Chapter 3 #3
A couple of grimacing ertraxxans made disgusted sounds as they walked past Drakkal, giving him a wide berth. Drakkal met their gazes and growled, baring his teeth and flexing his claws. The ertraxxans increased their pace.
Drakkal’s growl dragged out, rumbling his chest, as he resumed his search. His body seemed to be torn in both directions. She could’ve gone anywhere; there were dozens of pedestrian pathways here, most of them at least as busy as this one.
“Vrek’osh.”
More of the people walking nearby were staring at him now, many of them putting on airs of offense—as though they’d never seen a naked body before.
His pulsing cock softened, but it only brought minor relief from its ache.
He turned his head to the left; a pair of gold-and-teal armored peacekeepers were posted on the corner less than fifty meters away.
Public nudity wasn’t a crime in Arthos, but everything operated differently in sectors like this one.
The city’s wealthy residents—like most of the people here—typically got their way when it came to things they deemed distasteful.
Drakkal wasn’t foolish enough to think those peacekeepers would hesitate to drag him off whether he’d committed a crime or not.
He snarled and shook his head, ruffling his mane. He wanted nothing more than continue the chase, but the trail had already gone cold, and he wasn’t in the mood for a trip to the nearest Eternal Guard outpost.
You win this round, little terran.
He lifted his left arm, meaning to activate the holocom embedded in his prosthesis, but stopped himself.
What good would it do to call for help now?
He couldn’t very well stand here and wait for someone to pick him up, and he wasn’t eager for the conversation that would arise when one of his friends arrived.
So, Drakkal…you released a terran slave and let her steal everything—including the clothes on your back? And how much smaller than you was she, exactly?
Releasing a frustrated huff, Drakkal turned and walked toward his hovercar, ignoring the put-upon pedestrians in his way.
At least the car was less than two kilometers away; it would’ve been a long, long walk home otherwise.
Drakkal wasn’t surprised to see Arcanthus waiting near the interior door when he drove the hovercar into the garage. The sedhi was leaning against the wall, one leg bent, with his dark cybernetic arms folded across his chest. His smirk was reflected in all three of his black and yellow eyes.
Drakkal parked the vehicle and climbed out.
Arc’s eyes widened—and his smirk stretched into a grin. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said as Drakkal—still naked—approached.
“I told you to stop asking Sam for cat-related sayings,” Drakkal replied, stopping a couple paces away from Arcanthus.
“Sorry. That one just seemed purrfect.”
“Fuck you, sedhi.”
Arcanthus chuckled. “Taking out the claws early, I see.”
Drakkal ground his teeth together and spread his arms to either side. “Do I look like I’m in the mood?”
“You look like you’re in a mood, at least. I suppose things got feisty at old Murgen’s?”
That restless, fury-laced energy thrummed through Drakkal’s body. His arousal had cooled—albeit slowly—during the journey home, but his drive to hunt and claim his terran had intensified. His patience for everything, including his usual banter with Arcanthus, was frayed.
“Yeah.” Drakkal walked to the door, opened it, and strode into the corridor beyond.
Arcanthus fell into step behind him. “Naked and agitated, azhera? You have a story to tell.”
“Maybe when you’re ready to stop screwing around, Arcanthus.”
“Now I’m even more intrigued.”
Drakkal shook his head and increased his pace. “Fine. Let’s talk in your workshop.”
“Hold on,” Arcanthus snapped. One of his cybernetic hands came down on Drakkal’s shoulder.
A low, involuntary growl vibrated from Drakkal’s chest as he halted. He shrugged off Arcanthus’s hand and turned to face the sedhi. “What?”
“Samantha’s in there. You can’t go in like this.”
Drakkal’s brow furrowed. “You’re telling me to get dressed?”
“Well, you’re not going to parade around naked in front of my mate.”
Any other day, Drakkal would’ve seized this opportunity to tease Arcanthus, to get under his skin—it’s only because you know she’ll realize I’m more attractive than you or something like that.
But today, having encountered the woman he was certain was his mate, he couldn’t bring himself to joke like that.
I want my terran.
Drakkal held out his right hand. “Give me your robe.”
Arcanthus’s eyes widened. “What? No. You have plenty of your own clothes in your room.”
“My room is on the other side of the building.” Drakkal began turning away. “Would rather just stop in your workshop on the way.”
“All right, all right!”
Normally, the corner of Drakkal’s mouth would’ve turned up in amusement at this petty victory, but he didn’t feel any amusement now.
