Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
As soon as Sorrath left, Njkall turned back to his mate.
Polly was still sitting next to the low table, the fallen root back in her hands.
She hadn’t picked her knife back up. Her knuckles had gone pale around the pale flesh of the tuber, and although her breathing had steadied, her eyes had that distant, glassy look he hated more than anything in the world.
He knew where she went when she looked like that—back into the horrors of her past. He would have torn the throat out of every male who’d ever hurt her if they had been within reach.
But they weren’t. There was only her, and a peeled root, and the awful helplessness of a warrior with nothing to fight.
Patience, he reminded himself. It was the only thing that ever worked with her. Push, and she retreated. Wait, and she came to him.
But waiting felt unbearable this morning, and he understood why.
It wasn’t only the news from Port Eyeja gnawing at him.
It was the memory of her body against his in the dark, soft and warm and trusting, and the cruel jolt of her bare skin when the furs had slipped.
It was the ache in his kotra that lingered even now.
It was the way she’d looked at him with those wide grey eyes when he’d told her that he wanted her, and the way that truth had frightened her.
He had spent the better part of a year learning to sleep with his mate curled against him and doing nothing about it. Some nights he thought the restraint would kill him faster than any weapon ever could.
He knew that there was arousal mixed with her fear, but he also knew she wasn’t ready for what he wanted.
Perhaps she never would be. And if that was the price of keeping her safe, then he would pay it and count himself lucky for what she gave him freely.
He just needed, badly, to hit something right now.
“I think I should go down to Port Eyeja,” he said, reaching a sudden decision, and her head came up.
“Why?”
“To see it for myself. Baralt’s reports are good, but I’d like to get a feel for how things are.” He crossed to the wall shelf and pulled down a leather weapons harness. “To see how much things have changed.”
She watched him arm himself, and some of the distance left her eyes as she came back into the present. That was good. Giving her something to focus on outside her own head was always good.
“Why don’t you come with me, little one?” he asked, keeping his voice light, but he knew the answer before he finished asking. He saw it in the way her shoulders drew up towards her ears and her fingers tightened on the root.
“I can’t,” she said. “I told you that Yasmin’s coming with the baby.”
“Yasmin would understand.”
“I promised.” Her chin lifted a fraction in that stubborn way he’d come to love. “We’re going to work on some jewelry.”
It was a good reason. It was even a true one.
But it wasn’t the whole truth, and they both knew it.
The whole truth was that Port Eyeja was full of strange alien males and the kind of ships that had stolen her from her planet, and she would sooner walk into a snowstorm bare-footed than walk down those streets today.
He didn’t say it out loud. There was no kindness in forcing her to admit a fear she was already fighting.
“Then work on your jewelry,” he said. “I’ll take your latest pieces with me, and bring back some of those sweet cakes you like.”
Relief softened her whole body, and it lanced through him, that relief, because he’d let her off the hook without making her name the hook. She rewarded him with a small, real smile, and it was worth more than most things he’d won with a blade.
“The ones with the red seeds,” she said.
“The ones with the red seeds.”
He crossed back to her, bent, and pressed his mouth to the top of her dark head, breathing her in for one selfish moment. She leaned into it the way she always did, trusting and unafraid, and the contrast between that trust and the heat still simmering in his blood made his jaw clench.
Patience.
“Stay warm, little one,” he said.
“I will.” She tilted her head back to look up at him, and for just a heartbeat it almost looked like she wanted to ask him not to go. Then the look was gone, and she picked up her little snowflake-handled knife. “Don’t forget the cakes.”
He left before he could talk himself into staying.
The journey down from the clan caves to Port Eyeja took the better part of the morning, and he welcomed every biting mile of it.
The wind came screaming off the high ridges, flinging ice crystals that stung even through his fur, and the trail wound down through black rock and drifted snow that swallowed his legs to the knee in places.
He’d made the trip a hundred times. He could have walked it with his eyes closed.
He let the cold hollow him out, and let the effort of breaking a trail burn off some of the frustration that had been sitting under his ribs like a coal since dawn.
By the time the stone buildings of the port, hunched under snow-heavy roofs, and the great scarred flat of the landing field beyond came into view, he’d worked himself into something closer to calm.
Then he walked into the port, and the calm frayed at the edges.
The main market was busier than he’d ever seen it.
Braziers roared at every corner, ringed by figures warming their hands, and the crowd around them was nothing like the crowd he remembered from even a few months ago.
For years Port Eyeja had been a wretched little hive of villainy, nominally under Imperial rule, but essentially lawless.
He’d convinced the Empire to place Hothians in charge of law enforcement—despite opposition from both the more villainous inhabitants and his own council—and Baralt had taken charge of cleaning up the town.
He had succeeded to a large extent and his warriors were clearly visible in the throng, but so were a dozen other species.
A tall, blue-skinned female in impractical silks argued prices with a fur trader.
A cluster of soft-bodied Pargans in matched thermal suits gawked at everything and photographed the snow.
A group of Aalzz traders sat outside a tavern at the edge of the square, drinking ale and wailing what might have been a drinking song.
Bundled slaves hurried behind their masters, eyes down.
But in addition to people going about their normal business, he saw a pair of hard-faced males in mismatched armor leaning against a wall and watching the resort shuttles unload with an interest he didn’t like at all.
He noted their faces, then made his way towards the squat stone building that had been, in the town’s lawless decades, a place you did not walk into if you valued your organs, and was now the law enforcement headquarters.
The door swung open before he reached it.
“I felt the ground shaking,” Baralt said, grinning. “Thought either a storm was coming down out of the mountains, or you were.”
The enormous white-furred male filled the doorway almost as thoroughly as Njkall did.
