Untamed Hunger

by Tiffany Roberts

  “What am I doing, Baby? How are we going to survive?” The words slipped out without thought, but they were true.

  How could I think I could do this on my own?

  Anger, frustration, and helplessness swelled within her and tightened her throat, making her fight for every breath.

  What would Dad think if he saw me now?

  Something tickled her cheek, and Shay brushed it away with her fingers. She was startled when she realized what it was—tears. She was crying. When was the last time she’d cried?

  Six years ago, when my mother—

  Another tear fell, followed by another, and another; once they’d begun, they wouldn’t stop. Shay bowed her head in defeat as she cried, taking in shuddering breaths between her sobs.

  “What I am going to do?” she asked, voice thick with emotion. “I can barely take care of myself. How I am going to take care of you, too? How am I g-going to give you everything you deserve? Because you sure as hell don’t deserve this.”

  Tears dripped from her chin, but she ignored them as she cradled her belly.

  After her father’s death, Shay had decided that she could take care of herself, that she didn’t need anyone. Not even her mother. It had been a lie, and it was a lie she carried with her for years. She had done all right for a long while—not that most of what she’d done to get by had been particularly good. But right now… Right now, she felt like she really needed someone. She felt…so alone. She was scared—scared for herself and for her baby, and she knew she couldn’t keep living like this. She had more than herself to worry about now. There was a life growing inside her.

  What is something happens to me?

  The thought wrenched a fresh sob from her and made her cry harder.

  If something happens to me…what would become of my baby?

  “I’ll figure something out,” she said, stroking the side of her stomach as she sniffled. “I swear, I promise you, I’ll make things better for you.”

  If only she knew how.

  Five

  Drakkal kept his fists clenched at his sides as he stalked toward Arcanthus’s workshop. Frustration, disappointment, worry, lust, and a small but resilient glimmer of hope were locked in a massive struggle, clouding his mind and making rational thought almost impossible. Currently, frustration was the frontrunner.

  Somehow, he retained enough willpower to resist the most destructive of his urges—like raking the hardlight claws of his prosthesis along the wall to tear deep gouges in the material, or slamming his armored shoulder into a door to dent the metal and break the door off its sliding track, or punching a wall until his hand was numb and bleeding. None of that would provide any relief beyond a temporary, ultimately insignificant catharsis, an expelling of a modicum of the blazing, hungry energy thrumming through his body.

  He growled. He’d been so close. So fucking close.

  His body had reacted to the terran; his instincts had surged the instant he’d turned to discover that the sundrinker scent on the air hadn’t been a figment of his imagination, that she was there, that she was touching him. He might’ve maintained control had things gone differently. He might’ve maintained control if she hadn’t run.

  Her flight had triggered instincts Drakkal could not ignore, had roused his desires to a feverish heat. His muscles had swelled—along with his cock—and his senses had sharpened. There’d been no choice but to give in, no choice but to give chase.

  This was the aftermath—all this strength, all this energy, all this heat, and all for nothing. The prize he’d been meant to claim was lost. The relief he’d been meant to receive had been snatched out of his grasp. And his body refused to relax, his blood refused to cool.

  She’s not going to disappear again. I won’t accept it.

  Drakkal snarled as he reached the workshop door. His instincts demanded he go back out there to continue the search for his terran, for his mate, but he knew that wasn’t the way to find her now. Any trail he could follow had again gone cold. But there was hope—he just couldn’t take advantage of it on his own.

  That realization was a bitter one, further confusing the maelstrom of emotions whirling through him.

  Tensing the muscles of his right arm, he pressed the access button on the wall.

  The door slid open freely. He couldn’t deny his pang of disappointment for not having an excuse to break it down.

  As Drakkal strode into the workshop, his nostrils flared with a heavy exhalation that did nothing to vent his frustration or ease the tightness in his chest.