He turned back toward Arcanthus, who was scowling as he removed his silky crimson robe.
The sedhi’s brows were angled down toward the bridge of his nose as he handed the garment to Drakkal—or rather shoved it hard against the azhera’s chest.
Drakkal took the robe by the sleeves and let it unfurl. He held Arcanthus’s gaze as he tied the robe around his waist, covering his groin with the main portion of the fabric.
Arcanthus’s expression darkened. “I expect that washed and de-furred before you return it.”
Drakkal gestured to Arcanthus’s long crimson loincloth. “Now we’re in matching outfits.”
The exaggerated look of disdain on Arc’s face should’ve been immensely satisfying, but it did nothing for Drakkal now. Part of Drakkal’s mind remained outside, scenting the air and searching for even the briefest glimpse of golden hair.
“Let’s get this over with,” Drakkal muttered. He turned and continued along the corridor. Arcanthus followed.
These halls were familiar by now, but Drakkal still hadn’t shaken the feeling that they were different.
He and Arcanthus had moved their operation into this facility a little over a year ago, in the wake of their fallout with Vaund and the Syndicate, and though it was furnished similarly to their old home he couldn’t help noting all the things that weren’t the same.
He still wasn’t sure if that bothered him or not. This place was home, but he’d always felt it was lacking something.
My mate.
The deeper Drakkal went into the compound, the stronger his agitation grew.
He should’ve been thinking about a hundred other things—like the botched deal, or the potential of Foltham seeking vengeance despite Drakkal’s threat to expose his illegal activities—but his mind repeatedly returned to his terran.
Drakkal entered the workshop just ahead of Arcanthus.
Samantha, dressed in leggings and an oversized hooded sweater, was seated on one of the couches. She looked up from the tablet she was drawing on and smiled at him. “Hi, Drak.”
This workshop was small compared to the one Arcanthus had kept in their previous base of operations, but Drakkal preferred it.
This space was warmer, cozier. Arc’s desk—with its multitude of displays and controls—sat straight ahead, beyond the pair of dark red couches that were positioned to face each other.
A counter with fabrication equipment, which Arcanthus used to create the physical ID chips, ran along the wall to the left.
Sam’s desk was beside Arc’s; it was smaller and a bit cluttered, with several blotches of dried paint and a few bits of flattened, hardened clay marring its surface.
The large cabinet behind it contained a variety of artistic tools.
While she usually used her tablet, she’d also taken well to painting and, occasionally, sculpting.
Though Arcanthus had carried over the moody adjustable lighting and dark carpeting from his old workshop, this room seemed brighter and more welcoming.
Samantha was largely to thank for that. She was also responsible for Drakkal’s favorite part of the room—the large, stone fire bowl hovering in the space between the two couches, crackling with holographic flames.
It reminded him of older, simpler times.
Samantha’s gaze shifted past Drakkal to Arcanthus, and her smile took on a slight, mischievous tilt. “You two are wearing matching outfits.”
The smile that crept onto Drakkal’s lips was genuine, even if he didn’t feel the humor as fully as he should have. “That’s what I said. He’s upset because I wear it better.”
“Now you’re in the joking mood?” Arcanthus dropped onto the couch beside Samantha, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and draping his tail over her lap. She set her tablet on the cushion beside her and leaned against him.
Drakkal sat on the opposite couch, stretching his tail out beside him. Its tip lashed back and forth rapidly. The warmth emitted by the fire bowl, usually soothing and comfortable, made his skin prickle with heat. “No. I’m not.”
Samantha frowned, and Arcanthus’s expression softened.
“Well? What happened, Drak? Why’d you come home naked?” Arcanthus asked.
Samantha’s cheeks reddened. She cleared her throat and tilted her chin down, her hair falling over her face as though to hide.
She’d been around the crew for a long time, was part of the family as much as anyone else, but she was still easily embarrassed—more often by what she said than what anyone else did.
Drakkal understood well enough; Samantha was just a private person.
She preferred to keep intimate matters between herself and Arcanthus.
“I was robbed,” Drakkal replied.
Simultaneously, both Arc’s and Sam’s eyebrows rose high.
“By who?” Arcanthus asked.
Gritting his teeth, Drakkal shoved himself off the couch. His ears flattened and his fur bristled as another wave of restlessness rippled through him. “A terran.”
“A terran robbed you?”
“It’s not like we’re completely harmless, Arc,” Samantha said gently.