Marked by the Bounty Hunter (Vinduthi Captured Mates #5)

Nalina

NALINA

T he Rusted Horizon throbbed with the usual chaos of cheap alcohol and chatter from a dozen species.

The flickering light above table six needed fixing again. I added it to my mental list, right after “check the cillorl lines” and “order more Landorian ale.” Old habits from my maintenance days died hard, even if I made better credits pouring drinks than fixing this decrepit station up.

I wiped the same glass for the third time, while keeping an eye on the smuggler in the corner booth. His poorly concealed blaster wouldn’t normally bother me - his money was good, and weapons were common enough in a place like this.

House rules were more of a suggestion than law.

At least three of my regulars were carrying tonight, including the Dravari two seats down who could put a blade through an eye at twenty paces. The smuggler wouldn’t last ten seconds if he tried anything that interfered with the drinks.

A Cerulian near the bar drummed her blue fingers on the counter, making the rings on her knuckles chime.

“Another round?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

“And one for yourself,” she slurred. Her three eyes blinked out of sync.

“Thanks, but I’m good.” I poured her drink, making sure to water it down. She was vacuum-headed already.

She stumbled a little, her glass slipping from the edge of the bar. I caught it automatically, setting it back without thinking.

The Dravari chittered softly. “Fast moves for a human. Didn’t think your kind had those reflexes.”

I shrugged it off with a smile, used to alien assumptions about human capabilities. My muscles ached, but that was normal after a long shift. “Just lots of practice.”

“...telling you, the shipment just vanished,” a gruff voice muttered two stools down. “Third one this month.”

“Keep your voice down,” his companion hissed. “You want them hearing?”

I kept my eyes on my work, but my ears pricked up. Missing shipments meant missing people. Nothing new, out here on the Edge.

The door wheezed open, letting in a gust of filtered air. I smiled as I saw Jevik. One of my closest friends from my days where I worked as a maintenance technician, Jevik had taken me under his wing.

But my smile faltered when I saw Jevik stumble in, his usually iridescent scales dull and flaking. My stomach dropped. Something was very wrong.

He staggered away from the door, gripping the bar like it was the only thing holding him up. His scales, usually iridescent in the dim light, had dulled to a sickly gray. Patches were flaking off near his gills, leaving raw flesh exposed underneath. His eyes had sunk deep in their sockets, but the pupils were dilated unnaturally wide.

“Water,” he rasped. “Please.”

I grabbed a clean glass, watching him from the corner of my eye. His gills fluttered weakly behind his ears, the movement fitful, uneven. The three Nazoks at the bar whispered to each other, pointing. One of them slipped out - probably to make a call.

The door opened again. I might not have noticed the two figures in medical uniforms if not for how they moved - too precise, too purposeful for station medics who usually stumbled in exhausted after their shifts.

They paused just inside, scanning the room with the efficiency of hunters rather than healers. Matching hexagonal insignias gleamed on their collars - dark blue and silver, catching the dim light with an unnatural shimmer. One touched his collar, whispering something I couldn’t catch.

Fake medics?

But why?

I slid the water to Jevik, letting my fingers brush his wrist. His pulse raced under his scales.

“Out back,” I whispered. “Now.”

He shook his head minutely. “They’ll find me.”

My heart leaped into my throat. They hadn’t spotted Jevik yet, but their eyes swept the bar with precision.

I grabbed a fresh bottle of Yalniti liquor from under the counter, making sure to ‘slip’ as I lifted it. The bottle shattered against the floor, spraying bright blue liquid across the boots of three different patrons.

“Watch it!” The smuggler jumped up, his coat falling open to reveal the blaster at his hip.

Perfect. The strangers’ heads snapped toward the commotion. Around the bar, I caught the subtle shifts of my regulars - the Dravari’s hand sliding beneath the counter, the soft click of a safety being disengaged from the shadows.

I ducked down to the side of the bar, pretending to clean up the mess. “Back door,” I whispered to Jevik. “Three lefts, then right at the storage lockers.”

His webbed fingers trembled against the bar. “They’ll track me.”

“Not if you move now.” I shoved a clean rag at the spill, buying time. “Trust me.”

