Oh. Oh.
Yeah, she’d heard something about that. About some kind of mail order bride program between the Lathar and humanity. It explained the staring. Every male they passed tracked her movement with an intensity that made her skin prickle. Not threatening, exactly. More like she was water and they’d been wandering the desert for thirty years.
“So when you say ‘don’t look like prey’—”
“I mean, don’t look like prey.”
A male stepped into their path. Younger than Raaze, with close-cropped dark hair and the kind of expression that reminded her of a puppy. A very large, very muscular puppy who could probably bench-press her ship.
“Human.” His voice was reverent. “You are… You are so small.”
“Thanks. I get that a lot.”
He reached for her, and Raaze moved.
One second, he was by her side. The next, he’d jammed himself between them, shoulders squared, as he blocked the other male completely. Gone was the lazy charm and the calculated swagger. What replaced it was something harder and infinitely more dangerous.
“She’s mine.”
The younger male’s eyes widened. He stepped back, hands raised. “I meant no offense, brother. I only wished to?—”
“I know what you wished.” Raaze’s voice dropped to a growl. “Find it elsewhere.”
For a moment, nobody moved. The noise of the concourse faded, other conversations dying as everyone turned to watch. She could feel the weight of their attention like a physical pressure.
Then the younger male ducked his head, muttered something in Latharian, and retreated into the crowd.
Raaze turned back to her. His expression smoothed, the predator sliding back beneath the performer’s mask. “Problem solved.”
She’s mine.
The words echoed in her mind, wrapping around something warm and stupid in her chest. She should be annoyed… hell, she was annoyed. She wasn’t property. She wasn’t anyone’s anything.
But her traitorous brain had already skipped back to that corridor and the way his mouth had crushed hers. His hands pulling her close and the feel of his larger, harder body against hers. The way he’d said it later, like it was a promise and a threat rolled into one.
Stop it.
“You could have just said I was your passenger,” she managed, trotting to keep up with him.
“Could have.” His hand found the small of her back again as he steered her toward the lift. “Didn’t.”
“Why not?”
He looked down at her, and his red eyes held an expression she couldn’t quite read. “Because it wouldn’t have been true.”
Her heart lurched in her chest.
He’s using you, she reminded herself. This is the con. The charm, the possessiveness, the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room—it’s just part of the play.
Except he’d looked genuinely angry when that male had reached for her. No, not angry, furious.
The lift doors opened, and he guided her inside, his hand never leaving her back. The doors closed, cutting off the stares, and she let out a breath.
“Level three. Section nine,” Raaze ordered and the lift hummed to life.
In the sudden quiet, she became acutely aware of how small the space was and how close he was standing. The way his thumb was tracing small circles against her spine through her flight jacket.
“Stop that.”
