Page 13

VARNOK

I stroll down the plush corridor of Superior Gardens, swinging an empty ice bucket like it's a battle trophy.

The soft carpet feels good under my bare feet, and I'm wearing nothing but my underwear briefs—black, tight, and leaving little to the imagination.

Not that I care who sees me. I'm feeling too damn good right now.

"Bah-doo-bah-doo-wah," I whistle, mimicking the smooth jazz tune that was playing in Quinn's suite. The melody keeps looping in my head, much like the memories of what just happened between us.

A human couple exits their room, takes one look at my nearly naked, seven-and-a-half-foot red-scaled body, and promptly retreats back inside. I chuckle. Can't blame them. I am rather impressive.

I reach the ice machine, jab the button with perhaps too much enthusiasm, and watch the cubes tumble into my bucket. The cold against my fingers feels refreshing after the heat Quinn and I generated. By the Vakutan gods, that woman is fire incarnate.

Bucket filled, I make my way back to her suite, still whistling. For once, a diplomatic mission has yielded something worthwhile. Something perfect. Quinn Gellar—all fire and fury wrapped in a tiny, delicious package.

When I slip back into the room, she's still sprawled across the bed, gloriously naked and fast asleep. Her blonde hair fans out across the pillow, and the sheet only partially covers her curves. My body instantly responds to the sight.

My compad buzzes on the nightstand. Without taking my eyes off Quinn, I reach for it and accept the incoming call.

Pyke's face materializes in holographic form above the device. "Varnok, about tomorrow's security—" He stops mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he takes in my state of undress and the obvious aftermath of exertion on my face. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Commander Pyke," I say, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Quinn. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Pyke's holographic face contorts with disbelief. "Please tell me you didn't just?—"

"I didn't just what?" I ask innocently, setting down the ice bucket.

"You know exactly what." Pyke rubs his temples. "You're supposed to be protecting the ambassador, not sleeping with her!"

I glance back at Quinn's sleeping form, a surge of possessiveness washing over me. "I can do both."

"This is completely unprofessional, even for you," Pyke continues. "You're compromising the entire mission."

"She might be my jalshagar," I say quietly, the words feeling right as they leave my mouth.

Pyke barks out a laugh. "That's what you said about the Kilgari princess! And that Novarian dancer! And let's not forget the twins from?—"

"This is different," I interrupt, my voice dropping to a growl. "I feel it, Pyke. This is real."

He sighs, the sound crackling through the compad's speaker. "Whatever you say, Annihilator. I suppose if she is your jalshagar, you'll be even more motivated to keep her safe."

"Damn right."

"Just don't lose sight of what's important here," Pyke warns. "The negotiations. The peace process. Millions of lives depend on Ambassador Gellar's success."

I nod solemnly. "I understand the stakes."

"Good. And for the record, I don't believe this jalshagar nonsense for a second, but if it keeps you focused on your job..." He trails off, then fixes me with a stern look. "Just remember who you're dealing with. Quinn Gellar isn't some conquest—she's a skilled diplomat with a crucial mission."

"I know exactly who she is," I reply, my gaze drifting back to her sleeping form.

"We'll talk more about the security protocols tomorrow," Pyke says. "And Varnok?"

"Yes?"

"Put on some damn pants before our next call."

The hologram flickers out, and I set the compad down with a chuckle. Pyke's words echo in my mind as I slide back into bed beside Quinn. Her body instinctively curls against mine, seeking my warmth even in sleep.

Maybe Pyke's right to be skeptical. I've claimed to find my jalshagar before. But lying here with Quinn's soft breathing against my chest, I can't shake the feeling that this time really is different. This fierce little human has gotten under my scales in a way no one else ever has.

I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer. Whatever happens with the negotiations, whatever danger lurks ahead, one thing is certain—anyone who tries to harm her will have to go through me first.

And no one goes through Varnok the Annihilator.

I shower quickly, the hot water sluicing over my scales, washing away the sweat and scent of our passion.

Dressing in my usual black tactical gear, I find myself pacing the suite, unable to settle.

My mind races with thoughts of Quinn. What if she is my jalshagar?

How am I supposed to know for sure? I've never felt this pull, this magnetism toward anyone before. It's unsettling, yet exhilarating.

Eventually, I sink onto the sofa, my body exhausted but my mind still whirring. I must have dozed off because the next thing I know, cold metal presses against my temple, and I'm staring down the barrel of my own blaster.

"Some bodyguard," Quinn teases, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. She's fully dressed in her official IEC uniform, the blue and green fabric hugging her curves in a way that makes my heart pound. "Whatever happened to staying vigilant?"

I chuckle, slowly reaching up to push the blaster away. "Your honeypot was more potent than I anticipated. Left me more exhausted than a battle with a horde of Reapers."

Quinn blushes, a delightful pink spreading across her cheeks. "Well, we have to get to the negotiations soon. So, up and at 'em, soldier."

I stand, towering over her, and take in her appearance. The uniform is sharply tailored, accentuating her figure perfectly. I approve. "You look... official."

She raises an eyebrow. "Just official?"

I lean in, my voice dropping to a low rumble. "And utterly ravishing."

We step into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind us. I move close to her, my mouth near her ear. "You know, I've been thinking about what I want to do to you next."

Quinn's breath hitches, but she keeps her gaze forward, trying to maintain her composure. "Oh, really?"

"Mm-hmm," I murmur, my fingers tracing the line of her jaw. "I want to bend you over that negotiation table, hike up this prim little skirt, and?—"

"Varnok," she hisses, her cheeks flaming red. "I'm on duty now. So behave."

