Mythology, she decided. The features on the sculpture’s face were too fine and too perfect. Real people weren’t that perfect.
Perched on the rim of the fountain, she dug into her meal. The not-fried-chicken had a golden crispy batter but a flaky, fish-like texture to the meat. Tasted good, though. Her chicken fried fish-thingy came with wedges. They looked like potato wedges, even had a starchy texture, and tasted of practically nothing but salt. All she needed was a sweet tea and some honey mustard sauce to round out the meal.
She chewed slowly, enjoying the indulgence of greasy food accompanied by the soothing sound of the fountain. Some people lingered on benches, drinking from disposable cups or eating a quick meal, but most people hustled through the plaza and never glanced at the fountain or the amazing view through the dome.
Awareness of being watched pricked along the back of her neck.
Ah, Mr. Danger Bang.
“Are you going to join me, or are you happy just being a creep?”
Havik
“I do not dine with thieves,” he said.
The female frowned. Her lips were a pale buff, the exact shade of old stone warmed by the morning light. Not that he noticed. Not that he cared.
“Well, that’s awful judgmental of you. More for me,” she said, popping a morsel into her mouth. She chewed with exaggerated pleasure, humming, and waggling her shoulders. “You a cop or something?”
“No.”
“Space police?”
“Do not be absurd.”
She licked her fingers clean, her sharp eyes never leaving him. “I bet you are. You totally look like a space cop.”
The female patted the space next to her. He did not move. A slow grin spread across her face—the grin of a warrior sizing up the competition. It should not have transformed her dull beige face into something worth admiring, but it did.
Havik rubbed at his wrist tattoos.
“But you are a Mahdfel, right?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re a long way from home, Danger B.”
“As are you, Terran, and my name is Garu Havik.” Not Danger B, or whatever ridiculous pet name she assigned him.
“Pleased to meet you, Garu. I’m Thalia Fullerton.” She held out a hand in that peculiar Terran greeting, the tips of her fingers glossy with grease.
His gaze flickered from her hand to her face, unmoved by her charmingly cavalier attitude toward hygiene or how carefully she watched his reaction.
“Havik. Garu is a family name.” One he no longer wished to carry, but he kept that thought to himself.
“Havoc?” She rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s a name. Well, now that we’re not strangers, would you please eat what I ordered for you?” She patted the fountain’s ledge again.
“I will not consume the food purchased with stolen funds.”
“So stern. I’ve been naughty, Danger B. Are you going to spank me?” Her lower lip pouted.
“Do not mock me.”
The pouty expression vanished in an instant as she popped a morsel into her mouth. Her pink tongue flashed at the corners of her mouth and his tail twitched in response. Carefully concealed by wrapping his tail around his leg, the barb at the tip scraped against his calf.
“I like you, family name Garu, personal name Havik. Are you married? Mated?”
“No.”
“Wanna be?”
The noise of the station fell away in that moment, leaving only himself and the female. Nothing else existed beyond the burn of his tattoos and the quirk of her lips. He wanted to say yes, to prove he could be a good mate and regain his lost honor.
“Absolutely not,” he said, perhaps louder than necessary.
She lifted her shoulders in a gesture of surrender, familiar to him from his ex-mate. “Worth a shot, and I’ll have you know that this feast was purchased with my allowance, daddy.”
“That is not my name,” he growled. This female had a way of irritating him like sand in his tail. “I witness you lifting credits.”
“Won’t deny it, but the Mahdfel gave me some spending cash.” She held out her right hand. A small incision, still red and angry, marred her thumb. “It’s all above board. I wouldn’t want to corrupt a space cop with ill-gotten gains.”
He reached for her hand without thinking, cupping it with his own. A jolt of awareness surged through him when skin met skin. Her hand appeared so small compared to his. His thumb brushed against her palm, intrigued by the contrast of his red skin against her colorless beige. Surprisingly, he found her skin rough. She gave a squeeze, demonstrating a strength he would not have expected from such a small appendage.
At his wrist, the black ink glowed with a subtle silver light.
He glanced up from their joined hands, only to find the female—Thalia—studying him.
“Oh, good. You already know each other,” an authoritative voice announced.
Chapter 7
Thalia
Havik jerked his hand away, like embarrassment at being caught holding hands with her burned him. That hurt, more than Thalia expected. They were strangers. The only thing between them was his baffled response to her outrageous flirting.
Shame. He had nice hands. Not so sure about his personality, though. At the moment, Thalia classified him as a recalcitrant killjoy. Still a total danger bang, though, just more of a law-abiding goody-two-shoes than a bad boy.
Three Mahdfel men approached. Correction, one stalked forward with grim determination and the others followed. To her surprise, she recognized two of them. One was the security officer who gave her a new ID chip and the other had a distinctive missing horn. Thalia recognized him as the one who put the rescued women on a shuttle and basically told them to get the eff off his ship. Not in so many words, mind. It was more
