Chapter 2
TWO
Broxen kor’Stygos had spent countless hours of his life waiting.
Waiting for opportunities, waiting for threats, waiting for word to act.
If nothing else, he’d shown a talent for waiting.
Some would’ve called it patience, though that wasn’t quite right—it was more a matter of quieting his conscious mind and shifting fully to sensory input and instinct.
He’d once waited beside a beaten-up blast door in a dark alley for three cycles—almost two full Earth days—while his boss at the time, Astius’s father, had conducted business in the back room of a club.
Though that experience hadn’t been pleasant thanks to hunger and the alley’s lingering stench, Broxen hadn’t once been bored or restless.
He’d simply done what he was good at. He’d watched and waited.
Astius would’ve called that being reactive instead of proactive or some kruk like that, but the ability to simply wait while remaining fully alert for such long periods had served Broxen well.
When he was a kit, it had often been the difference between going hungry and getting some food in his belly.
So why was this wait so unbearable?
It was routine; he’d done this almost every weekday in the spring, fall, and winter over the last year. And because it was routine, he knew it was short. Just over thirty minutes most days, closer to forty every now and again. Compared to the cycles he’d spent in that alley, this was nothing.
Another fifteen or twenty minutes, and the wait would be over. He was halfway through already.
And yet he could barely keep himself still.
He’d changed positions several times, as though the angle from which he was looking out the window made any difference.
He’d adjusted the blind slats twice, as though their tilt would somehow change the fact that the driveway across the street was still empty.
He’d lifted his hand several times to tuck rogue strands of hair behind his pointed ear, and each time, he’d scraped the tips of his claws over the bases of his horns.
It was fortunate that he was alone—any human would’ve wondered why there was a bone-scratching sound whenever he combed his fingers through his hair.
The holographic projection created by his holoshroud could mask his inhuman features, like his red skin and fangs, but it couldn’t hide all evidence of their existence.
He still had to duck going through doorways to avoid striking not only his head but his horns.
He still had to take care how he touched things so as not to produce damage with his claws.
He released a huff through his nostrils, plunged his spoon into the ice cream carton, and shoved a chunk of chocolate and peanut butter ice cream into his mouth. The end of his tail curled against his calf, as stiff and restless as always having spent another day hidden away in his pants.
What was he doing?
Gabriela would be back soon, and he’d hear her car on the road like he had every other time. He didn’t need to stand here like a hormonal human adolescent or a beast desperate for the return of its master. And he certainly didn’t need to be eating this ice cream.
He shoveled another bite into his mouth before even finishing the last. Maybe he didn’t need to be eating it, but he wanted to. If there was anything in the universe as delicious as chocolate and peanut butter ice cream, he’d never tasted it.
Hot chocolate, with Gabriela. That would taste better.
And he’d made a mess of that, hadn’t he?
He’d known as he walked to mailbox that Gabriela had been due to go pick up Ana. He’d known that she was running late as he’d looked upon her face and seen the tears brimming in her big, entrancing eyes, as he’d seen the defeat and sadness take hold of her expression.
He’d known she had to leave, until he’d asked if she wanted to go get some hot chocolate right then—apparently, the knowledge had fled him in that moment.
As though he’d not been awkward enough before then.
All he’d wanted to do was ease her sadness, was make her smile so he could see her eyes shine, so he could see those endearing dimples on her cheeks.
Broxen knew what Astius would’ve said—something about making opportunities instead of awaiting them.
But Astius had never had to deal with humans.
These people were confusing by nature, and every aspect of them was somehow contradictory.
Broxen had yet to figure them out. He wasn’t even sure if they could be figured out.
But…he wanted to figure out Gabriela. Even if he never understood a single other human on this planet, he wanted to understand her.
She hadn’t refused him. He needed to keep that in mind. She’d simply said they could go out another time. That was good, right?
And he wasn’t eating this ice cream because he felt rejected. He was eating it because it was good. He was only having a few bites.
