She wagged the barrel of the blaster at him as she reached the end of the tunnel. “Don’t follow me, azhera.”
And then she stepped into a side corridor, vanishing from Drakkal’s view.
For several moments, Drakkal was frozen, his breath heavy and ragged, his cock aching and throbbing, as that internal war raged. He hadn’t gone to Murgen’s in search of a mate—he hadn’t even thought about seeking a mate for many, many years. What was the point of it?
But now that he’d found her, now that he’d scented her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Her threats didn’t make a difference. Drakkal would hunt for her, and he would find her. Because she was his.
All she’d accomplished here was to gain a small head start.
Drakkal shoved himself away from the wall and stalked after the terran, following her scent. Though her fragrance was so distinct, so intimately familiar to him already, the task was complicated by the simple fact that her smell had seeped into his fur through their clothing while they’d walked. He could scent it on the air, but it also wafted from him.
He turned into the doorway through which she’d vanished and hurried down a long, narrow corridor. It ended at a single sliding door—an elevator entrance.
“Vrek’osh,” he growled as he pressed the call button. This was more than a small head start.
Seconds ticked by. Drakkal clenched his fists and paced along the corridor, his tail swinging with increasing speed and erraticism.
“Come on,” he said through his fangs, mane bristling. Tension rippled through his muscles, filling them with anticipatory energy; he needed to run, to chase, to claim what was his.
The door began opening. Drakkal darted forward, forcing his way through the widening entryway and into the elevator car. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to carefully press the inside control to direct the elevator to the surface. The last thing he needed was to break the control panel and make the elevator inoperable. He’d already lost enough time.
The door closed, and the elevator began its rapid, softly humming ascent. The air was redolent with her fragrance, and his cock stirred again, twitching and pulsing with a resurgence of desire. He lowered his right hand to it and grasped his shaft, squeezing even though he knew it would only momentarily ease the pressure.
When the elevator stopped and the door opened again, Drakkal charged out like a ravenous beast released from its tether. He emerged in a dark, dank alleyway that let out on a brightly lit street ahead. His nostrils flared as he scented the air, drawing in the stench of metal, concrete, and garbage that suffused the city, the smells of the sweat and skin of countless alien species, the aromas of exotic perfumes and spices. He was interested only in one scent—the sundrinker fragrance—and it was so faint, so diluted, so overpowered by everything else, though the terran couldn’t have passed through here more than a few minutes ago.
He raced forward, ignoring the puddles underfoot, pausing only when he was out of the alley. He found himself on one of the many bustling retail streets of the Gilded Sector. People of various races, many of them well-dressed, walked along the edges of the wide street, which was lined with businesses presenting polished display windows and high-priced items. Across the street and about twenty meters to his left was a restaurant with an outdoor seating area that was cordoned off by forcefield walls. Sleek hover cars touched down and lifted off all along the street, dropping off and picking up well-to-do passengers.
Drakkal scented the air again but he could only detect the merest hint of the terran’s scent here. He turned his head from side to side, scanning the street for any sign of her. The jacket she’d taken from him wasn’t the pinnacle of fashion, but it was nice, and blended in well with the more casual of the pedestrians here—especially the ones who wanted to look tough. Paired with her smaller stature, which would allow her to fade into the crowd with ease, and the fact that she’d covered her golden hair with a hood, he had little chance of finding her.
A couple of grimacing ertraxxans made disgusted sounds as they walked past Drakkal, giving him a wide berth. Drakkal met their gazes and growled, baring his teeth and flexing his claws. The ertraxxans increased their pace.
Drakkal’s growl dragged out, rumbling his chest, as he resumed his search. His body seemed to be torn in both directions. She could’ve gone anywhere; there were dozens of pedestrian pathways here, most of them at least as busy as this one.
“Vrek’osh.”
More of the people walking nearby were staring at him now, many of them putting on airs of offense—as though they’d never seen a naked body before. His pulsing cock softened, but it only brought minor relief from its ache. He turned his head to the left; a pair of gold-and-teal armored peacekeepers were posted on the corner less than fifty meters away.
