Page 17 of Alien Protector's Mate

Then movement caught her eye. A group of Latharian youths made their way through the crowd. At least she thoughtthey were Latharian teens. They were almost as big as the imperial warriors she’d seen, but their gangly limbs and slightly uncoordinated movements spoke of adolescence.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched them. Their clothes were worn and ill-fitting, like hers, which would indicate they were street rats as well. Unlike her, they didn’t cling to the shadows but moved with a purpose, weaving through the throng of shoppers with practiced ease.

She frowned. They didn’t seem to be going anywhere other than in circles around each other and the other shoppers. Then one of them bumped into a well-dressed alien, apologizing profusely. As he stepped away, she caught the flash of something being pocketed. Another youth casually reached out as the first passed a food stall, whatever he’d snagged passed quickly between them.

They were stealing, picking pockets, right there in plain sight.

She’d have been horrified at their audacity if she hadn’t been so fascinated. She watched as they worked their way around the market. They didn’t stick with the same technique twice in a row, switching it and who was involved all the time. Sometimes they worked alone, other times in pairs with one creating a distraction while the other made the grab. Sometimes the mark was a market-goer, sometimes a vendor on a stall. She blinked. They were good, very good. Most of their marks walked away without realizing they’d been robbed.

She studied their movements and the way they carried themselves. It was more than just stealing. It was the way they blended in after the act and became part of the general hustle and bustle of the market. In the shadows, she mimicked their postures, practicing the way they moved their hands and pocketed their loot. She didn’t feel anywhere near confident enough to pick a pocket, so it would have to be a stall.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind her column. Her eyes scanned the market, looking for a suitable target. Then she smiled. Near the edge of the market was a food stall, and the vendor was currently distracted by a heated argument with a customer.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she approached, convinced that someone would notice her with every step she took closer. But no one paid her any attention. She was just another person in the crowd. No more, no less.

As she drew near the stall, her hand clenched tightly at her side. This was it. Now or never. She took one more step, ready to make her move…

S’aad’s musclesburned as he stepped out of the training hall, sweat cooling on his skin in the station’s recycled air. Pulling his hair down from the tie at the nape of his neck, he shook it out, the honor beads woven into the braids clicking with the movement.

His comm chirped before he was halfway back to his quarters. S’aad tapped it, and his cousin Vaarn’s voice filled his ear.

“S’aad! Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

S’aad snorted. “Nope, just finished beating the trall out of some dummies in training. What’s up?”

Vaarn chuckled. “Really? That’s no way to talk about your training group. But anyway, Sadie and I want you over for dinner to catch up. It’s been too long since we’ve seen your ugly mug.”

The mention of Vaarn’s human mate twisted something in S’aad’s gut. He’d been there when Vaarn had rescued Sadie from pirates and had seen the deep bond that had formed betweenthem. It reminded him of everything he didn’t have, but he pushed the feeling aside. “Of course, I’ll be there. Want me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” Vaarn paused and then added, “Though Sadie’s got a thing for those Terran pastries lately. If you’re passing the market in the civilian sector, of course.”

“I can do that,” S’aad replied as he checked the location marker painted on the wall of the nearest intersection. “I’m not far from there now. See you tonight.”

The comm disengaged with a click, and he headed toward the station’s market. It didn’t take him long to reach, and he steeled himself as he walked in. He was used to the peace and quiet of the LMP offices and his lab… the market, though, was the complete opposite.

The place was a sensory overload of smells, sounds, and sights. Alien spices burned his nostrils, competing with the stench of unwashed bodies of workers from the docks and the sweet rot of overripe fruit the vendors were desperately trying to get rid of before they were unsellable.

He moved through the crowd quickly, his height giving him an advantage as he scanned the stalls. Pausing at a stall displaying an array of intricate metal sculptures, he admired a piece that resembled a Latharian war cruiser. Made from scraps of metal, the ingenuity of the design and the resourcefulness of the creator impressed him. Looking up, he caught the eye of the vendor, a kalaxian, but before he could ask about the piece, the sounds of commotion behind him caught his attention.

Turning, he found a group of young Lathar males surrounding a small, bird-like alien vendor. The vendor’s feathers quivered, crest erect in fear. Beady eyes darted between the Lathar youths.

They towered over the creature, arm muscles bulging beneath their sleeveless jackets. Leather jackets, but not thoseof the imperial warriors they were trying to emulate. Sneers twisted their faces, and their eyes glinted with cruel amusement.

“You call this merchandise?” One of them sneered, waving a piece of jewelry. “It’s worth trall. Not even worth selling.”

The vendor’s beak clicked rapidly, its translator struggling to keep up with the stream of panicked chirps and whistles. “Please, honored customers, it’s a rare piece?—”

“I’ll show you rare?—”

“Problem here, boys?” S’aad’s voice cut through the noise, sharp as ice, as he came to stand behind the group.

They turned, their surprise morphing into defiance. The leader, a stocky youth with dark hair, stepped forward.

“Draanth off, old man,” he snarled. “This ain’t your business.”

S’aad’s lips quirked up at the corners. He’d been called worse. “Harassment of station vendors is a serious offense. I suggest you move along before this escalates further.”

The youth’s face twisted with rage. “Who do you think you are? You can’t tell us what to do!” he snarled, reaching for something on his belt.

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