Chapter 8

8

T raax circled Roic in the training hall, his muscles coiled and ready to strike. The air crackled with tension, their harsh breaths echoing off the high-vaulted ceiling. Other warriors watched from the sidelines, eyes wide with awe and respect. No one dared to approach the two seasoned fighters, their reputations preceding them.

The training hall was vast, its towering walls adorned with ancient weapons and battle standards. The floor was a patchwork of worn mats, stained with the sweat and blood of countless sparring sessions. The scent of leather, steel, and sweat hung heavily in the air.

Roic feinted left and then struck right, his fist grazing Traax's jaw. Traax grunted, shaking off the blow. His mind was elsewhere, still reeling from the kiss he'd shared with Zara. The feel of her lips against his, the way she'd melted into him… it haunted him.

The taste of her lingered on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating. And the memory of her soft curves pressed against the hard planes of his body ignited the fire in his veins. The scent of her hair, like wildflowers and starlight, filled his nostrils as if she were there in his arms again. It was burned into his senses, a brand he couldn't escape. She was burned into his senses, into his memory, into his soul.

Whether he wanted her there or not. He couldn't shake the memory, couldn't focus on the fight at hand.

Sensing his distraction, Roic, pressed his advantage. He rained down a flurry of blows, his fists a blur of motion. Traax blocked and parried, but he was a step behind, his reactions sluggish. A sharp jab to the ribs made him grunt in pain, his breath leaving him in a rush.

"What's the matter, Traax?" Roic taunted, circling him like a predator stalking its prey. "You're off your game today."

Traax shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "It's nothing," he growled, lunging forward with a swift uppercut. "Shut up and fight."

Roic danced away from his attack, a smirk quirking his lips.

"It's her. Isn't it?" he taunted. "That human pilot has gotten under your skin."

Traax feigned ignorance with a sneer. "I don't know what you're talking about. Which pilot are you referring to?"

Roic rolled his eyes. "Don't play dumb. You know who I mean. Major Reid, the one with the violet eyes and the fiery spirit."

Traax's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening into fists. "You're imagining things. I have no interest in her beyond her skills as a pilot."

"Oh really?" Roic grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Then why do you keep staring at her when you think no one's looking? Why do you get that faraway look in your eyes whenever someone mentions her name?"

Traax growled, his patience wearing thin. "You're one to talk. I've seen the way you look at the one they call Crash. You're just as enamored as you accuse me of being."

Roic shrugged. "Maybe. But at least I'm honest about it."

Traax snarled, anger surging through him. "Not going to tell you again… Shut the draanth up and fight," he snapped as he launched himself at Roic again.

But Roic was ready for him. He sidestepped the charge and used Traax's momentum against him. With a swift sweep of his leg, he knocked Traax off balance, sending him crashing to the mat. Before he could react, Roic was on top of him, pinning him down with his weight.

"Admit it," he hissed, his face inches away. "You want her. The great lord starfighter, brought low by a human female."

Traax bucked and thrashed, trying to throw his opponent off. But his friend held fast, his grip like iron.

"She's just a pilot under my command," Traax growled in frustration. "Nothing more. Nothing less."

Roic arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?" he drawled. "Then you won't mind if I pursue her myself?"

Something inside him snapped. The thought of Roic… of any male… touching Zara filled him with a rage so pure and intense it locked his muscles up for a moment.

With a roar of fury, he surged upward and threw Roic off in a burst of strength.

On his feet in an instant, he wrapped his hand around his friend's throat. Squeezing, he dug his fingers in until he felt Roic's pulse beneath his palm. The world was painted in shades of red as fury and possessiveness held him in its claws.

His vision tunneled, his focus narrowed to a pinpoint on the male pinned beneath him.

Roic's face was turning purple as his air was cut off, the veins in his neck standing out in sharp relief. Traax's hands were locked in an iron grip, a deadly necklace, as his muscles burned with the strain.

Dimly, he heard the shouts of the other warriors, the sound of running feet. He didn't care. All that mattered was the need to remove a rival for Zara's attention.

The fog of his rage shifted, and he caught sight of the expression on Roic's face. His friend was smiling, triumph in his eyes even as he struggled for air. It was like a splash of cold water in the face as he jerked back, letting Roic fall to the mat. He stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving with exertion and emotion.

Roic grinned as he rubbed at his throat.

"You did that on purpose, you draanthic ," he growled.

Roic chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet. "Of course I did. Someone had to make you see sense."

He shook his head, running a shaking hand through his hair. He felt raw, and exposed, as if Roic had peeled back his skin and laid bare his soul. His deepest secrets. It was unsettling, disorienting, and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

"It makes no difference," he said, his voice rough. "It's not going to happen. Besides, she's not in the mating program."

Roic rolled his eyes. "Seriously… are you going to let that stop you? You're Traax K'Saan, lord starfighter of the Latharian Empire. You take what you want, when you want."

Traax flinched, the words hitting too close to home. It was true. He'd always been driven by his own desires, his own ambitions.

"It's not that simple," he growled, pacing the mat like a caged animal. "She's not one of the soft females looking for a mate. She's a warrior in her own right. She would never submit to my claim… My title doesn't impress her. She's made that more than clear."

