Page 7 of Trak (Virilian Mail Order Mates #1)

Six

Trak sat in the Miti Luti, moving his cup of taga around the table and thinking . He resisted ever doing the last bit for longer than necessary. It typically resulted in a risky new idea his crew would hate, or unfortunate poetry. Presently, he was veering toward the latter.

Pizol, his first officer, slid into the seat across from him.

His friend and comrade said something to him, but all Trak heard was nonsense.

He made a confused face, then remembered and removed the chip from his head that made him speak and understand English.

He greeted Pizol, flipping the chip between his fingers like a coin.

“I said, I’m surprised to see you here,” said Pizol, raising a muscled arm to summon a server. “Figured you’d be seducing her in your chambers.”

Trak had thought so, too. He glanced at the dancers on the dais: two many-tentacled beings engaged in a sinuous, sensual dance, bathed in a pulsing blue light.

Over the course of his many, many visits to this bar, Trak had admired every manner of female, male, and multi-gendered dancer up on that dais.

They currently held no interest for him.

All he could think about was the red-haired beauty in his chambers.

“Where do they get the talent these days?” asked Pizol. “I’ve never seen that species before in my life.”

“They’re Oukks ,” Trak said blandly. “We met some when passing through the Greri sector five quadrants ago. Remember?”

“Oh,” said Pizol, pushing back his long black hair. “Vaguely.”

“I believe our chief engineer got a bit friendly with one of them. It was so good, apparently, he was ruined for any other sexual partner for cycles.”

Pizol raised his brows and looked back to the dancing Oukks . “The tentacles?”

“Of course, the tentacles,” replied Trak, staring at his untouched drink. “There are so many of them.”

“How is your human guest?” Pizol gave his prince an assessing look. “The fact that you are moping here does not bode well.”

“She is well,” he said. “She’s utterly lovely and her kiss tastes like nectar harvested under the Nikig moon. She’s—”

“Dear Sages, stop,” said Pizol gruffly. “You’ve been sitting here too long, clearly.”

Trak smiled faintly. His friend knew him well. “Clearly.”

“So what is the problem then, if you are getting poetic about her?”

He tipped his glass to his lips and took a sip. “She isn’t sure she wants to stay here.”

“Ah, that’s a pity.” Pizol nodded to the familiar server who delivered a cup of taga without waiting to be asked. “They’ll send another female, won’t they?”

“Yes,” replied Trak. “But I would like to keep this one. She’s…”

“I get the picture.” Pizol held up a hand, preempting more flowery descriptions of Anna. “Have you fucked her yet?”

Trak looked up, eyes hot. “ That is private.”

“So, you haven’t.” Pizol shook his head and took a long swig of taga . “Well, once you bone the female, it will be done. She’ll never want to leave.”

Trak gave him a withering look as two more members of his crew sauntered up and took seats at the table. He sighed, almost—but not quite—grateful for the company, and signaled to the server to bring a carafe of taga for the table.

“Who is never going to leave?” asked Yanc, Trak’s chief engineer.

Without him, Trak was certain his battle cruiser, which was currently docked in their massive hangar, would never make it off the landing pad.

Yanc was slender for a Virilian and kept his brown hair shorn almost to the skin.

He was studiously avoiding looking at the Oukks .

“Trak’s female. If he ever gets around to boning her.”

The other male, Niir, was the eldest of the crew and by far the wisest. He held the position of chief communications officer and designated negotiator because of all of them, he had the most patience.

Niir spoke over eighty languages and Trak credited his continued survival to the older Virilian’s expertise.

A server approached with a cup which Trak accepted. He poured himself a splash of taga .

“It is not our place to comment on our prince’s sex life,” declared Niir.

His dark hair was streaked with gray and his skin bore many scars from his previous life as a hardened mercenary.

“I have heard that other princes who were matched with human females are similarly challenged. This is a frightening transition for the humans.”

Trak looked up. “What did you hear?”

Niir shrugged a massive shoulder. “I spoke with an officer of the Delga Cruiser, who serves under Prince Lynk. He says Lynk’s female was very ill after space travel, and terribly frightened of him, but he managed to woo the female and they are now on good terms.”

“‘Woo’ the female?” asked Pizol. “What nonsense. These females agreed to do a job and they should do it. End of story.” He drained his cup and reached for the carafe.

“I told her I would send her home if that was what she wished,” said Trak. “I don’t know what she will decide, but I know that our attraction is mutual.”

“How do you know that, lad?” asked Niir.

“We kissed,” said Trak. “She enjoyed it. A lot. I am the one who broke it off.”

Yanc’s brows knitted. “Then why are you here? ”

“She asked for some space to think about her situation and so I left.” He raised a brow at his engineer, who was showing signs of cracking in his effort to avoid looking at the tentacled dancers. “Why don’t you go say hello to those Oukks? We’re not leaving here for at least the next ten cycles.”

Yanc sent a quick, longing glance to the dancing pair. “Just the thought… You don’t know what it’s like.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, that pair may not even like Virilians.”

Niir looked to the metal-beamed ceiling. “You may as well speak with them and find out.”

“Oh look—their set is ending,” said Pizol with an amused grin. “They’re leaving and new dancers are arriving.” He waggled his brows at Yanc, who let out a curse, dropped his taga cup on the table and hurried after the Oukks.

“See?” said Pizol with a good-natured grin. “That’s how it works, Trak. You see what you want and go get it.”

“Or perhaps a bit more finesse is in order,” said Niir knowingly.

Trak raised a brow. “Such as?”

Niir shrugged. “Treat her to some luxury. Send her gifts, clothing, jewelry, exotic things she cannot get on Earth and will be dazzled by. It may ease the fear and pain of being so far from home, and it certainly won’t dent your funds.

Many of the things humans hold valuable are worthless to us.

Like certain gems. There are moons made solid of them, but on Earth they are rare.

” Niir took a sip of taga , winced and put the cup down.

“My colleague told me his prince showered his female with gifts, and he also took some time to get to know her.”

Trak leaned forward. “How?”

Niir blinked at him. “By taking her places, talking with her. Like what we’re doing.”

“ Not like what we’re doing.” Pizol waved a finger back and forth. “Bad idea.”

An idea was forming in Trak’s mind, thanks to Niir. Not thanks to Pizol. It was a good thing the male was a better first officer than he was a romantic advisor.

Trak had never had to try to win a female’s affection, making this sound like an interesting endeavor. “Niir, you’re brilliant.”

Pizol rolled his eyes. “This is doomed to fail.”

“And I would give the female the space she has requested,” added Niir. “Don’t push her. Let her wonder about you. Perhaps, even miss you.”

Trak wasn’t sure if Anna would miss him if he got blown out of an airlock and froze into space junk, but he knew what he had to do. He got up, leaving his taga largely untouched. “I will be staying in Sinno’s quarters. You may find me there.”

Pizol gave him a puzzled look. “You’re trying to win over this human’s affections by staying with your mistress? I’m no expert, but that doesn’t sound like the wisest course to me.”

“Ex-mistress.” Trak waved a hand. “She is off-station for the indefinite future. She won’t mind if I stay there.”

Niir and Pizol sent him skeptical looks, but he got up, feeling good. He strode from the noise and smells of the Miti Luti with a plan. It had to work.