Page 9

Zandrel

The little human isn’t just scorching, she’s sweet.

Sweet and tender, her mouth soft and damp, with just a hint of some deep, dark spice clinging to her lips that tastes like morning dew and flower petals and sex.

Reading about this act of human physical affection was… revolting. Beyond that, seeing the Vas-Greshiran attempt it with her was infuriating given how much she seemed not to enjoy it.

And even though I can’t imagine she’s any more thrilled to be partaking in it with me, all my preconceived notions about the act go up in flames as soon as I have my mouth on her.

Fates, but she’s delicious.

Even more so when she brings a hand up to tangle in the hair at the base of my skull, to hold me to her and press her body into mine. I respond in kind, opening my lips on hers, placing a hand on the small of her back and fisting the other in her hair as I—

Roslyn grunts unhappily into my mouth.

The mechanics of it all seemed simple enough, but apparently I must not have them quite right as she leans back and hisses at me.

“Stop trying to fucking devour me. Just… I don’t know. Follow my lead.”

I grumble a bit at her sass, but let her take over as her sweet, warm lips slant over mine. She nips at me, harder than would seem necessary for an expression of affection and tenderness, but I don’t mind.

I want more.

More of her sharp edges and more of her sweet spice. More of this unexpectedly erotic dance of lips and teeth and tongue.

These humans might be onto something with kissing.

Another inquiring shout echoes through the jungle as the crew gets closer, and when I slide my hand up Roslyn’s back, a new problem presents itself.

With a firm grip, I tug at the pack she’s wearing. Small and lightweight, but definitely out of place and likely to raise questions.

Roslyn grumbles another protest into the kiss, and her sass is just as sweet as her bite. “What are you—”

“Evidence,” I mutter, catching the tip of my fang on her bottom lip and not allowing myself to believe the little gasp that catches in her throat is anything but indignation. “Off. Now.”

She complies, letting me strip it from her and toss it into the thick underbrush at the edge of the clearing.

As soon as it’s dealt with, I pull her back into my arms, lower my lips to hers, and taste that sweetness again.

Fates, I understand the fascination.

I understand the splash these humans have made in the sector with their peculiar mating rituals and soft-strong bodies and gentle, otherworldly sort of beauty.

Or perhaps it’s just this human who’s my own personal fascination.

Perhaps it’s those emerald eyes of hers and the way she drives me mad with her defiance. Perhaps not all human bodies are as tempting as the soft curves pressed into me, or as undeniably delicious as the taste of sex clinging to her lips.

Through those lust-addled thoughts, the whir of a hovercam announces the end of this little charade, along with a sharp exclamation from the producer who reaches us first.

“What the fuck?”

In a few seconds, three crew members and a guard—a lazy, insolent, knock-kneed male whose name I never bothered learning—are in the clearing, all of them staring open-mouthed at Roslyn and I.

She pulls away from me, but I press a hand firmly to her lower back and keep her tucked into my side, leveling a glare at them.

For appearance’s sake, of course.

“What’s going on here?” one producer, who seems to be in charge of this crew, asks.

“What does it look like is going on here?” I shoot back, tugging Roslyn even closer.

“That isn’t—you’re not supposed to—” the producer flails helplessly for a couple of moments before looking at the guard.

The guard shakes his head. “This is way above my authority level.”

“We’re going to have to bring you to Marva,” the producer says, running a beleaguered hand through his hair.

A grumble lodges itself in my chest at the idea of being brought anywhere, of being censured or ordered about by the likes of this male, but Roslyn digs her nails in a little where she has her hand resting on my back. An unmistakable command to play nice.

“Fine,” I say. “We’ll speak to Marva.”

I look down at Roslyn for confirmation and she nods before unwinding her arm from around my waist and stepping back toward the path.

The crew and guard make to fall into step behind her, but it only takes a couple of strides and a small, nearly imperceptible flinch from Roslyn for me to halt their progress.

“Stop,” I command, and everyone does.

Everyone except Roslyn, who tromps stubbornly forward, wincing again as she steps on another rock.

I grab her arm.

Murder, in that emerald gaze of hers. Daggers that would cut me to bits as she rounds on me and opens her mouth to give me some fresh hell.

“Your shoe,” I explain, cutting her off before she can slice into me. “Wait here.”

She’s either startled or confused enough to obey as I walk back over to the section of fence she was trying to climb, keeping my eyes firmly trained away from the pack hidden in the underbrush.

The pack that would absolutely give away what she was doing, if it’s stocked with supplies for an escape attempt as I suspect.

Returning to Roslyn with shoe in hand, I drop to my knee and grab her ankle. She tries to hop awkwardly away, but I keep her where she is with an arm slung around her lower back. It brings her close enough for the gentle swell of her lower belly to nearly brush against my nose, and I try not to lose my head as I inhale her.

Delectable, this human. Sweet breezes and earthy florals and lush morning dew.

“Easy,” I murmur, dropping my arm to work her boot back on over her foot.

I hope she hears the word for what it’s meant to be.

A warning.

A reminder.

We’re running this con together now, and we’re not likely to succeed if she can’t get her temper under control.

Do I want us to succeed?

Fates above, what am I doing?

The suggestion we do this—deceive the crew, dive head-first into a lie that’s a thousand times more likely than not to blow up in our faces—sprung out entirely of its own accord.

I’ve never acted so impulsively in my fatesdamned life.

But Roslyn’s face was…

I shouldn’t think of her face. The devastation there. The horror of realizing her plans were destroyed. The way I might have heard her heart breaking if I’d leaned down to take a listen.

She’s a criminal.

She was about to break several intergalactic laws and treaties by leaving the production zone, and likely adding theft to that list of charges when she stole a hover to do whatever she intended out beyond the fence.

I should have turned her in.

I shouldn’t have hitched my fortune to hers like this, shouldn’t have protected her, shouldn’t have…

My eyes dart to our spectators. All of them are looking at her like the sideshow they’ve made her, or calculating how many more ounces of flesh they’ll be able to carve out of her when the show is edited and aired.

And I still want to know.

I’m cursed for it, but I still want to know why she’s here, what she’s after, to solve the puzzle that’s been haunting me from the moment I laid eyes on her.

It’s all a fatesdamned mess.

Above us, cameras hum. The first showed up just in time to catch our dramatic kiss, and it’s been joined by half a dozen more. Silent eyes, watching, waiting to catch any minor slip up.

Hands braced on my shoulders for balance, Roslyn’s tense muscles loosen. Her grip eases, she sways into me, and when I dart a glance up at her, she almost seems relaxed.

Almost.

Despite the soft smile turning up the corners of her lips, she can’t quite pull off besotted entirely.

There are still flames kindling deep in that emerald gaze, and I can only hope the cameras are too far away to pick it up, or production mistakes it for a different kind of fire if they do.

But there’s nothing much I can do about it as I finish putting her boot on and rise from where I kneel before her. I brush a kiss over the inside of her knee as I do, lips pressed to the utilitarian fabric of her pants, and she sucks in a sharp breath.

Interesting.

Perhaps it’s taboo, kissing anywhere other than on the mouth. The literature I studied suggested there were other uses for lips and tongues and teeth in expressions of human pleasure, but perhaps that’s not something Roslyn enjoys.

Or, much more likely, perhaps it’s me she finds off-putting.

But we’ve still got eyes on us, and Roslyn must realize how imperative it is we keep up the ruse, because she doesn’t pull away.

Not even when I brush one last brief kiss against her lips, inhaling her gasp of surprise.

Not even when I take her hand in mine, twining our fingers together and giving them a gentle squeeze—a silent reminder as we follow the crew through the jungle and to our fate.