Untamed Hunger

by Tiffany Roberts

  Drakkal twisted slightly to look back at her. Fire still blazed in his eyes, but there was something else there, too—a glint of sorrow, perhaps, or of hesitancy. It was as though he didn’t want to leave. “I’m available any time. Just call.”

  That said, he grabbed his jacket and walked toward the door.

  Before his hand reached the control, she spoke, forcing her name past her lips. “Shay Collins.”

  He paused and bowed his head slightly, ears turning slightly. “What?”

  “My name. It’s Shay Collins…but just Shay is enough.”

  Drakkal looked at her over his shoulder. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile; the expression was so disarming, so charming, and it completely changed his whole face. The heat in Shay’s belly surged through her, quickening her pulse.

  “Good to finally meet you, Shay Collins.” He faced forward again and pressed the control. The door slid open, and he didn’t waste any time in walking through. It closed a few seconds later.

  The apartment felt suddenly colder, emptier, and larger with him gone.

  And she didn’t like it one bit.

  She didn’t even know him, not really, but he’d been so gentle…and he’d made such an impression upon her, had such a commanding presence, that she couldn’t help wanting him to come back. He’d turned up while she was sinking to what felt like a new low and offered her everything she needed. She knew it was too good to be true, it had to be, but the hope he’d instilled in her was undeniable. Despite her wariness, she’d felt safe with him near.

  He seemed like an entirely different person than he’d been yesterday. She couldn’t shake the memory of his ferocity as he’d plowed through the crowd, but was there a different way to interpret what had happened? He’d been gentle with her when he’d taken her from Murgen, too. Even after she’d robbed him for his efforts. He’d seemed a bit frustrated, but not angry. He’d even flirted while she had a gun aimed at him. Hell, he’d had an erection!

  Only because he’d been perving out on me while I was naked.

  Hypocrite, a voice from the back of her mind shouted.

  She’d taken her time studying his body after she’d had him strip. She was just as much of a perv as he was. She’d never looked at an azhera that way before. There were plenty of his kind on Earth, and she’d worked with a couple over the years, but she’d never had a sexual thought about any of them—not that she’d found anything wrong with their appearances. Shay had just been involved in a relationship—one that had lasted a couple years too long in its two-year existence.

  So why did her body react so strongly to this azhera?

  There were humans on Earth who were involved in interspecies relationships, but it wasn’t necessarily commonplace. Shay had just never personally seen the appeal. Drakkal was covered in fur, and some of it—especially around his shoulders and his chest—was downright shaggy. She’d never found body hair that attractive…

  But it’s not hair, is it?

  Part of her wondered if his fur was softer than it looked. She could picture herself running her fingers over it, through it, could imagine herself enjoying its feel against her skin, against her palms as she grasped it while they—

  Shay groaned at the insistent throbbing between her legs. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

  She needed to take her mind off this. Off him.

  With a frown, she looked at the credit chip on the tabletop and slid her fingers to it. She pressed the tiny button on its top. Her heart skipped a beat at the number on the display.

  “That can’t be right,” she said breathlessly, pressing the button again when the display timed out. But there it was again. The amount was greater than all the credits she’d found in Drakkal’s pants combined.

  Why would he do this? He’d said he wanted her, and she wholeheartedly believed that; he’d made no effort to hide his attraction for her. But she hadn’t agreed to anything. Drakkal had no guarantee that he’d have her. And what was the extent of his want, anyway? How deep did it run? Was he just after a quick rut to satisfy his curiosity?

  Make no mistake, terran—I want you so much that it hurts, but I’ll help you however I can whether I have you or not. I want you safe above all else.

  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 it now. 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’s desk—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 his business.

  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 a
s 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 an unexpected 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 decisions Murgen 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.”

  Nostrus pressed his lips together and nodded. He turned toward Master Foltham, walked forward, and seated himself in one of the chairs facing the desk. Posture rigid, he grasped the arms of the chair, which only renewed the pain in his right hand. Tension claimed every centimeter of his body.

  “Ease yourself, Nostrus.”

  “With respect, Master Foltham, I find my current level of stress justified.”

  Master Foltham hummed thoughtfully, swelling the excess flesh beneath his chin. “For what reason?”

  Nostrus only barely maintained a neutral facial expression. “The azhera, sir.”

  “Ah. He’s certainly disrupted things, hasn’t he?”

  “I failed you, sir,” Nostrus said through his teeth. His qal, the intricate markings on his skin, heated in shame. “You have graciously allowed me to continue my service, but the fact of my failure remains.”

  Master Foltham leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands over his prodigious gut. “Your father was my loyal protector for many years. You’ve filled that same role for”—he glanced at the ceiling, his thick lower lip jutting outward—“has it really been eighteen years? Longer than even your father, now. And you’ve been in my house much longer than that.”

  Nostrus nodded; he could trust himself with no other response. He’d accepted his current position upon his father’s death, had accepted it as his purpose, his duty, and if he allowed himself to reflect upon the shame he’d brought upon his father’s once-proud name…

  “One mistake in all that time is hardly worthy of harsh reprimand. Your loyalty is worth far more than that,” said Master Foltham.

  Not when a single mistake on my part could mean the end of your life, sir.

  Nostrus gave no voice to that thought. He knew Master Foltham understood that truth, though he sometimes seemed oblivious to reality. Perhaps, in time, the master’s forgiveness would be enough.

