Chapter 16 – Meet-Cute #4
Going on galactic television for a violent and glorious spectacle didn't quite fit. Grigor hardly looked like Daniel in a pit of lions; he looked more like a lion in a pit of… more lions.
I tilted my head back so that as I looked down at Grigor, it was down my nose and with my eyes half-lidded. I let my attention drift over him with measured scrutiny. "Sorry," I drawled. "You're really not my type."
His face tightened in disgust. "Listen here," he said, prowling in closer. "You and I are due to have some words. So why don't you shut that filthy little mouth of yours and –"
"Thinking about my mouth, are you?" I asked, forcing myself to nonchalance even as a surge of adrenaline kicked off inside my body. I didn't let myself take a step back, even with Grigor standing so close. "It's just not going to happen."
His eyes narrowed, glittering with something dangerous. "I thought you might have some shame, you know. Shame means you know what you're doing is wrong, but you just crawled up on that pole like a whore, debasing yourself for everyone to see –"
"Oh, fuck off," I said sharply, anger flaring hot-white inside of me.
He was, all at once, so many horrible people who I'd known, who'd hurt me and gotten inside of my head, people who would have seen me scour myself bloody in an attempt to get the sin out.
"You're right, I am a shameless whore, so unless you're planning to pay me for my time, you can go bother someone who gives a shit about your opinion on literally anything. "
I recognized, distantly, that we were causing a bit of a scene.
I caught a glimpse of a silver camera whirling closer; the gaanith dancer had let herself down from her pole and had her head tilted in concern while she watched Grigor and I glaring at once another; the other guests at the event had drifted further away so that there was now a delineated circle of space around us.
My pulse was thundering in my ears, beginning to drown out the music with its own violent song, and I wanted, suddenly and fiercely, to grab this grimy man by his lapels and throw him to the ground and then stomp on his fucking face.
The violent urge was there, bright and alluring.
His fists curled at his sides, my hands tensing in response.
"You," Grigor said, voice low and dark, "are going to listen, Alikander Lane, or you're going to be made to listen –"
"What did you fucking call me?" I hissed, and then I felt a firm hand on my elbow.
I went to shake it off, but the grip grew more insistent, tugging.
I half-turned to see who had touched me; Araxis stood there – poised and upright, his eyes such an endless black that some part of my soul tipped into them.
It was enough for the fury to drain off, just a little.
"I understand that I should not interrupt," he said in precise Standard, "But it would be poor form for two participants to be disqualified at an event with sponsors in attendance." He released my elbow and tucked his hands carefully behind his back.
I sucked in a hard breath and glanced back at Grigor – but he'd already melted into the crowd.
"Right," I said numbly. "You're right, of course, thanks.
And we wonder why humans don't get invited to parties.
" I chased it with a laugh that felt hollow, and looked at Araxis – my Araxis, standing there – and suddenly I couldn't think of anything else to say.
His perfect lips curved in the smallest smile. "You are… Sashen, yes?"
Right. What a meet-cute. I nodded, putting on a smile – one for clients, not the one reserved for just the two of us. "You'll need to remind me of your name. It was a lot to take in at once."
"I am Araxis of Creche Thiel." He dipped his head, and then the skin around his eyes tightened thoughtfully. "I would say it's nice to meet you, but I think we've met before."
I let my eyebrows inch upwards, and tried to think of anything except the sudden rush of images of how we'd come to know each other: his body curled against mine in bed, his hand on my cock, my eager mouth drinking every inch of him in.
I sucked in the edge of my bottom lip, unbidden; Araxis's eyelids flared as he tracked the movement, and the silver flush creeping up his cheeks?
That was real, I was sure; that was him, responding to me.
We were still here, we were still connected, even if we were playing our own parts.
"Would it embarrass you if I said where we might have met?" I asked, flicking my gaze upwards to the camera drones that were circling like vultures.
He fluted out a sound, somewhere between amusement and resignation. "You're a dancer at a marn den. I wasn't certain when you were introduced but now that I have seen you move…" He trailed off, his stare flicking down to my lips, then to my neck where he'd once marked me.
A sharp pulse of desire twisted low in my stomach, my skin prickling pleasantly with heat. I leaned in a little closer. "I'm sure I'd remember if we had any… private time."
He trilled and the silvering of his cheeks deepened. "I only saw you dance. You're very good, especially with your swords. Though I will admit that I haven't often gone to dens, I am certain I have never seen anyone move quite like you. It was… revelatory."
It was my turn to blush, my cheeks suddenly warm. I glanced away because I was sure that if I looked at him for too long, I'd give it all away. Revelatory, huh? "You're too kind," I murmured.
"I am not," he assured me. "I merely recognize skill when I am witness to it.
I should leave you to your evening. Though if you have time, or interest, perhaps we could meet tomorrow in the training rooms. I would be most curious to see how your dancing translates to voltaar combat sequences. If that's not too presumptuous of me."
My throat was dry, as if this were real. I grinned and shrugged. "I could make time. My handler has a very specific schedule for me, but I don't mind doing a bit of meddling. I owe you for making sure I didn't throw a punch and end up blowing my chance."
He tilted his head, close to a bow. "You owe me nothing, Sashen Solar." And then Araxis turned and slipped away, and I stared after his retreating back for as long as I could, one hand drifting idly to my lips.
I could guess what I looked like: utterly charmed, and more than a little shaken.
I swallowed down my smile and made a circuit, stopping to chat with a few of the other dancers and to compliment them on their form.
I dumped the remainder of my drink in one of the potted plants nestled around the room and waited until the crowd got louder, the music throbbier, before making a retreat back to the quiet of my apartment.
I needed time to think. Because it was one thing to have another human here, competing; it was one thing to know he was with Seraphim in some capacity.
What I really needed to know, though, was how the fuck he knew my name and what exactly it was he had to tell me.