I grin, loving the way her skin changes color with her emotions. It's like a secret language, one I'm eager to learn. "Spoilsport."

The elevator dings, signaling our arrival at the rooftop dome. Just before the doors open, I give her ass a playful spank, eliciting a surprised yelp from Quinn. She shoots me a glare, but there's no real heat behind it.

As we step out into the lush gardens of the Dome of Repose, I feel a sense of pride. Quinn is a vision of confidence and authority, ready to take on the challenges ahead. And I'll be right by her side, protecting her, supporting her.

Maybe she is my jalshagar. Maybe this is what it feels like—this constant tug, this need to be near her, to touch her, to keep her safe. Whatever it is, I'm not fighting it. I'm all in, ready to see where this path leads us.

But for now, we have a job to do. Negotiations await, and I'll be the silent, vigilant guardian at her side. Ready to annihilate anyone who dares threaten her.

The Dome of Repose lives up to its name—if you're not involved in the negotiations. The air smells of exotic flowers and fresh water from the miniature waterfalls. Birds chirp and flutter between branches. It's all very peaceful.

Too bad I want to rip someone's throat out.

The horseshoe-shaped table sits in the center of this botanical paradise, with Kallus and his four stuffed-shirt lawyers on the left, and Zantress with her single bodyguard on the right. Quinn takes her position in the middle, the mediator between two opposing forces.

Prime Minister Serenity Garsdotter steps forward, her lavender eyes scanning the assembly.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and beings of all designations, welcome to Armstrong.

I am Prime Minister Serenity Garsdotter, and I officially open these negotiations between Bruw Interstellar Shipping and the Solari of Jwoon X. "

I stand behind Quinn, arms crossed, doing my best to look intimidating without actually threatening anyone. My eyes drift to Zantress's bodyguard and I freeze.

Drach.

The one-eyed Odex stares back at me, his cybernetic red eye glowing with recognition.

Last time I saw him, we were on opposite sides of a battlefield on Praxis VII.

I killed three of his squad mates before he nearly took my head off with that power blade of his.

The scar on my neck throbs with the memory.

Drach's lips curl back, revealing teeth that could crush bone. I respond with a growl so low only another predator could hear it.

Quinn shoots me a sharp look over her shoulder. Her eyes narrow in warning. I swallow my growl and force myself to relax my posture, though every muscle in my body remains coiled, ready to spring.

"Let's begin," Quinn says, her voice clear and professional. "I'd like both parties to openly state their goals for these negotiations. Speaker Zantress, would you care to start?"

Zantress rises, her dour expression matching her blunt words. "The Solari want one thing—for Kallus's mining operation to leave our moon immediately. That is all."

Kallus leans forward, a practiced smile on his face.

"Surely there must be some wiggle room here, or there's no point in negotiation at all.

" He spreads his hands in a gesture of apparent generosity.

"In exchange for allowing our mining operation to continue, Bruw Interstellar is prepared to build roads, schools, banks, prisons, power plants—all the modern infrastructure that the Solari currently lack. "

I watch Quinn's back stiffen. She turns to Kallus, her voice dropping several degrees in temperature. "Mr. Bruw, I feel compelled to remind you that the Solari explicitly reject the concepts of prisons and banks. Their cultural values?—"

"And that's precisely my point," Kallus interrupts smoothly. "If they reject basic pillars of civilized society, how can we expect them to engage in rational negotiation?"

I see the trap immediately. This slick bastard is trying to paint the Solari as primitive, unreasonable. And from the way Zantress is clenching her fists, she's about to take the bait.

"Rational?" Zantress stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "You call your endless greed rational? Your mining operation has poisoned our water, killed our sacred trees, and disrupted our ceremonies with your constant drilling and blasting!"

I grind my teeth so hard I'm surprised they don't crack. This is exactly what Kallus wants—to make Zantress look unhinged while he sits there, calm and collected, the picture of reasonable business.

"Our operation follows all IEC environmental guidelines," Kallus replies, still maintaining that infuriating smile. "We've conducted multiple impact studies?—"

"Impact studies!" Zantress slams her palm on the table. "Did your impact studies predict that three of our children would develop respiratory diseases? Did they predict that our sacred pool would turn green with your chemical runoff?"

I catch Drach's eye again. Despite our history, I see something familiar in his expression—the frustration of a warrior forced to stand by while others fight with words. His cybernetic eye dims slightly, almost in acknowledgment of our shared predicament.

Quinn raises her hands. "Let's take a step back. Speaker Zantress, I understand your concerns. Mr. Bruw, the environmental impact is clearly a major issue here."

Kallus nods as if in deep thought. "Perhaps we could relocate our main processing facility to reduce noise pollution. And implement additional filtration systems for any water runoff."

"That's not enough," Zantress insists. "Your very presence violates our way of life. The Solari have lived in harmony with Jwoon X for centuries. We reject your technological solutions because they only create more problems!"

I watch helplessly as Zantress falls deeper into Kallus's trap. She's passionate, righteous—and playing right into his hands. He's making her look like an unreasonable zealot while positioning himself as the flexible businessman willing to compromise.

Quinn catches my eye briefly. I see the concern there, the recognition of what's happening. She turns back to the table, her voice calm but firm.

"I think we've established the starting positions clearly enough. Let's take a short recess before diving into specific proposals."

As the others rise and move toward the refreshment tables, Quinn steps close to me.

"This is going to be harder than I thought," she whispers.

I lean down, my voice for her ears only. "Kallus is playing her like a harp. And she's letting him."