Baralt was one of the few Hothians to have ever left Hothrest, which made him uniquely suited to his role.
He was aware of the political climate in the Empire and had encountered many other species.
He was also fast and dangerous. Njkall had seen him use his claws to open a male’s belly in one lazy strike, when a slaver made the mistake of assaulting a female in the market.
Former gladiators tended to be efficient about such things.
“Baralt.” He clasped the other male’s forearm. “You look comfortable. Playing at law suits you.”
“It’s less playing than I’d like.” Baralt stood aside to let him in.
“Come. Isabel sent hot spiced wine down this morning and I’ve been guarding it against my own better judgment.
Then you can tell me why the clan leader trudged through half a day of ice when he could have sent another messenger.
Or even use one of those communicators you pretend to despise. ”
The inside of the building was blessedly warm with a fire crackling in the wide hearth.
He lowered himself onto a bench, eyeing the strange assortment of confiscated weaponry hung on the walls, and accepted the cup Baralt pressed into his hands.
The wine scalded going down, all spice and heat, and he grunted his approval.
“I came,” he said, “because I don’t like reports. Reports flatten things. I wanted to see the port for myself.”
“And?”
“And the town is full of strangers.”
“The port was always full of strangers,” Baralt said dryly, dropping onto the opposite bench.
“Before they were traders and mercenaries and crew. They’re all still here, but so are the tourists and so are the credits.
You wanted the resort to bring in visitors.
The resort worked.” He spread his enormous hands.
“This is part of what working looks like.”
He couldn’t argue. He’d fought his own council to open Hothrest, cautiously, to the wider Empire.
For years his people had lived behind their ice and their contract, trading sothiti for the privilege of being left alone, and the isolation had kept them safe but kept them small.
He still believed that a world that never opened its doors eventually rotted behind them.
He believed contact was the best hope for their future.
He also believed part of that future had just walked past the window in mismatched armor, watching the shuttles unload.
“The two by the northern brazier,” he said. “The ones in the patched armor.”
Baralt didn’t turn to look. “The Sethari brothers. Mercenaries. Or so they’d like you to think. Mostly they’re looking for rich, drunk offworlders to lift a purse from. I’ve spoken to them once already. They understand me.”
“Do they?”
“Everyone understands me eventually.” Baralt gave him a fierce grin, and he relaxed, just a little.
“You’re not wrong to worry, Njkall. The legitimate traffic brings the other kind.
The wealthy travel with soft throats and full purses, and that draws every carrion-eater in this arm of the galaxy.
And it’s not as if Port Eyeja was ever some sanitized inner Empire port. ”
“But?” he asked, hearing something else behind Baralt’s words.
“But there has been an increase in the less reputable ships recently. The ones that come in dark with falsified papers and no manifest, and no reason a decent captain would have to hide his cargo.” Baralt’s voice roughened on that last word.
They both knew what type of cargo hid in the dark. They both knew who slept in Njkall’s caves because of it. Baralt’s mate Isabel had also been trapped on one of those ships.
“How many ships?” he asked, and Baralt shrugged.
“Two this week that I turned around before they finished unloading. One I couldn’t prove anything on, so I let it dock and put a warrior on it around the clock until it left of its own accord.
” Baralt showed his fangs again, but there was no humor in it now.
“I’m watching. I’ve got eyes on the field, eyes in the market, and eyes in three of the worst taverns.
Nothing crosses this port that I don’t hear about within the hour. ”
It was as good as any male could do, and better than most. He nodded slowly and let the tension ease out of his shoulders a fraction.
“Is the resort worth it?” he asked, although it was not quite a question.
“You already decided it was, or you wouldn’t have built it.
” Baralt refilled both their cups. “Yes. It’s worth it.
The wealth benefits the clans. The visitors tell positive tales about us.
The Empire remembers we exist and mostly leaves us alone.
It’s worth it.” He fixed Njkall with a level blue stare.
“It’s worth it as long as males like you and me pay attention. ”
“We watch and wait,” he agreed.
“You and your waiting.” Baralt snorted. “One day I’ll teach you the joy of hitting a problem before it becomes a bigger problem.”
They drank in silence for a while, watching the flames, then Baralt suddenly laughed. “Here’s a story for you. You remember Captain Athtar?”
“The male with the fast ship and the slow morals.” And a very dangerous mate.
“That’s the one, although his morals have improved marginally since he took a mate.” Baralt set down his cup. “He came through a few weeks ago. Left a day later. In between, he dumped something in port that I’ve been meaning to complain to someone about, and you’ve conveniently arrived.”
“What did he leave?”
“A young male. Half-Tajiri, by the look of him—golden mane, blue eyes, claws, the whole arrogant package. Apparently Athtar took him on as crew a few seasons back, out of pity or short-handedness, I didn’t get the full story.
” Baralt’s mouth twisted. “The fool repaid him by trying to take his ship. Instead of spacing him, which would have been within his rights and honestly less trouble, Athtar dumped him here and told me he was my problem now.”
His hand tightened on his cup.
“He left an off-world male who tried to seize a ship,” he said, “in the same port where you’re already fighting to keep off-world males from seizing whatever they can reach.”
“That’s the shape of it.”
He sighed. “And how much trouble has he caused so far?”
“Less than I’d expected, honestly. Rjmar caught him stealing food.”
Remembering the older male’s size and temper, a faint smile curved his lips.
“And he’s still alive?”
“Surprisingly. For whatever reason, Rjmar took a liking to him.”
“That’s a first. Rjmar doesn’t even like his own clan.” He shook his head and drained his cup. “I have some errands to run. Do you need me to send more warriors?”
“I’ve got it, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”
He nodded and headed for the door, already anxious to complete his tasks and return to his mate.