perhaps Stella didn’t know about it. Or perhaps she was lying. He didn’t know.

  The Nzonitian harrumphed and snorted in irritation. Then his bleary, drunken eyes tracked down Stella. “You smell good enough, female.”

  Just as Tavak was about to pound the Nzonitian’s head into the unyielding slab of the bar, Stella’s laugh filled the bar. “How flattering,” she said, her voice soft yet Tavak heard the sarcasm laced in that gentle tone. “Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?”

  What was she doing?

  Tavak was tense and was openly glaring at the Nzonitian. As were others in the bar, he realized. Regulars. Beings who liked Stella. Beings who would protect her if need be.

  The Nzonitian didn’t realize any of this, however. He leaned forward, deafened to the edge in Stella’s voice. “Ten credits? I can bring you back to my ship.”

  Stella’s voice was even, almost politely conversational, as Tavak rose from his stool. “I’m not for sale. Never have been.”

  Tavak had been for sale nearly half his life. And during his time on Jrika, before Everton, he would’ve taken the ten credits and fucked whoever had offered it to him.

  Another life, he reminded himself. It had been a lifetime ago.

  The Nzonitian’s hand grabbed across the bar quickly, catching Stella by surprise when he snagged her wrist. He was touching her and she gave a sharp tug against the grip, her eyes flashing with something that made Tavak’s stomach roil.

  “Come on, I will—”

  It was fear in her eyes. And he’d never seen it there before.

  The Nzonitian’s words cut off in a rough howl as Tavak did what he’d imagined doing. He took the thick nape of the male’s neck and used it as leverage to slam his face down into the hard, thick bar. His hand released Stella. Tavak smelled the blood pouring from the male’s nose before he saw it, lime green and sharp, dripping into the puddle of spilled Luxirian brew, the goblet tipped over on its side.

  Stella’s gasp cut through the haze of his thoughts.

  “Don’t,” she told him.

  But Tavak was already hauling the groaning male up and away. Others stood from their seats—a few males he knew and respected—but they watched knowingly as he tossed the Nzonitian out the door, where he stumbled into the damp, clumpy road.

  “What the fuck,” the Nzonitian cried, glaring up at Tavak, who crossed his arms over his chest and leaned in the doorway.

  The male spit his blood out when it dripped into his mouth from his long, scaly nostrils.

  He climbed to
his feet, swaying, just as Stella darted outside, but hovered out of reach.

  “A fucking Keriv’i,” the Nzonitian snapped. “I didn’t realize I was encroaching on your business. If the female doesn’t want them, my credits are still good enough for you, aren’t they? They always are for a Krave.”

  Krave.

  Tavak froze.

  He hadn’t been propositioned directly since he’d arrived on Dumera. In fact, he hadn’t been propositioned in over ten years. On Everton, he knew what he was. He’d had clients with regular appointments. He hadn’t needed to negotiate for sex since Jrika.

  And with those ugly words, memories rose. Old emotions flashed hot in his chest, tight and hideous. He felt sick. He felt like he needed to soak in the bath for hours on end, scrubbing away at the slime that suddenly felt like it coated his flesh.

  His blood was rushing in his ears and all he saw was the Nzonitian. All he felt was the pain explode across his fists when it connected with the male’s cheek. He didn’t hear anything, only the pounding of his two hearts and the disgust rumbling in his chest. He didn’t hear Stella yelling for him to stop. He didn’t hear the hoarse yelps from the Nzonitian or the drunken laughter in between.

  And maybe he was more on edge because of what Ravu had told him earlier. The fear of it. But Tavak didn’t want to stop. The pain felt good. The pain felt so good.

  Then all at once, he stopped.

  He was breathing hard when he stepped away from the groaning lump of Nzonitian on the slick ground.

  “Get the vauk out of here,” Tavak growled, voice ragged.

  The Nzonitian didn’t wait. He scrambled against the ground, trying to find grip. He slipped a few times before he darted away, holding a hand up to his bleeding nostrils and, no doubt, tender face.

  Stella stepped forward to round on him with circular, careful eyes. “Are you okay?”

  She spoke in the universal language again. Her hands were hovering between them.

  “He frightened you,” was what he said, making her brows furrow. It wasn’t what he meant to say but the words slipped out regardless.

  “I had it under control,” she told him carefully. The most serious he’d ever seen her, except for when she was begging Reji to hire her. He was so used to her wide, sweet, open smile that the absence of it from her face seemed wrong.

  Tavak scowled. “He wanted to buy you.”

  “It isn’t the first time. And it won’t be the last,” she said easily. As if it didn’t matter. Tavak shook his head. He’d thought it wouldn’t bother him. If someone tried to buy him again. Now, his bloodied fists made a mockery of him. “I can handle myself. Trust me.”

  She stepped towards him but Tavak’s skin was still buzzing from the memories. His blood was rushing too fast, his hearts going.

  When she reached out, he felt her cool, soft palm sizzle against his scorching flesh. A jolt went through him. Heat followed. Her fingers pressed as she said, “Let’s get your hand cleaned up—”

  “Don’t vauking touch me again,” he growled, tearing himself away from her touch.

  “W-what?” she whispered, shocked, uncertain.

  Tavak didn’t want to be here. Not when the thick, humid night air felt suffocating. The thought of going back into the quiet bar, to see the spilled brew mingled with lime green blood, made him feel sick.

  He felt her eyes on him.

  “Don’t touch me again,” he repeated, his words clipped and tight. “Ever.”

  Her hands were held up in the air between them again.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I won’t.”

  Her words didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, they made him feel worse.

