Page 34 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
"Honorable. The kind of leader who'll go to war for his people." Eris paused, as if she were choosing her words carefully. "Also stubborn as hell and way too protective for his own good."
"Protective how?"
"You'll see." Eris's grin held mischief. "Let's just say he takes the safety of his crew very seriously. Sometimes too seriously."
Reese absorbed this information, filing it away with her other observations about the man who'd carried her to safety and cooked her breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.
"The crew... they all seem very loyal to him."
"With good reason. T'Raal's the kind of captain who'll put his life on the line for any of us. Hell, he already has, more times than I can count." Eris grew more serious. "But he's also got secrets. We all do, I suppose, but his run deeper than most."
"What kind of secrets?"
Eris shrugged. "T'Raal's got connections, and a background he doesn't talk about. All I know for sure is that he's dangerous enough that other mercenary units give us averywide berth."
"He seems very..." Reese searched for the right word. "Focused."
"That's one way to put it." Eris's grin held mischief and affection in equal measure. "And… he cooked you breakfast. T'Raal doesn't cook for anyone. Ever."
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.
"Because you're one of us now, whether you realize it or not." Eris's voice carried absolute certainty.
"I should get back to the evidence," she said, needing distance from the dangerous warmth spreading through her chest.
“No worries, I have bridge duty anyway. Catch you on the flipside, captain.”
"Eris," she called as the other woman reached the door. "You can call me Reese. The rank... it doesn't mean much anymore."
Eris paused, her hand on the door control.
"That's going to take some getting used to." She smiled. "But I'll work on it."
T'Raal stoppedoutside the training room, frowning at the quiet. Where was the usual crash of bodies hitting mats? The sharp crack of weapons meeting shields? Red and Tank's aggressive banter as they worked through combat drills? Instead, all he heard was soft grunts of exertion, fabric whispering against padding, and what sounded like Tal's voice.
Through the door's narrow viewport, he saw Reese lying on one of the exercise mats, her face tight with concentration as sheworked through what looked like basic strengthening exercises. Tal knelt beside her, guiding her left leg through careful range-of-motion movements that made the neural stimulator's small patch visible against her spine.
He should have kept walking. Should have left them to their work and continued with his own tasks. Did he? No. Instead, he stood in the corridor like some adolescent watching his first glimpse of female skin.
Draanth. He was losing his mind.
Then the door sensor conspired against him, chiming softly as it suddenly decided to register his presence, even though he’d been standing there for a good minute or so. He shot a glance up at one of the internal cameras, wondering which asshole on the bridge had decided to rat him out. Tal glanced up, catching sight of him through the viewport, and waved him inside.
"How's the mobility work progressing?" T'Raal asked, stepping through the doorway.
The training room smelled like sweaty socks and training mats, but underneath it all, he caught the faint scent of something else… something that had all his senses focusing on the woman stretching out on the mat. He tried to ignore it, but his pulse kicked up a notch anyway. She wore form-fitting exercise clothes that outlined every curve, every line of muscle definition that spoke of years of maintaining combat readiness.
"Better than expected," Tal replied, helping Reese shift position on the mat. T’Raal had to bite back a growl as jealousy ripped through him like wildfire. It didn’t matter that Tal was happily mated to Lizzie, he wanted to rip the other male into tiny pieces for daring to touch Reese.
"The neural stimulator's improving nerve response significantly. Range of motion in the left leg has increased by thirty percent since yesterday."
Reese pushed herself into a sitting position, strands of dark hair escaping the tie that held it back from her face. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parting as she caught her breath. Heat hit him hard and fast, making him glad he’d put on looser combat pants this morning.
Focus, idiot,he scolded himself. She was recovering from serious injuries, not performing for his entertainment.
"That's good progress," he managed, his voice rough.
Their gazes collided, her eyes dark and assessing. What did she see when she looked at him? Was her perusal purely professional? Or something else?
