Page 12 of The Commander

“I wasn’t aware ‘pigs’ had men.” That interesting combination of terms stumped him.

“The tubby pig tyrant running the town and his guys—Andy and his lot—who hold the food as a protection fee against the aliens. Against the invaders. Against the muzzle head dog breath monsters and you. Whatever you are.”

“Muzzle heads?” He stopped her.

“Dog breath assholes? Those guys that brought me in that slobber all the time.”

“Red hats. The duty.”

“They don’t wear red.”

Bastian moved his shoulders in an attempt at a shrug. She was right. That wasn’t why they were called that. He showed his teeth, but she missed the impressive display, her eyes turned elsewhere.

“After I got free of them, it was later in the day, and I guess the wankers were waiting for me. The bastards took the baskets I spent hours working on. They took everything. They saw me when I went to check on the farthest one.”

“You made basket traps and went to check them. When?”

“What?”

“Did they just grow out in the fields and in the brush? When did you have time to make and set basket traps?”

“I could only make two. There wasn’t a lot of time. When I couldn’t find food anywhere around the town or the river, I had to do something.”

“Why?”

The question turned her face back to his, as if it were so stupid that she couldn’t grasp it. What Bastian couldn’t grasp was that she was alone. Humans traveled in packs.

They liked to do things together. Research suggested that they be treated like herd animals.

This creature deviated from the norm.

Her pretty eyes, with their green ringed human irises, scanned his face again as if hoping to find something human there.

Then they flicked away. She wouldn’t find anything human in him. He was pure. A battler descended from the hand of a dead goddess, made to serve, guard, protect, and provide.

“I was fucking hungry,” she bit out after a breath, looking at the door and repeating herself as if that explained everything.

She didn’t like his company. Too bad. He wasn’t finished yet.

Not facing Bastian while she spoke helped calm her, he guessed, but that wasn’t how they were going to do this. Provoked, he returned to her side, placed his fingers at her chin, and turned her to meet his look at him. “The pig—is Mister Danov? He took half your food rations as a protection fee?”

“Yes. Him.” She jerked from his touch, trying to free herself.

She didn’t want his touch? Too bad. He liked touching her. Smelling her. She really was tempting in so many ways.

There was no reason for her to be squeamish around him. There was a commander watching over every territory of tax collection. Humans were acclimated to the alien presence that managed every aspect of their daily lives.

She should have come across a prime battler during collection days and adjusted to his type. There were also a few predators on the planet that carried a faint resemblance. He knew human minds liked to put things into neat boxes. She should have found a match by now. Velociraptors, demons, certain insects.Take your pick.

He had a human shape—head, shoulders, torso, legs, feet—but he did not match her. From the angular planes of his face, a lack of eyebrows, eyelashes, and humanoid hair to his black deep set eyes and the inset line bisecting the center of his bottom lip to his suprasternal notch; they were different species.

She closed her eyes again. He tapped on the delicate closed lids. “Look at me when you talk, Kitten.”

Her eyes widened and teared. She blinked rapidly to clear them. Bastian resisted the urge to scoop one up with the tip of his finger for a taste. He just knew it would be appetizing.

He’d been gentle so far. Barely touched her. What a troublesome creature to please.

He asked, “Other side of town? Why not forage closer to home?”

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