Roic's expression softened slightly.

"Then don't claim her," he said in a low voice. "Court her. Show her the male beneath the title. Make her understand that you see her as an equal, not a prize to be claimed."

He shook his head.

"It would never work," he said, his voice rough with frustration. "Our cultures are too different. She could never understand the duties and expectations that come with my position. What would be expected of her as the mate to the lord starfighter."

"You don't know that," Roic argued back, his tone firm. "You're making excuses. She's a leader in her own right, so she's more than capable of understanding and accepting you for who you are. What you are."

Traax opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything a male in an engineering sash approached them, his face tight with worry.

"Lord Starfighter," he said with a quick bow. "There's a problem on the flight deck. One of the human engineers reported a malfunction in the launch systems."

Traax's brow furrowed, his mind already racing with possibilities. But then he caught himself, his lip curling in disdain.

"Wait… a human engineer? What are they even doing in our systems? They don't know enough about our technology to make that call… It's probably just a glitch, something their primitive minds can't comprehend."

The engineer shifted nervously.

"I'm sorry, my lord," he said in a hesitant voice. "The human seemed quite certain. He said there was a risk of catastrophic failure if we didn't address the issue immediately."

His patience wearing thin, Traax waved a hand and cut the engineer off.

"Enough," he snapped, "I don't have time for this. If there's a real problem, one of our own engineers will find it. Dismissed."

"Lord Starfighter, Commandant." The engineer bowed to them both and turned to leave.

Traax turned back to Roic, his expression stormy.

"This conversation is over," he said, his tone hard. "I have duties to attend to, and I won't let a human distract me from them."

Roic shook his head, a wry smile quirking the corners of his lips.

"You're a stubborn fool, Traax," he said, his voice tinged with both amusement and exasperation. "Just don't let your pride be your downfall."

Traax snorted and then turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

"I don't need your advice, Commandant ," he called over his shoulder. "I know what I'm doing."

"Famous last words, Your Grace," Roic shouted after him, his laughter echoing in the cavernous space. "Don't come crying to me when it all blows up in your face!"

But Traax was already gone, striding through the corridors beyond the training hall and letting his mind fill with thoughts of duty and the expectations of his rank and title. He was lord starfighter. He had a duty to the emperor, to the empire, and to his pilots. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted by foolish ideas of mating, not when so much rested on his shoulders.

Not even if a small voice at the back of his mind whispered that Roic might be right. Zara might be worth the risk after all.

Later that night Zara sat at one of the impromptu poker tables in the Nebula Lounge, a wide grin on her face as she raked in yet another pile of the matchsticks they were using as chips.

The lounge was bathed in dim light with neon signs casting a subdued, atmospheric glow over the crowded tables. The heavy beat of music throbbed through the air, blending with the scents of polished metal, aged liquor, and the sharp, metallic tang of ionized air from the flight deck below. The leather of her chair creaked softly as she shifted, cool and smooth against her skin.

The other women at the table groaned, their expressions a mix of amusement and frustration.

"Dammit, Zara," Crash said, tossing her cards onto the table with a soft thwack. "You're on fire tonight."

Zara chuckled. "What can I say? I've got a good poker face."

She reached for her drink. The ice clinked gently as she raised it to her lips, the taste of the whiskey sharp and smoky on her tongue.

As she spoke, a group of Latharians approached the table, their postures confident and their eyes gleaming with interest. What Zara had done to save Kaaric had gone around the station like wildfire. She'd caught hints of whispers as people gossiped in the corridors, the conversations stopping suddenly as she passed by.

"Mind if we join in?" one of the Latharians asked, his voice deep and smooth.

Zara glanced at the women around her, gauging their reactions. They had been enjoying the camaraderie of an all-female game, but… damn , the aliens were hard to resist. With their chiseled features, broad shoulders, and air of danger, they exuded a raw, primal appeal. Small nods and a lack of complaint made her nod.

"Sure," she said, gesturing to the empty chairs. "Pull up a seat."

The Latharians grinned, sliding into the chairs with a fluid grace. Those that were quick enough… the others simply stood behind, watching. She flicked a glance up and around. They were all tall and muscular, their bodies honed by years of rigorous training and combat, and she bit back a grin as the women around her pretended not to stare.

She dealt the cards, her fingers deft and sure. The smooth surface of the cards felt cool and familiar beneath her fingertips, the edges worn from years of use. It was her deck… carried from assignment to assignment.

The game resumed, the stakes rising with each hand. To her surprise, once she'd explained the rules to them, the Latharians proved to be skilled players, their expressions unreadable and their bets meticulously calculated.

"Alright," she said when a small fight broke out between three Latharians for the seat next to Echo. "We're going to have to split up. There's too many of us for one table."

The human pilots nodded, grabbing their drinks as they rose and dispersing among the other tables to set up new games. Soon, only a handful of Latharians remained, their gazes fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

She dealt again, her hands moving automatically. The Latharians were good, but they were still new at the game, and she was better. She had spent countless years honing her skills, both in the cockpit and at the poker table. It would take more than a few pretty faces to throw her off her game.