Public nudity wasn’t a crime in Arthos, but everything operated differently in sectors like this one. The city’s wealthy residents—like most of the people here—typically got their way when it came to things they deemed distasteful. Drakkal wasn’t foolish enough to think those peacekeepers would hesitate to drag him off whether he’d committed a crime or not.
He snarled and shook his head, ruffling his mane. He wanted nothing more than continue the chase, but the trail had already gone cold, and he wasn’t in the mood for a trip to the nearest Eternal Guard outpost.
You win this round, little terran.
He lifted his left arm, meaning to activate the holocom embedded in his prosthesis, but stopped himself. What good would it do to call for help now? He couldn’t very well stand here and wait for someone to pick him up, and he wasn’t eager for the conversation that would arise when one of his friends arrived.
So, Drakkal…you released a terran slave and let her steal everything—including the clothes on your back? And how much smaller than you was she, exactly?
Releasing a frustrated huff, Drakkal turned and walked toward his hovercar, ignoring the put-upon pedestrians in his way.
At least the car was less than two kilometers away; it would’ve been a long, long walk home otherwise.
Drakkal wasn’t surprised to see Arcanthus waiting near the interior door when he drove the hovercar into the garage. The sedhi was leaning against the wall, one leg bent, with his dark cybernetic arms folded across his chest. His smirk was reflected in all three of his black and yellow eyes.
Drakkal parked the vehicle and climbed out.
Arc’s eyes widened—and his smirk stretched into a grin. “Well, look wat the cat dragged in,” he said as Drakkal—still naked—approached.
“I told you to stop asking Sam for cat-related sayings,” Drakkal replied, stopping a couple paces away from Arcanthus.
“Sorry. That one just seemed purrfect.”
“Fuck you, sedhi.”
Arcanthus chuckled. “Taking out the claws early, I see.”
Drakkal ground his teeth together and spread his arms to either side. “Do I look like I’m in the mood?”
“You look like you’re in a mood, at least. I suppose things got feisty at old Murgen’s?”
That restless, fury-laced energy thrummed through Drakkal’s body. His arousal had cooled—albeit slowly—during the journey home, but his drive to hunt and claim his terran had intensified. His patience for everything, including his usual banter with Arcanthus, was frayed.
“Yeah.” Drakkal walked to the door, opened it, and strode into the corridor beyond.
Arcanthus fell into step behind him. “Naked and agitated, azhera? You have a story to tell.”
“Maybe when you’re ready to stop screwing around, Arcanthus.”
“Now I’m even more intrigued.”
Drakkal shook his head and increased his pace. “Fine. Let’s talk in your workshop.”
“Hold on,” Arcanthus snapped. One of his cybernetic hands came down on Drakkal’s shoulder.
A low, involuntary growl vibrated from Drakkal’s chest as he halted. He shrugged off Arcanthus’s hand and turned to face th
e sedhi. “What?”
“Samantha’s in there. You can’t go in like this.”
Drakkal’s brow furrowed. “You’re telling me to get dressed?”
“Well, you’re not going to parade around naked in front of my mate.”
Any other day, Drakkal would’ve seized this opportunity to tease Arcanthus, to get under his skin—it’s only because you know she’ll realize I’m more attractive than you or something like that. But today, having encountered the woman he was certain was his mate, he couldn’t bring himself to joke like that.
I want my terran.
Drakkal held out his right hand. “Give me your robe.”
Arcanthus’s eyes widened. “What? No. You have plenty of your own clothes in your room.”
“My room is on the other side of the building.” Drakkal began turning away. “Would rather just stop in your workshop on the way.”
“All right, all right!”
Normally, the corner of Drakkal’s mouth would’ve turned up in amusement at this petty victory, but he didn’t feel any amusement now. He turned back toward Arcanthus, who was scowling as he removed his silky crimson robe. The sedhi’s brows were angled down toward the bridge of his nose as he handed the garment to Drakkal—or rather shoved it hard against the azhera’s chest.
