Jade

JADE

A rrogant. Twat.

I’ve met plenty of Sarkarnii. But Drekkan is absolutely the worst, sitting across from me, a smug look on his face I absolutely want to wipe off, with extreme prejudice.

And the fact he pulled his arm out of my grip earlier? I’m obviously beneath him and, well, fuck Drekkan. I’m not here to be friends with a Sarkarnii. I’m here to keep a low profile, try to get my head straight, and…I fail to suppress a shudder at what else I’m going to have to do here on Kitchik, given my daily growing bump.

I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Drekkan is glaring at me. His eyes spin with fire, the pupils onyx slits. I’ve never been in a position to study a Sarkarnii this close up before, given either I gave the huge males a wide berth, or they did me.

He has such fine scales covering the skin on his face, they flick back and forth with a fiery iridescence over his fine cheekbones and strong jaw. On his neck, around the collar of his jacket, and above his metal necklace are patches of flaking white scales.

“No wonder you’re so grumpy.” I glare back. “You’re shedding.”

Immediately his hand shoots to his neck, the claws picking briefly at the scales until he remembers himself and pulls his hand away.

“So what if am about to shed,” he rasps, “or if I’m grumpy. I’m entitled to be nevved off.”

I sit back and fold my arms. “Oh, really.” I look around at the festivities, at the other inhabitants of Kitchik keeping well out of Drekkan’s orbit.

“Yes, after what the mayor did to me…” Drekkan says, then he sits back and folds his arms. “Let’s just say I’m stuck here, and what I need to allow me to leave, I can’t access. So, yes, I’m nevved off.”

I’m about to open my mouth and say there could be worse things, and he should be counting his blessings, when a veritable army descends on us, carrying platter after platter and covering the table with food of every conceivable hue. All the time, Drekkan is growling under his breath, and a light on his necklace is glowing.

“Wow! Thank you!” I call after the parade of chefs, one of which looks back and gives me a wave.

Drekkan is staring at the food as if he’s about to devour the lot.

“Hungry?” I ask.

He snorts out a stream of smoke and embers.

“I am Sarkarnii,” he replies with a shrug, as if that explains everything.

I study the food. There are a few items I recognize. I reach for a piece of roast meat, which looks reasonably tasty.

So does Drekkan, his hand hitting mine, which means it’s my turn to recoil.

“Please.” He picks up the meat, places it onto an empty platter, adds a few other items, then hands it to me as if it’s the most natural thing in the galaxy. “For you,” he adds solemnly.

I take it with a stunned “thank you’.” Drekkan digs into the rest of the food as if he’s half starved. As much as I didn’t think we’d be able to make much headway in the volume of what’s on the table, he’s easily proved me wrong as I nibble on what I have.

“I am Sarkarnii,” he says, when the eating slows and he wipes his hand over the back of his mouth, his eyes softer now.

“You’re not kidding.”

“Did my fellow Sarkarnii enjoy a good meal?” he asks, patting his stomach.

I try very hard not to follow the action with my eyes as it does mean I have to look at those completely delicious abs. And I really shouldn’t still want to eat.

“They liked meat,” I stumble out.

What is it about Drekkan which ties my tongue up in knots? They liked meat. What an insane thing to say.

“So, yeah, they enjoyed a celebration as much as anyone, I guess,” I add, in an attempt to be more articulate.

“They enjoyed celebrating?” Drekkan says, incredulous.

“And you don’t?”

His eyes darken, those jet-black, slit pupils widening.

“I do not. Not here, not anywhere. Celebrations are for weak species with nothing to lose,” Drekkan half snarls, but the words are not directed at me.

He’s looking over my shoulder, and as I turn around, I find the cheerful purple alien mayor standing at my back.

“I see you’ve made a friend, Drekkan,” he intones.

Drekkan stands, the bench falling backwards and hitting the ground with a clatter. Around us, the buzz of chatter ceases suddenly. Tension fills the air. I can almost smell the testosterone.

“I don’t have friends. And the sooner you let me get off this nevving planetoid, the better. For you,” Drekkan says, menace dripping from his mouth filled with fangs.

A muscle ticks in his jaw, and his hands are balled into fists, blood dripping from one where his claws have cut into him.

“You should have a healer take a look at that,” the mayor says evenly. “In your current condition.”

Drekkan fires out a short burst of flame, which cuts off suddenly before he turns on his heel and stomps away.

“My apologies, my dear,” the mayor says to me in much more hushed tones. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“You weren’t disturbing anything,” I reply, getting to my feet as well.

Only he sort of was disturbing us. Drekkan might be a complete and utter arsehole, but then he’s no different from any of the other arrogant Sarkarnii I’ve met, or even many of the other male species. Except the look in his eyes, both of anger and of sadness, makes me think there’s far more to Drekkan than meets the eye.

And given I need a distraction from my worries, I’m going to make it my mission to find out.