Because she is right. My mate is always right. Including being right about always being right. And If I want to avoid envenomation in the future, I believe trusting her is the best option.
“Then you had better show me how best I can not be a Sarkarnii,” I rumble into her neck.
“There’s a clothing dispenser down in one of the holds, next to the one the Gryn were held in,” she replies. “Perhapsmy Lordwill accompany me?”
This time I growl against her skin, giving it a little nip.
“I’d follow you into the heart of a dark star, my spitfire, and beyond. I belong to you.”
MAGGIE
Fortunately I did help Scarlett out on occasion when she was using the clothing creator to make up outfits for us all, so I have some idea how it works. This one is loaded with a considerable number of odd items for creation. I pick two which are relatively similar, mostly flowing and dark in color.
“What sort of atmosphere and landscape is on this planetoid?” I ask Driok.
“Dust,” he says. “The air isn’t great. You’ll need a respirator,” he adds.
I quickly add these to the headgear I’ve chosen along with eye shields as well as informing the machine of the dust element to the atmosphere the clothing will be used in and then set the machine in motion. In no time, it has produced the outfits, and I hand Driok his.
“I have to wear this?” he says, looking at it as if I’ve handed him a live bomb.
“Yes. Because a Sarkarnii is going to stick outanywhere. Let alone when we’re on a stealth mission.”
Driok growls under his breath.
“Or we could both go like this and just offer ourselves up to be kidnapped, like your crew,” I suggest flatly.
Driok blows out a stream of smoke, looks at me, and waves it away.
“Yes, my mate,” he says, with an element of resignation in his voice.
I should think so too. I pull on the shapeless cloak and slide into the voluminous pants and matching top. Hopefully it’s not too windy on this planetoid or I might just flap away like a huge pregnant bat.
Driok is still grumbling under his breath as he puts on his outfit, which is probably the most clothing he has ever worn. He plucks at the cape and garments as if they’re burning at his skin.
“Don’t fidget,” I warn him. “Or you’re likely to tear it.” I glare at his claws.
Driok wrinkles up his nose. “I dislike this outfit,” he grumbles.
“If Sarkarnii were left to their own devices, I doubt you’d bother with any clothing,” I respond.
Driok gives me a grin.
“Which is not an option.”
The grin fades.
“My ancestors didn’t see the need for clothing,” he says, lifting his hand up to pull at the fabric once more and then thinking better of it.
“I’ve certainly seen enough pantsless Sarkarnii to know that is true,” I say with a smile.
It’s something which sets Driok off growling. I hold up my hands at him. “If you’re going to have it on display, I have eyes, and I’m going to look.”
“I will ensure all my warriors wear pants from now on,” he says, eyes blazing.
“Let’s find them first before imposing a clothing based rule of law,” I suggest.
Driok’s comm chimes and he studies it. “We are approaching the planetoid.”