Drakkal took the robe by the sleeves and let it unfurl. He held Arcanthus’s gaze as he tied the robe around his waist, covering his groin with the main portion of the fabric.
Arcanthus’s expression darkened. “I expect that washed and de-furred before you return it.”
Drakkal gestured to Arcanthus’s long crimson loincloth. “Now we’re in matching outfits.”
The exaggerated look of disdain on Arc’s face should’ve been immensely satisfying, but it did nothing for Drakkal now. Part of Drakkal’s mind remained outside, scenting the air and searching for even the briefest glimpse of golden hair.
“Let’s get this over with,” Drakkal muttered. He turned and continued along the corridor. Arcanthus followed.
These halls were familiar by now, but Drakkal still hadn’t shaken the feeling that they were different. He and Arcanthus had moved their operation into this facility a little over a year ago, in the wake of their fallout with Vaund and the Syndicate, and though it was furnished similarly to their old home he couldn’t help noting all the things that weren’t the same.
He still wasn’t sure if that bothered him or not. This place was home, but he’d always felt it was lacking something.
My mate.
The deeper Drakkal went into the compound, the stronger his agitation grew. He should’ve been thinking about a hundred other things—like the botched deal, or the potential of Foltham seeking vengeance despite Drakkal’s threat to expose his illegal activities—but his mind repeatedly returned to his terran.
Drakkal entered the workshop just ahead of Arcanthus.
Samantha, dressed in leggings and an oversized hooded sweater, was seated on one of the couches. She looked up from the tablet she was drawing on and smiled at him. “Hi, Drak.”
This workshop was small compared to the one Arcanthus had kept in their previous base of operations, but Drakkal preferred it. This space was warmer, cozier. Arc’s desk—with its multitude of displays and controls—sat straight ahead, beyond the pair of dark red couches that were positioned to face each other. A counter with fabrication equipment, which Arcanthus used to create the physical ID chips, ran along the wall to the left. Sam’s desk was beside Arc’s; it was smaller and a bit cluttered, with several blotches of dried paint and a few bits of flattened, hardened clay marring its surface. The large cabinet behind it contained a variety of artistic tools. While she usually used her tablet, she’d also taken well to painting and, occasionally, sculpting.
Though Arcanthus had carried over the moody adjustable lighting and dark carpeting from his old workshop, this room seemed brighter and more welcoming. Samantha was largely to thank for that. She was also responsible for Drakkal’s favorite part of the room—the large, stone fire bowl hovering in the space between the two couches, crackling with holographic flames. It reminded him of older, simpler times.
Samantha’s gaze shifted past Drakkal to Arcanthus, and her smile took on a slight, mischievous tilt. “You two are wearing matching outfits.”
The smile that crept onto Drakkal’s lips was genuine, even if he didn’t feel the humor as fully as he should have. “That’s what I said. He’s upset because I wear it better.”
“Now you’re in the joking mood?” Arcanthus dropped onto the couch beside Samantha, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and draping his tail over her lap. She set her tablet on the cushion beside her and leaned against him.
Drakkal sat on the opposite couch, stretching his tail out beside him. Its tip lashed back and forth rapidly. The warmth emitted by the fire bowl, usually soothing and comfortable, made his skin prickle with heat. “No. I’m not.”
Samantha frowned, and Arcanthus’s expression softened.
“Well? What happened, Drak? Why’d you come home naked?” Arcanthus asked.
Samantha’s cheeks reddened. She cleared her throat and tilted her chin down, her hair falling over her face as though to hide. She’d been around the crew for a long time, was part of the family as much as anyone else, but she was still easily embarrassed—more often by what she said than what anyone else did. Drakkal understood well enough; Samantha was just a private person. She preferred to keep intimate matters between herself and Arcanthus.
“I was robbed,” Drakkal replied.