He glanced down at the carton—which had been full when he’d opened it fifteen minutes ago—and frowned. About half of the one point five quarts of ice cream was gone. Unbidden, his tail coiled around his leg and squeezed.
Clenching his jaw, he turned away from the window, crossed the living room, and entered the kitchen, battling his urge to look back with every step. It was too soon for her to be home. Her car wasn’t going to suddenly appear in her driveway; he wasn’t going to miss out on a chance to see her again.
Besides, this ice cream thing was more concerning, wasn’t it?
He’d seen this phenomenon in human movies and television shows.
The only people who seemed to eat ice cream like this were humans—often female—who had just been broken up with.
Humans who had been spurned by their mates.
It seemed to be a treatment for what humans sometimes called a broken heart.
He placed the ice cream on the counter, slipped the spoon into his mouth to suck off the lingering ice cream and peanut butter, and put the lid on the carton.
“Not rejected,” he mumbled around the spoon. “Not sad.”
His heart didn’t even hurt—though there was a tightness in his chest that had persisted since he’d approached Gabriela earlier.
Broxen returned the ice cream to the freezer and stepped to the sink to clean the spoon, shaking his head at himself along the way.
After everything he’d been through in his life, after everything he’d endured, everything he’d done, his time here on Earth should’ve been the easiest. This planet—or at least this region of it—was the calmest, quietest place he’d ever been.
The humans were largely oblivious to the universe at large.
They were oblivious to the non-humans living amongst them.
But apparently the threat of being pummeled, bludgeoned, stabbed, or shot in his old life had been much easier for Broxen to face than the chance of being rejected by a tiny female human, or else he would’ve tried to approach Gabriela much sooner.
Tiny female. Kind, passionate, beautiful female.
He dried his hands on the dish towel hanging under the sink and returned to the front window, taking his customary place on the right side.
The ground outside was blanketed in thick snow, making the black asphalt of the road stand out starkly; that road had felt like an uncrossable chasm for so long.
And that was ridiculous.
Broxen had spent most of his life in the service of one of the most powerful crime families on Turata.
He’d done bad things. He’d stolen, he’d hurt people.
He’d killed. He’d been wounded more times than he could count, and he had caused far more wounds than he’d received.
Why should he feel this way about a fucking road?
Zorak akai, he’d walked across that road many times during the year he’d lived here.
He’d helped clear out Gabriela’s driveway and unbury her car after snowstorms, had helped her tear down and chop up a dead tree in her back yard last spring, had given Gabriela her mail that had been mistakenly put in his box.
He’d even helped little Ana fix the chain on her bike a few times this past summer.
Every time he’d gone over there, he’d wanted to tell Gabriela of his interest in her. He’d wanted to express his desires. He’d wanted to do what he’d done today—but he’d never known how. Apparently, he still didn’t know.
He tugged his phone from his back pocket and checked the time. Gabriela had left twenty-two minutes ago. She’d be back soon.
What was troubling her?
In his old life, long before he’d become a bodyguard in a dangerous underworld, Broxen had learned to assess threats.
That often came down to knowing how to read people—not so easy when he was always dealing with varied alien species.
In his experience so far, human emotions were often quite easy to read, but their motivations never were.
Though he knew Gabriela was upset, he had no idea why, and he didn’t know how to even begin guessing.
Returning the phone to his pocket, he clasped his hands behind his back, leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the window, and shoved his thoughts aside.
He forced his tail to unfurl, easing its tip to rest just above his ankle.
It was time to just wait. No more racing mind, no more worries, no more doubt.
At least not for a little while.
When he finally heard the whisper of tires on the wet road, it seemed too soon. He checked his phone again; Gabriela had been gone for exactly thirty minutes. Her previous best time was thirty-two.
She left late today. Missed the rush.
He turned his attention back to Gabriela’s home just as her car pulled into the driveway. The brake lights flared for a moment before going dark. Broxen eased aside slightly, hiding as much of his body behind the window frame as possible.
Broxen doubted anyone would be able to see in through the window from outside, but the extra caution couldn’t hurt. He had plenty to hide, and from what he understood, humans didn’t like being watched.