But as she considered her cards, a shadow fell across the table. She looked up, her heart skipping a beat as her gaze collided with a pair of piercing amber eyes.

Traax.

He stood beside the table, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. The other Latharians fell silent, their eyes darting between them. The only sound was the distant thrum of the music and the soft clink of ice in glasses.

Her lips compressed as a flare of anger rolled through her. Their earlier encounter was still fresh in her mind. It had been pretty much all she'd been able to think about since. The way he had kissed her, the heat of his body pressed against hers, the taste of him on her tongue. And then the asshole had just upped and walked away.

She turned back to her cards, ignoring him. If he wanted to play, he would have to ask. She wasn't going to make it easy for him.

But he didn't ask. Instead, he turned to the others. "Leave us."

Instantly, they stood, chairs scraping against the metal floor as they bowed their heads in deference before they turned and left.

Zara watched them go, schooling her expression to neutral. She couldn't blame them for leaving, not when he'd given a direct order like that.

The trouble was, it meant she was alone with him now, and the lounge suddenly felt much smaller and way more intimate.

He slid into the chair opposite, his movements graceful and predatory. The scent of him surrounded her, filling her nostrils, and the heat of his body reached her even from across the table.

"Teach me," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

She raised an eyebrow as she gathered up the cards to shuffle them again. But she didn't deal him in. "I don't teach anyone who might just walk off."

He looked at her, and a flicker of emotion crossed his face.

"I... apologize for earlier," he said, the words stilted and awkward. "I am not accustomed to dealing with females."

She snorted.

"That's no excuse for being a dick," she said, her voice blunt and uncompromising. But she dealt him in anyway, her fingers flicking the cards across the table with practiced ease. They made a soft shuffling sound as they skimmed over the smooth surface.

"The goal is to make the best five-card hand," she said, tapping the cards with her finger. "Each player gets two cards, and then there's a round of betting. After that, three cards are dealt face-up on the table… that's called the flop. Another round of betting, then a fourth card… which is the turn. More betting, then the final card… the river. One last round of betting, and then there's the showdown."

He nodded, his expression focused as he absorbed the information.

"It's not unlike Kal'vaar," he mused. "Strategy, deception, and a bit of luck. But in Kal'vaar, we wager more than just... matchsticks." His tone was laced with amusement as he nodded toward the "chips" piled by her elbow.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? And what do you wager in Kal'vaar?"

His smile was slow and predatory. "Honor. Prestige. Sometimes, even lives."

A cold chill ran down her spine at his words, but she kept her expression neutral. "Well, we're not wagering lives."

"No," he agreed, his gaze never leaving hers.

As the game resumed, she watched him, studying the way his mind worked. He was quick to pick up the rules, his bets growing bolder and more calculated with each hand. She had to admit, he was good. Better than good.

They played in silence for a while, the only sounds the clinking of ice in their drinks and the distant thrum of the music. But then a waiter approached the table, setting a drink down in front of her with a flourish. The glass thunked softly against the metal surface, the amber liquid sloshing gently inside.

She reached for it on automatic, her fingers closing around the cool, smooth surface. But before she could bring it to her lips, Traax moved like lightning. His hand shot out to knock the drink from her grasp.

It flew from her hand, the glass shattering on the floor and the liquid within spilling across the metal of the deck in a shimmering puddle, the scent of it sharp and acrid in the air. She stared at it.

The drink was Latharian, the amber liquid glowing with an otherworldly light. If she had drunk it...

She looked up at Traax, her eyes wide with shock. He was on his feet, his posture tense and his eyes blazing with fury. He rounded on the waiter, his voice a low, menacing growl.

"You fool," he snarled. "You could have killed her. You could have killed a female."

"My lord, my lady… I'm sorry. So sorry."

The waiter stammered an apology, his face pale and his hands shaking as he bowed so low she thought he was going to prostrate himself on the floor in the shattered glass and spilled drink.

She shot from her seat, a hand on Traax's arm to stop him surging forward and hurting the man. His skin was hot beneath her palm, the muscles tense and coiled like a spring.

"Traax, it was an honest mistake," she said, her voice calm and even as she spotted the rum and coke still on the tray. "He just mixed our drinks up. Now, sit down and play."

Traax's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the waiter. But then he nodded, letting her pull him back to sit down. He sank back into his chair, still glaring at the retreating waiter.

They played a few more hands in silence, and the tension slowly eased from the air. But then he leaned forward and spoke again, his voice low and intense.

"I want to play for more," he said, his amber eyes locking with hers. "More than just matchsticks."

Her heart skipped a beat at the challenge in his gaze. She leaned forward, elbows resting on the table and her chin propped on her hands. Her hair brushed softly against her cheeks, the strands tickling her skin.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked in a low voice.

His eyes gleamed as a slow, wicked smile spread across his face. Anticipation and the promise of something more, something dangerous and thrilling, hung in the air.

She bit her lip, waiting for him to speak. She didn't know what he wanted, didn't know what stakes he had in mind.

But she knew one thing for certain.

Whatever it was, she was ready for it.

Ready to play the game.