The smuggler’s angry voice rose above the general noise. “You’re paying for these boots!”

I stood, hands raised. “Sir,” I called out, playing up the concerned bartender, “No weapons in here. House rules. I’d rather not call security.”

He turned red, hand moving to his coat. “You threatening me?”

“Just stating policy.” I kept my voice steady, even as my pulse raced. I didn’t need to mention the half-dozen regulars ready to ventilate him if he drew. “How about a free drink instead of involving management in either of these little problems?”

The door wheezed shut behind Jevik. Neither false medic noticed.

A shadow shifted in the corner. I hadn’t noticed him before - the huge Vinduthi warrior nursing a drink in the darkest booth. His red eyes met mine for a heartbeat and I could make out a smirk, as if he was amused that I had finally noticed him. I made myself focus on the danger, not the way his presence made my pulse jump.

“Excuse me.” One of the medics leaned over the bar. “We’re looking for a Poraki male. Have you seen him?”

I widened my eyes. “Lots of folks come through here. Can’t keep track.”

“This one would have looked... unwell.”

I shrugged, the picture of helpful ignorance. “Haven’t noticed anyone sick. Health and safety violations, you know? We report that stuff right away.”

The second medic’s lips curled. He leaned in close enough that I could smell antiseptic on his breath.

“We don’t appreciate interference in our business,” he murmured. “Remember that.”

They left as suddenly as they’d arrived. I let out my breath, my hands shaking as I swept up the broken glass.

When I looked up again, the Vinduthi was watching me. The purple markings on his face seemed to shift in the faint light. I busied myself with the glasses, hyper-aware of his gaze on my back.

But the Vinduthi continued to stare at me and only me.

One by one, the patrons stumbled out while I counted credits, wiped tables, anything to keep my mind off Jevik and the false medics not-so-veiled threat.

My last drunk of the shift slumped against my shoulder as I guided him to the door. His four arms kept trying to hug me.

“You’re th’ best, ‘Lina.” His breath reeked of fermented Jovian whiskey.

“Thanks, Grot. Sleep it off.” I peeled his tentacles away and watched him weave down the corridor.

The Horizon never truly closed - not on a space station where “night” was just dimmed lighting and adjusted climate controls. But my shift was done as soon as Kell showed up to take over.

The Vinduthi warrior still sat in his corner, ramrod straight, nursing the same drink he’d had all night. His red eyes tracked my movements. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight. The tingle worked itself down my back, till it settled between my legs.

The door wheezed open. Kell’s antennae twitched as she took in the mostly empty bar.

“Quiet night?”

“Mostly.” I didn’t mention Jevik or the fake medics. The less she knew, the safer she’d be. “The Cerulian that usually sits in the corner needs cutting off if she comes back.”

“Got it.” Kell’s mandibles clicked in acknowledgment. “Go get some sleep. You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” I untied my apron, grabbed my bag from under the bar. My muscles ached from hours of standing.

The Vinduthi’s eyes burned into my back as I headed for the door. The recycled air felt thick in my lungs.

I made it three steps into the corridor before his voice stopped me.

“You helped the Poraki escape.”

I turned slowly. He filled the doorway, purple markings stark against his gray skin. My neck ached from looking up at him.

“I serve drinks,” I said carefully. “That’s all.”

He moved closer, silent despite his size.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Was he connected to those assholes from earlier? Was this revenge for my interference?

“If you’re going to kill me, get on with it.”

His lips twitched. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it to the door.”

I studied him, noting the way he positioned himself between me and any escape route. Professional. Dangerous. But something in his stance wasn’t quite threatening. What it was, I couldn’t quite tell.

“What do you want?”

“Information.” He glanced down the corridor. “Not here.”

Every survival instinct screamed at me to run. But he was right - if he meant me harm, I’d already be dead.

“There’s a maintenance junction two levels down,” I said. “Private enough for you?”

He nodded once, gesturing for me to lead. I tried not to think about how easily he could snap my neck from behind.

The station’s service corridors were a maze of pipes and conduits, lit by strips of pale blue emergency lighting. My boots clanged against the metal grating. His steps were whisper-quiet.

I stopped at a junction where three corridors met, ducking under a low-hanging pipe. “Talk.”