I snort, but it’s not funny. Not even close. My fists are clenched, nails digging into my palms. My scales itch with the need to react.
“She’s not yours,” he adds under his breath.
“She was,” I growl. “Still might be.”
“Then act like it.”
The Vakutan at the bar touches her arm.
My vision narrows like a laser scope.
He leans in close. She laughs again—too loud, too bright. Is she doing it to get a rise out of me?
If she is, it’s working.
I cross the room before I know I’m moving, every step a silent thunderclap. I don’t shove the guy. Not technically. I just… insert myself.
Between them.
The guy blinks. “Problem?”
“Yeah,” I say, voice a low snarl. “You’re in my seat.”
“I didn’t realize it had your name on it.”
I bare my teeth. “It doesn’t. But it’s about to have your blood on it if you don’t move.”
“Troka.” Alaina’s voice cracks across the air like a whip. She grabs my arm, tugging me away from the poor bastard who’s just trying to get laid without losing a fang.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses once we’re out back, the alley behind the bar reeking of synth-garbage and old regrets.
“He touched you.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t like it.”
“You don’t get to not like it,” she snaps. “You don’t get to act like I’m yours when you ghosted me for two years!”
“I didn’t?—”
“You didn’t open asinglemessage, Troka.”
She’s shaking. Red-faced. Furious.
And somehow, still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I did, I just didn’t know what to say,” I mutter.
“Oh, that’s rich.” She folds her arms. “Big bad warrior doesn’t know how to use words. Must be terrifying.”
“I came back.”
“Yeah,now. After you played soldier of the year. After I raised a baby by myself?—”
“I’m not trying to stake a claim,” I say finally. “You want space? I’ll give it. You want time? Take it. But don’t provoke me.”
She looks away.