  He shouldn’t have come here this night. Not when he’d already been in a foul mood that had grown into something else entirely.

  With that thought, he turned down the road and left.

  Chapter Three

  “How much?” Stella asked, admiring the delicate green silk, the color of which reminded her of the forests of Old Earth. At least the color that was in the digital photos.

  Of course, no one living had ever seen the forests of Old Earth, which had been much more vibrant and green than any of the trees she’d seen on Genesis when she lived there.

  The vendor turned his nose up at her. A Jetutian, who had sized up her purse the moment she’d approached his stall. It was market day. Well, it was always market day, but that day in particular brought more traders in from around the Quadrants.

  She rubbed the silk through her fingers. Light as air and cool like water. She could only imagine how it’d feel as a dress, gliding over her skin on a hot Dumerian day. Longing hit her hard.

  “This is Kinoulo silk, female,” the Jetutian said, his words thick. “Hand spun and dyed by masters of the trade.”

  “How much?” Stella asked again, feeling her wide smile begin to waver, her hand lingering on the material, even though she could tell the Jetutian was restraining himself from slapping her hand away.

  “This swathe is worth 250 credits alone,” he growled, finally tugging it from her grip as if she were unworthy of touching it.

  Stella almost wanted to laugh. 250 credits? That was more money than she’d seen at once in her entire life. Reji paid her enough for food, considering he was letting her live in the room above the bar, and some weeks she had a little left over if the prices for fenura root were good.

  The Jetutian processed the look on her face with undisguised glee. She wondered how a Jetutian was in the business of selling Kinoulo products, as rare and coveted as they were, in a small, no-name colony like Dumera.

  Stella flashed him another smile, half-tempted to say she’d buy it just to see the look on his face.

  She had 12 credits to spare in her purse, everything she’d saved during her time on Dumera. The bar wasn’t opening until later in the evening and so she’d been determined to enjoy market day, to relax.

  After last night, she desperately needed to.

  She had 12 credits and she knew she needed to buy something practical. Like new material for pants since her second pair were worn between the thighs where they rubbed together. Even though the only material she could afford for 12 credits would be rough and scratchy. Still, it’d be durable. They would last.

  With one last longing glance at the silk, she turned from the stall and put the Jetutian from her mind entirely. She wouldn’t allow him to make her feel a certain way. She refused to.

  “He’s a bastard,” came a voice. When Stella turned, she saw a familiar Laoti female, lounging behind her own stall. “No one likes him.”

  Except she’d raised her voice until she was practically shouting across the aisle at the Jetutian male.

  “Fuck off, Lubbina,” the Jetutian growled.

  Lubbina ignored him.

  “And here I just thought he didn’t like me,” Stella said, approaching her stall.

  “Everyone likes you, Stella,” Lubbina said, surveying the stream of Dumerians who were walking down the main stretch of road of the market. “What are you looking for?”

  Stella told her, “New material. I need new pants.”

  Lubbina looked down at the ones she was wearing. She made a face. “Yes, you do.”

  Stella laughed. She was used to the Laoti female’s matter-of-fact demeanor. Most Laoti, in fact, didn’t beat around the bush, to use an old human expression.

  “Not these,” Stella said. “Believe it or not, these are my good pair.”

  Lubbina looked horrified and Stella leaned against her stall, resisting the urge to grab a plate that her friend was selling to fan herself with. The heat that swirled in her lungs felt suffocating.

  Lubbina pointed down the market road. “You see the stall with the banner?”

  Stella squinted. “The red one?”

  “Tell him I sent you. He’ll give you a good price on new material. The nice stuff.”

  “He’s a friend of yours?” Stellas asked, thinking of the 12
credits in her purse and wondering if even with a discount, it would be enough.

  Lubbina waved her hand. “I’m fucking him currently. He’s half-Luxirian, you know.”

  “Lucky you,” Stella said, biting back a smile, knowing what she was hinting at.

  Lubbina sighed, her eyes going a little starry. “I know.”

  If any male would be able to keep up with a Laoti, it would be a Luxirian. Then again, Stella had had her own brief affair with one, long ago, but he’d turned out to be a complete asshole. Good riddance.

  Lubbina’s gaze zeroed in on her, going from dreamy to hawk-like in the space of a second. “How are things with your Keriv’i? Have you fucked—”

  “No,” Stella said quickly because she knew that Laoti had a loud voice and zero filter. “No, I’d say he’s definitely not interested.”

  Last night, he’d made that abundantly clear but Stella tried to not let the memory of it ruin her day. But it had been hard to shake the shock, the sadness, the shame even, when Tavak had physically recoiled at her touch, like it was the worst thing in the universe to him.

  Maybe she’d read him all wrong.

  She felt like a fool because of it. But the most annoying thing was that she couldn’t shake her little crush on him. She’d liked him for two months now. Could those feelings really go away in the span of a night?

  “Really? Because he’s been looking at you since you first arrived,” Lubbina said, frowning.

  Stella blinked. “What?”

  Lubbina pointed, brazen and unashamed. Brow furrowed, Stella followed her finger to a small stretch of tables that decorated the shady part of the market, all surrounding one of the largest jivera trees she’d ever seen. It was the home of the archives, though she’d never been inside the hollowed out tree.

  And there was Tavak. Sitting at one of the tables, his long, thick limbs stretched out in front of him. Also at the table was another Keriv’i. One whose name she knew was Khiva because she’d heard it so often, spoken with reverence throughout Dumera. Keriv’i royalty, apparently, before their planet was destroyed during the last war. He was the creator of firestones, which was impressive in itself.