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When Dartan opened the door, Garet, his despised uncle’s despised guard, was there with another of the guards and Kalen tried not to bristle with irritation, but it was hard. They glared at each other and Garet insolently stepped up to Kalen, looking him over.
“Where are you supposed to be off to? I don’t remember giving you permission to go anywhere.”
“Who the fuck asked you?” Kalen shouted, pulling back his fist with a snarl, but Dartan jumped in front of him, putting a hand on his chest to hold him back.
“He’s not worth your time, Your Highness.” He whirled back to glare at the guard. “Get out of our way, Garet.His Highness,” he said with heavy emphasis on the two words, “is on his way to a meeting with Prince Mikol of Tygeria. But wait, should I send the prince a quick message telling him that one of Prince Kalen’sguardshas an objection to that. I’m sure he’d understand.”
Garet sneered at him but arrogantly stepped back out of the way long enough for Prince Kalen to sail past him. Then he and the other guard fell in behind. Kalen was seething, but since he was already running late, he kept on walking toward the lift. Deck 35 was just below theirs, so it was necessary to step inside with the two hated guards and endure their proximity for a few seconds until they reached Prince Mikol’s floor. The two followed Kalen and Dartan off the lift and right up to the Tygerian’s door.
Dartan rapped on it and the door slid open after a moment, revealing a large, handsome Tygerian, looking down at the small group quizzically. “Prince Kalen?” he asked looking from Dartan back to Kalen.
“Yes. That’s me,” Kalen said from behind Dartan, relieved to see that the prince seemed to be quite handsome at least, and not much older than he was. He had no real idea of exactly how old the prince was come to think of it. He knew he was handsome, but all Tygerians favored each other a great deal anyway, to Kalen’s mind at least.
Except for the one he’d met on Belline. He’d never expected Tygerians to look so exotic or be so big and powerful. That Tygerian had been extraordinarily good looking, and it made something in Kalen’s chest flutter to remember just how much. He really wished he could see him just one more time. But he had to put all thoughts of the handsome Tygerian out of his mind and face this prince. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
The man at the door took a step backward and gestured for them to come inside. “You can come in. but no guards.” Kalen stepped forward with Dartan, and the other two tried to follow, but the Tygerian placed one big hand on Garet’s chest and the other on Dartan’s, stopping them both. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said, the guards stay outside.”
****
Dartan had thought the big Tygerian couldn’t possibly be talking to him. So he’d simply pushed past him.
Immediately, he was grabbed by his shirt collar and slammed back against the wall.
“Wherethe fuckdo you think you’re going?”
Dartan, who was still pretty hungover himself from the night before, because he’d been drinking right along with the prince—perhaps even more, as Kalen had never been able to hold his liquor—flew into a rage and reached down to pull out his weapon. He had been through quite a few stressful days on the way to this god forsaken outpost, far from his home and everything he knew, trying to keep his men calm and ignore the near constant insults and harassment of Nerol’s men. All while trying to calm and protect his unpredictable and capricious prince. He was right at that precise tipping point where it was just as easy to fight as it was to do anything else. In fact, he was fucking spoiling for it.
Instinctively, he assessed the situation. This man must be simply another guard. Dartan didn’t recognize the insignia on his uniform. He’d had it with trumped up assholes like this one who were always trying to start something. He’d had to endure it with Nerol’s guards because he was under orders from his prince, but this man in front of him was no one he knew. And since he obviously wanted a quarrel, Dartan was inclined to give him one.
He made a fist with the hand not holding the weapon and slammed it in the side of the Tygerian’s face, as the belligerent fool pushed it down into his. Dartan was tall, but this man had maybe six inches on him and a good deal more bulky muscle. Dartan still relished the brawl that was about to erupt.
The Tygerian soldier simply shook his head from the blow and then came even closer to growl at him. A chill swept down Dartan’s spine. He had always heard that a Tygerian’s growl when his blood was high was a frightening thing. This one was low and guttural and far from any sound Dartan had ever heard anyone make before. But fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for them both, he’d made up his mind to take no more shit from anyone not in his direct command. The growl served only to fire his blood, so rather than strike fear into him, it simply made him good and pissed off.
“I’ll show you where I’m going,” he yelled and then leveled his weapon at the fool’s head. He wouldn’t have used it—probably. He only wanted the big man to back off, but before he could decide for sure, the Tygerian had knocked it from his hand with a move much faster than Dartan expected from a person the Tygerian’s size. It only made Dartan angrier.
With a furious roar of his own, he managed to pull out the knife he always wore tucked inside his boot. He didn’t want to stab anything vital, as he didn’t intend to kill this soldier, but he wanted to make a believer out of him and let him know that Lorians in general and members of the prince’s guard in particular weren’t going to be intimidated or pushed around by any Tygerian who had ever been born.
With embarrassingly little effort, the Tygerian grabbed the wrist holding the blade and with some tricky, alien move a man that large shouldn’t have been able to execute, he flipped Dartan to the floor. Applying enough pressure to snap his wrist if Dartan didn’t drop the weapon, he smiled down at him as the blade dropped from Dartan’s nerveless fingers, and the next thing he knew, his knife was in the other man’s hands and pressed firmly against the tender flesh at Dartan’s throat. Not deeply, but enough to get his full attention. He was on his back on the floor looking up in amazement as the huge man apparently changed his mind and flung the knife away, wrapping his hands around his throat instead. He didn’t try to choke him, but simplycontainedhim there on the floor, even collared him in a way, and it was infuriating to Dartan because he was helpless to move.
Gods, the bastard was so strong—Dartan pulled frantically at his hands but couldn’t budge them. Kalen was shouting and beating on the big man’s shoulder, obviously thinking he was hurting his captain. “Stop struggling and I’ll let you up,” the big man was saying. Dartan shook his head stubbornly and the hand tightened just a little, as if to let him know he still wasn’t in charge of anything,
It was around then, just as he was growing really frustrated, that he noticed a young god had come into the room. A beautiful, young Tygerian god, with long, red-gold hair and green eyes suddenly appeared behind the big man and swung his fist directly at the big man’s shoulder. “Stop playing with the soldiers,” the god said.
That finally seemed to register on the man as he grunted and withdrew his strong hand from Dartan’s throat. “Stay on your knees until I say you can move,” he said, leaning in close to Dartan’s face.
“Yes,” Dartan tried to say through the anger clogging his throat. The big Tygerian smiled and leaned in even closer.
“That’s yes sir to you.”
Chapter Eight
“You’ve hurt him!” Kalen shouted, lunging for his friend on the floor.
“No such thing,” a deep, throaty and unbearably sexy voice replied, and Kalen turned to glance over at this new player who had just saved his friend’s life. And that’s when he froze…
A sudden wave of dizziness swept over Kalen as he gazed up at the handsome man standing in front of him with just a hint of a smirk on his face, so close Kalen was overwhelmed by his distinctive scent. It was the gorgeous Tygerian from the night on Belline, somehow unbelievably transported here to the space station. Kalen heard a soft, panicked sound that seemed to come from his own throat, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he was capable of producing such a noise.
“It’s-it’s you!” he cried out and swayed into the door frame, fighting off the waves of blackness that were threatening to swallow him whole. Then, to his everlasting shame, and perhaps because he felt so terrible and his best friend was still on his knees on the floor and everything was just so messed up, he burst into tears.