  Arcanthus was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his cybernetic legs propped on the desktop and his matching prosthetic hands folded over his abdomen. He turned his attention away from the holographic displays in front of him and met Drakkal’s gaze.

  “Oh, no. You have that look again,” Arcanthus said with a sigh.

  Drakkal strode across the room, ignoring his rogue urges to tear into the couches with his claws.

  “So what is it this time, Drakkal?”

  Drakkal walked past the desks and paced in the space behind them. His ears, already low, flattened against his head, and the claws of his right hand were dangerously close to piercing his palm. His lips peeled back, baring his teeth, but only a growl emerged.

  “Cat’s got your tongue?” Arcanthus asked.

  Limbs nearly trembling with a fresh swell of rage, Drakkal spun toward Arcanthus. “Kraasz ka’val, you don’t know when to quit, do you?”

  For a few seconds, all he could think about was knocking that smirk off the sedhi’s face.

  That smirk only grew as Arcanthus lowered his legs and turned his chair to face Drakkal. “I certainly don’t. And neither do you. You went looking for her again, didn’t you?”

  “Found her this time.” The heat and pressure in Drakkal’s chest intensified as he recalled the feel of his fingertips brushing over the hood of the terran’s coat. He raised his right hand, holding his palm toward the ceiling with fingers partly curled. “Had her right here.”

  Arcanthus hummed thoughtfully. “But you botched it, didn’t you?”

  Drakkal growled and lunged forward, slamming his hand down onto Arc’s desk. His claws clacked against the desk’s metal surface. “I didn’t botch anything!”

  Arcanthus didn’t so much as flinch. His smirk faded, but a tiny, mischievous glint lingered in his eyes. “And yet here you are, upset and alone.”

  “I’m not upset.”

  “You don’t have to admit it. It’s clear in your every action, right down to your posture.”

  “We’re not doing this right now, Arcanthus.”

  Arcanthus tipped his head back and studied Drakkal from head to toe—and simultaneously from toe to head, as the third eye at the center of his forehead moved in the opposite direction of the other two. He reached up and delicately tucked a loose strand of hair behind one of his horns. “It’s all right to ask, Drakkal.”

  Drakkal’s brow furrowed, and the fires of his frustration cooled ever so slightly beneath a mist of confusion. “Ask what?”

  “For help.”

  “I was already going to do that.”

  “Of course you were,” Arcanthus replied, rolling his lower eyes. “You’ve never once asked for even the tiniest bit of help, Drakkal.”

  With a grunt, Drakkal dragged his hand off the desk, claws scraping the polished metal with a brief, high-pitched whine. “I was going to ask you, you horned asshole. That’s why I’m here!”

  Smirking again, Arcanthus shook his head. “I know you’re just trying to spare yourself the shame of not having the courage to ask before I prompted you. You azhera and your pride.”

  Drakkal lifted his hands and curled them into impotent firsts as he gritted his teeth.

  The terran has had me out of sorts for weeks. Normally I wouldn’t let Arc get to me so easily… Normally, I’m the one getting under his skin.

  Though that thought didn’t eliminate the emotional torrent within
Drakkal—it didn’t even slightly diminish the storm—it restored a bit of his self-control.

  “Let me correct myself, sedhi—I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. You’re helping me.”

  “Why should I, if that’s the attitude you’re going to take?” Arcanthus asked with a shrug. He turned his chair back toward his desk. His lingering smirk suggested he was taking far too much pleasure in this.

  “Samantha,” Drakkal replied through his teeth.

  Arcanthus snapped his head to the side to glare at Drakkal, his expression instantly darker. “Even in jest, I won’t tolerate any threats to her, azhera.”

  “Vrek’osh, I’m not threatening her. I’d never harm Samantha. Do you remember how you acted when you first found her? When you realized what she was to you?”

  Arcanthus frowned. “I acted like a damned fool.”

  Drakkal nodded. “More so than usual. But once you told me what she was to you, what did I do?”

  “You called me stupid.”

  “After that, damn it.”

