Chapter Three
Ines
The next morning, I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and open my bedroom door. Maybe if I get an early start I can sneak in an interview before…
Trunk’s door opens.
Oh hells. Well, there goes that.
We both freeze, staring at each other down the narrow hallway. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
“Good morning, Trunk,” I finally manage.
He’s not dressed in anything that could resemble mining gear. He instead wears clothing similar to what he wore to dinner last night, a dark outfit that does absolutely nothing to diminish how massive and imposing he is, and how annoyingly attractive. And those same green gloves, the ones I also wear. I spent time next to him last night at dinner. You’d think I’d be tired of his presence already, and you’d be wrong. Basically, I can’t get enough of him. Unfortunately he hates me because I’m a journalist.
“My name is Texon of Twenty-Four,” he reminds me. “Trunk is my crew name.”
My brow furrows. “Are you saying you want me to call you Texon?”
He gives a curt nod then gestures for me to walk ahead of him.
Interesting.
I move past him, hyper-aware of his presence. The heavy footsteps and the way he fills the entire hallway. My mind drifts back to last night. The hostility in his gaze every time he looked at me.
He clearly dislikes me. That much is obvious.
So why can’t I stop thinking about him?
Texon sat next to me even though he could have chosen any seat at the table. That was certainly odd. He’s supposed to be my bodyguard and guide while I’m here, but I don’t think he needs be directly at my side for every moment I’m on Timbur.
And then I could swear he was smelling me. He leaned close, inhaled, and then pulled back like I’d burned him. His expression had gone strange—almost pained.
Good thing I was wearing my favorite perfume.
Then he growled at me about “watching where I was moving” when I was simply reaching for bread. I don’t understand what that was about.
He never really spoke to me the whole time, but I watched him at dinner with his family. The way his harsh face softened when little Lia climbed into her father’s lap. How he steadied baby Rux’s high chair without being asked. The gentle way he caught the toddler when he nearly knocked her over, guilt flickering across his features for just a moment.
This is a male who adores his family and would do anything to protect them. I can’t help but admire that, even when that protection is aimed directly at me. There’s something raw andreal about him. No smooth words designed to put me at ease. I find this oddly refreshing and infuriating at the same time.
I walk out and enter the common area, surprised to find it completely full. Everyone in the compound is already awake, preparing to leave for work. Six fever brothers in full mining gear, equipment hooked to belts and thumping against massive thighs. Personal crystals glow faintly in their pockets. Helmets are tucked under arms.
I thought I was getting up early, before anyone else, obviously I was wrong.
The front door opens and another Xylan miner enters with a small boy on his hip. He’s warmly greeted. I haven’t met this child before. He’s maybe two or three, with his father’s dark hair but lighter coloring. The miner hands the small boy off to Lila, who’s already wrangling three other children.
“Come here, Argyl,” Lila grins. “It’s good to see you baby boy.”
I watch her manage four children with practiced ease. Argyl. Lia. Zora. And baby Rux in a carrier nearby. Four small humans—well, half-humans—and she handles it with ease.
My journalist brain kicks into gear, cataloging everything. The brothers are checking gear, exchanging brief words. Each of them seven feet of muscle and deadly claws, dressed for hard labor underground.
And standing with them, ready to leave, are three of the human brides I met and chatted with last night. It was nice getting to know them. I have a feeling I already like these women as more than simply job assignments. Naomi is with Chief, dressed for her art studio. He murmurs something to her and smiles up at him, soft and private. Jana stands with Heavy, a chef’s bag over her shoulder. She works at the cafeteria in the mine, I remember, feeding the employees. Roxy is withCannibal, her own work bag ready for her work at the science lab.
This is incredible material, readers on New Earth would love to understand how this mysterious Illibrium is actually mined. Who does this dangerous, essential work? These massive Margol warriors with their fever bonds and personal crystals. And the human women who’ve built lives alongside them—working in the cafeteria, the science lab, the art studio. This is the real story of Timbur. Not just romance, but a whole community.
Chief surveys the crew, gives a curt nod. “Let’s go.”