  Despite the dryness of his lips, Nostrus did not allow himself to lick them. “I will not make another mistake, sir. Which is why I must reiterate my objection to hosting the xendur here. He’s a flesh peddler, sir. A criminal, just like the azhera.”

  Master Foltham laughed again, further expanding his throat flesh. “Gau’cil has been my procurer for years, young Nostrus. The money he makes from me is too great a sum for him to forfeit through betrayal.”

  Nostrus held his master’s gaze and said, “Similar thinking led to the incident with the azhera, Master Foltham.”

  Lifting a hand, Master Foltham absently ran a finger along one of his thick tusks. “The meeting with Gau’cil will happen here, Nostrus. But if it puts you at ease, you may make the security arrangements with any resources or precautions you deem necessary.”

  Suppressing a surprised smile, Nostrus nodded. This was more than he’d expected, and though he understood the risks of pushing Master Foltham further, he found himself emboldened by the success. “There’s also the problem of the azhera, sir.”

  Master Foltham grunted. “He and I have an…understanding. He won’t cause any more trouble, Nostrus.”

  “He has insulted you and your house, Master Foltham,” Nostrus said, leaning forward. The tension in his limbs was that quickly run through with a furious energy. “He stole your most prized possession.”

  Features hardening, Master Foltham stared at Nostrus while absently tapping his tusk. Murgen Foltham was a being of deep intellect and keen business sense, and Nostrus knew him well enough to understand that Foltham was at his most competent—and most dangerous—while wearing this cold, calculating expression.

  “I accepted his offer,” Master Foltham finally said, but there was a hint of question in his tone.

  “Under duress, sir.”

  Master Foltham released another grunt, following it with another thoughtful hum. “An offer made in bad faith. Always makes for unfair business.”

  “Now he’s holding it over your head. Using what you shared with him as leverage to keep you from reneging on a deal that was never valid to begin with.”

  “This azhera…he’s plagued your thoughts for some time now, hasn’t he?”

  Nostrus nodded; lying would gain him nothing in this case. “He has, sir. I cannot stomach the insult he’s done you.”

  Nor the insult he’s done me…

  “Yes, yes…he’s been on my mind, too, if I’m to be honest. I had hoped to simply put this matter behind me and be done with it, but…”

  “Great individuals like you, sir, need not take such slights in stride. Scum like the azhera would view your pragmatism as weakness and seek to take advantage again.”

  Nostrils flaring with a heavy breath, Master Foltham dropped a hand to his desk. He drummed his fingers in a quick rhythm—an impatient rhythm. “I had hoped to avoid the problems that might arise should he decide to share the sensitive information to which I made him privy. It wouldn’t cause any issues I can’t make go away, of course, but it would all be an unwelcome waste of my time and resources.”

  Master Foltham’s fingers quickened, moving with surprising dexterity despite their size. Nostrus had seen a few such signs of agitation in his employer since the incident, but Master Foltham had remained largely silent on the matter until now.

  “Such distractions and their eventual resolutions would be quite costly,” Master Foltham continued, “and though the money itself is not an issue, well… There’s something far more important at risk here, isn’t there? It’s a matter of principle. This azhera came into my home as an honored guest and betrayed my trust.”

  Master Foltham’s normally calm demeanor crumbled with each word; Nostrus didn’t need to push any more. Murgen Foltham was already tumbling down a hill, gaining speed, and would not stop until he was fully submerged in the vengeful waters below.

  “He stole from me,” Master Foltham shouted, slamming his hand atop his desk. He shoved himself to his feet. “No one steals from Murgen Foltham, damn it. No one threatens me, no one gets away with trying to intimidate me, no one gets to disrespect me, especially not in my own house! This azhera is barely a step above bottom-feeding vermin on the evolutionary chain, and it’s time he learned his place.”

  His jowls wobbled with his angry, impassioned words. As much as those transgressions against Master Foltham were mar
ks against Nostrus, the volturian held a more personal score—the brief but agonizing twinges in his hand even now wouldn’t let him forget it.

  “I will have what is mine returned to me, Nostrus,” Master Foltham said, brandishing his finger as though it were a terrifying, deadly weapon. “I’ll not accept this loss. I won’t let a meddlesome animal disrupt my plans.”

  Nostrus stood up, crossed his arms over his chest, and bowed. “Master Foltham, allow me the opportunity to right these wrongs. Allow me this chance to restore honor to my father’s name.”

  Master Foltham jabbed a finger toward Nostrus. “Honor! Yes, honor, and respect! We must—” His eyes widened, but the rest of his expression slackened. He dropped into his chair with a heavy thump. “We must keep honor and respect in mind as we proceed.”

  “Sir, I will handle the matter personally.”

  Master Foltham waved his hand, eyes unfocused. “No, my boy, you won’t.”

  Those words sparked an unsettling fire in Nostrus’s heart—and pierced it with shards of ice at the same time. “Sir?”

  “I’ve no doubt as to your ability, Nostrus, but you are openly connected to me—and that connection is quite public.” Master Foltham’s tone was sober now, but not defeated; it still held that note of cold calculation. “We cannot risk any of this being tied to you, because that would naturally come back on me, and then we’d be in the very situation we’re seeking to avoid.”

  None of Nostrus’s considerable respect or loyalty for Master Foltham could combat his deep, roiling frustration in that moment. He maintained his bowed position, keeping his face downturned to hide his clenched jaw and slanted eyebrows from his employer’s view. Fresh heat pulsed along his qal.

  “Sir, I know how to operate covertly,” Nostrus grated through his teeth. “It will never come back on you.”