  “You helped. Which, for the record, is what I was about to do for you. I just can’t resist a chance to get your fur in a tangle.”

  “Only thing that’s going to get tangled here is my hands around your neck, sedhi.”

  Waving a hand dismissively, Arcanthus turned his chair forward again. “You’re sure about this terran, Drak?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are the odds? First that zenturi, then me, and now you. Terrans are one of the smallest alien populations in this city, and yet all of us are finding them as mates. Who do you suppose will be next? Thargen?”

  Drakkal grunted; the thought of Thargen with a terran mate almost made the corner of his mouth twitch upward, but it wasn’t quite enough to break through his current mood.

  “It’s just that you’ve been down this road before,” Arcanthus continued. “I only saw the aftermath of that a few years after it happened, but you were in a bad place because of it for a long, long time.”

  Drakkal caught his lower lip between his teeth and bit down, breathing out slowly to keep himself from making an angry retort. “This is different.”

  “How do you know? Clearly, this female isn’t interested.”

  “Because it is, Arc. It just is. It smells different, feels different… I feel different. She’s roused instincts in me that I’ve never experienced before. There’s no comparison between what I had back then and what I feel now. You ready to shut up and help yet?”

  “Fine, fine.” Arcanthus shifted his attention to the many displays on his desk. “What do you want me to do?”

  Drakkal moved to stand behind Arc and watch over the sedhi’s shoulder. “Hack the city surveillance system again.”

  Arcanthus snickered. “We tried that the night you came home bare-assed. Lost her less than a minute after she left that alleyway.”

  “This time will be different.”

  “How can you know that?”

  Drakkal clamped his jaw shut for a second. “I don’t. But it has to be. I ran into her on Orcus Street in the Viraxis sector about four hours ago.”

  “That can be a rough part of town.”

  “They can all be rough. You going to do it or not?”

  “Of course, azhera. You know it always excites me when you ask me to break the law,” Arcanthus said with amplified huskiness in his voice.

  “You break the law on your own every day.”

  Arc’s fingers flew through the control screens on the displays, navigating options and commands faster than Drakkal could follow. “Yes, but that’s for money, not for you. This is completely different.”

  Drakkal folded his arms across his chest and forced himself to remain in place despite his restlessness and agitation. “Just get to it.”

  “I am.” Arcanthus continued inputting commands, pausing only to bring up another display. “But it’ll take a few minutes. Might as well tell me what happened while you’re waiting.”

  Drakkal grasped the armored plate that encased the bicep of his prosthetic arm with his right hand and squeezed; his brain registered the pressure and warmth through his neural connections with the limb, and he could even make out a hint of his palm’s texture, but it wasn’t the same as feeling it with his own flesh. It would never be the same.

  He’d had a year to adjust to the cybernetic arm thus far, and over that time he’d developed a new admiration and respect for Arcanthus—who’d had to wear similar prosthetics on both arms and legs for better than a decade.

  “Was out searching when I caught a hint of her scent,” Drakkal said. “Tried following it, but the air was too saturated with other smells to get a clear trail. As I was walking, I passed a female handing out flyers for some show. She grabbed my arm to get me to stop…and it was her.”

  “You walked right past your mate?” Arc’s tone was light with amusement.

  “She had a hood on, and like I said, it was hard filtering her scent through everything else.”

  “Fortunately, she grabbed you.”

  One of Arcanthus’s displays changed. Drakkal recognized the gold and teal seal of the Eternal Guard in the upper left corner. The Eternal Guard maintained a massive network of surveillance devices throughout Arthos, though many areas of the Undercity were only lightly covered—and there was almost no Eternal Guard surveillance in the Bowels, which lay below the Undercity.

  “We didn’t recognize each other until I turned around. Then she took off running. I chased her through the crowd but lost her in the tram station.” Drakkal inhaled deeply. “At one point, I almost had her. Almost grabbed hold.”

  “Is this the street?” Arcanthus asked.