Simultaneously, both Arc’s and Sam’s eyebrows rose high.
“By who?” Arcanthus asked.
Gritting his teeth, Drakkal shoved himself off the couch. His ears flattened and his fur bristled as another wave of restlessness rippled through him. “A terran.”
“A terran robbed you?”
“It’s not like we’re completely harmless, Arc,” Samantha said gently.
Arcanthus turned his face toward Sam and brushed a finger along her jaw. “I know, little flower. You’re proof of that yourself.”
Drakkal paced from one end of the couch to the other and back again; it wasn’t enough to vent even a fraction of the energy building within him, but it was better than staying still.
“I sent you to the durgan’s for a simple delivery,” Arcanthus said.
Drakkal growled. “Murgen wasn’t interested in simple.”
Samantha snickered. “I know this isn’t the time, but…his name is Murgen the durgan? Does that sound ridiculous to anyone else here?”
“Murgen the durgan,” Arc echoed, grinning. “You’re right. It has a certain comedic ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Drakkal couldn’t argue that, but it wasn’t enough to ease his agitation. He needed to leave, to hunt, but how could he? The terran was one person in a sprawling city of billions. His first encounter with her had been so improbable as to have been nearly impossible, and the chances of another meeting were infinitesimal.
“Sorry, Drak.” Sam’s voice broke his thoughts. Her face was troubled, her concern genuine. “What happened?”
“I rescued a female terran from a fucking zoo,” Drakkal replied, struggling to keep his tone as even as possible, “and she took my gun and used it to rob me.”
Arcanthus lifted a hand to his face and covered his mouth. Mirth gleamed in all three of his eyes.
Drakkal jabbed a finger at Arc. “Don’t.”
Arcanthus shifted his hand, revealing one corner of his upturned lips. “But it’s so hard not to.”
“Kraasz ka’val, at least make an effort!”
Arc’s tongue slipped out to run over his upper lip. “Was this one of those mythical three-meter-tall terrans? Did she overpower little Drakkal?”
Drakkal halted his pacing, spun toward Arcanthus, and roared, “She’s my mate!”
Samantha and Arcanthus stared at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. Drakkal’s thundering heartbeat and ragged breaths ro
se in volume to fill the ensuing silence. Slowly, his frustration shifted, altering into a combination of despair and a crushing sense of helplessness. He clenched his fists, resisting those emotions. He wouldn’t allow himself to fall into that state of mind.
“That’s…an unexpected twist,” Arcanthus finally said. “Was this some sort of strange azheran foreplay? She steals from you, you track her down, then make love?”
“Yeah. Nothing turns me on like walking naked through the fucking Gilded Sector. She has no ID chip, and she’s not going to appear in any registries or databases. I don’t even have a name for her.”
“Oh. Well, we all face challenges.”
Samantha smacked Arc’s chest and glared at him.
Arcanthus winced and rubbed the spot she’d hit. “All right, sorry. I’m only teasing in what I can assure you is good nature.”
“Good,” Drakkal said, resuming his pacing. “Then it shouldn’t upset you to know that Murgen isn’t a customer anymore and the deal was cancelled.”
Arcanthus’s expression sobered. “What?”
Drakkal drew in a deep breath through his nostrils and told Arcanthus and Samantha everything—from his arrival at Murgen’s manor to his bare-assed walk to his hovercar.
When the story was done, Arcanthus sat with the bridge of his nose pinched between a forefinger and thumb. “That’s…”
“A blow to your precious reputation?” Drakkal suggested drily.
“Well, yes, but I was going to say unfortunate. Had I known about the whole slaves being kept in a zoo thing, I’d never have agreed to do business with him.”
“And Drakkal would never have known his mate existed,” Samantha said.
Arcanthus sighed. “What happened to don’t be stupid?”
“Did you ever once listen to that when you were after Samantha?” Drakkal asked.
“I thought about it, even if I didn’t always obey.”
Untamed Hunger Page 5