  Drakkal leaned closer to study the still image Arcanthus had brought up on the main holo screen. “That’s it. Think she was around Burik’s Meat Emporium.”

  With a few flicks of his fingers, Arcanthus opened three more holographic displays, each showing Orcus Street from a different angle. He manipulated the feeds until all were focused on the street in front of Burik’s Meat Emporium.

  “There,” Drakkal said, heart skipping a beat. He leaned closer still and extended an arm to point out the small, hooded figure with an armful of flyers.

  Arcanthus adjusted the display to zoom in on the terran and scrubbed through the feeds simultaneously. The crowd around her moved at an accelerated speed; Arcanthus didn’t slow the recording until a broad-shouldered figure with an armored cybernetic arm came into view.

  “So, she doesn’t even come up to your neck, but she outran you?” Arcanthus asked.

  “Just keep going,” Drakkal said distractedly. His attention was held by the image on screen—the terran’s hand on his arm. He wished it had been for a good reason, wished it had been because she wanted to see him, touch him, and share his company.

  Startlingly, Arcanthus complied without comment.

  Drakkal’s heartbeat quickened as he watched the chase. He was so focused upon her and the way she moved that he barely noticed himself plowing through the crowd behind her. He’d not seen faces or people on that street—only obstacles between himself and his mate. But all his strength and speed hadn’t been enough. He’d drawn close to her, but never close enough.

  The angle shifted as Arcanthus jumped to different camera positions, following the terran’s progress down the street. Drakkal curled his fingers into a fist as the recording showed the terran jump atop the staircase divider leading into the tram station, tightening his grip further as the display showed his fingertips brush across her hood.

  Just a few more centimeters would’ve been enough.

  The recording continued, following the terran down the sloped divider. Drakkal narrowed his eyes as the terran plunged into the crowd—leaving the tralix she’d bumped into with a parting slap on the backside. Drakkal clenched his teeth, and a deep, involuntary growl rose from his chest. Heat spread outward from his core, renewing his agitation. He could find that tralix, could find him and—

  T
he terran slipped into the tram and vanished from the images. Arcanthus switched the main display to a feed from inside the tram car. Drakkal frantically searched the crowd on the screen, breath growing ragged, but he couldn’t see her, just like when he’d been there in person, and he was going to lose her again.

  Vrek’osh, what’s wrong with me?

  “The other side,” he said, voice hoarse and tongue dry. “She went out the other side of the tram.”

  Arcanthus changed the main feed again to display the outside of the tram from the opposite side of the station. Just as the tram’s doors began to close, the terran darted out of the car. She turned back as Drakkal appeared on the other side of the doors’ view windows.

  “Oh, Drakkal,” Arcanthus sighed, shaking his head.

  The tram pulled out of the station.

  “Keep following her,” Drakkal said, bracing one hand on Arc’s chair and the other on the desk as he leaned his face closer to the screen, closer to the image of his mate.

  “Drakkal, I don’t think—”

  “Keep following her!” Drakkal snarled. Arcanthus’s chair creaked and groaned within Drakkal’s tightening grasp. “I need to know where she went. Where she is now.”

  With a heavy exhalation, Arcanthus continued the recording. He switched camera feeds regularly to keep the terran in view as she exited the tram station and made her way through the crowded streets, subtly checking for pursuit as she moved. Though Arc played the recording at a faster-than-normal speed, the terran’s pace clearly slowed as she traveled, and she soon developed a noticeable limp.

  Drakkal’s lips fell into a deep frown; the tightness in his throat and chest was no longer the result rage but of sorrow and helplessness, of guilt. His mate was suffering, and he couldn’t comfort her.

  His mate was suffering, and he’d caused it.

  Her route was meandering, including a stop for food, but she eventually reached what seemed to be her ultimate destination—a big, rundown apartment building two sectors away from Viraxis. She entered the building, and Arcanthus paused the playback a few seconds later.