Page 33 of Sway's Peace
It would be different if she wanted him gone. If he made her uncomfortable and she wanted to get away, he could accept that. It would hurt. He’d still be obsessed with thoughts of her, he knew. However, he wasn’t such a fallen male that he’d force his presence around an unwilling female. Of all the crimes he could claim in his life, that was not one of them.
Maybe she just needed some time apart. A chance to collect her thoughts. She would contact him again when she was ready. She had no hesitation or shyness when it came to pursuing him, and he rather liked that. Not just because it meant he didn’t have to wrestle with his own misgivings about the advisability of someone like him having a female, but more because he liked knowing she wanted him so much.
So, he was planning to wait. Just a little bit. Give her a chance to gather her thoughts and come back. He wasn’t sure how long he himself could be patient, but he could try for her. He had planned on going shopping in the station to try to find better clothes to display himself for her the next time they met.
However, when the ratchi female commed and told him to get up to the dock master’s office, all other plans were swept from his head, and he was running to the lift.
He didn’t know who Covor was. He didn’t know what was happening. All he knew was that the ratchi female looked angry and concerned and she’d called on him to protect Grace as her male.
Mates – pleasure or true – had certain rights in regards to each other. Attacking one was the equivalent to attacking the other. If someone was hurting Grace, her mate would have every right to protect her in whatever way was seen fit – up to and including killing. The laws would protect Sway and Grace both if he had to hurt someone for her.
They were, of course, not mates. Neither true nor pleasure. They’d shared one meal together. But the fact that Grace’s coworker would already know to comm him in case of emergency must mean that she was, at least, aware of him. Grace must have spoken to her. Though their relationship couldn’t even be rightfully defined as even friends yet, she still thought him the best person to contact.
And, honestly, Sway didn’t rightfully care if he had the right to defend her or not. He was going to do it regardless.
There might be consequences, but he’d deal with those later.
Right now, he was more focused on getting up to the dock master office. The moment the doors slid open, allowing him inside, that same ratchi female was rushing over. She pointed towards the center of the room where a lift was waiting.
“He took her up there,” she said without preamble. “He was grabbing at her like he had any right to-! Hey, wait! There was someone else who-”
Sway didn’t bother lingering to listen. He stepped onto the lift and, immediately, it began to rise. The lift must only connect to this office and the one above it, because it didn’t need any further direction from him on where to go. The lift platform above his head continued up, joining into its base on the ceiling, as Sway rose into the opulent room overhead.
There was a lot to see all at once.
Grace was there, a look of horror on her face, trying and failing to pull away from the grasp of the baemoth male who had her by the wrist. Almost engulfing her entire hand when he compared their different sizes. There were marks all over both of her arms. Violently red. A prelude to bruises. Signs that the male had been too rough with her.
Humans were soft, sweet, delicate creatures. To handle one in such a rough and careless manner was violence equal to outright assault.
There was a third person in the room. A male with deep purple scales curled up on the ground, dark violet blood sluggishly leaking out onto the rug underneath him.
Though he was still, he wasn’t dead. Sway could see the subtle movements of his chest.
He wasn’t Sway’s concern.
He looked back at the baemoth male that held Grace. He was the same species as Rok, one of Sway’s crew members. He wasn’t as large or muscular as Rok. He also didn’t have as many scales. He was still ugly though. His features were unfortunate enough that Sway briefly wondered why he hadn’t bothered trying to at least get them somewhat back in alignment. If this office was his, he certainly had the credz for the cosmetic adjustments.
But it was a fleeting thought. Sway’s attention next went to the plasma pistol in his hand. Then up to the furious expression on his ugly face.
He was a threat. Large and wealthy and mad.
Sway was calm. Despite the anger that was burning in his chest, smoldering like an old, stubborn fire that refused to go out, his expression was fixed and immovable. The anger, powerful though it was, became deadened and distant as he made a quick plan for what to do.
He could break his wrists. He could remove his fingers. He could do him the favor of rearranging his face for free.
Actually, he should probably just kill him. It would be easy. Baemoth males were considered more attractive when they lacked scales. However, the lack of scales also meant that their bodies were softer, weaker, easier to break.
Sway could shatter his ribs, then kick the fragments in, rupturing his lungs. Four kicks, two to each side, and he would suffocate right there. Maybe even choke on his own blood.
Or Sway could kick at his knees, right there on the side. It wouldn’t be hard to break the bones and ligaments there. He was naturally top heavy because of his four arms, but it also didn’t look like he’d made any attempt to work out his legs to try to counter that fact like Rok did. It made baemoth males particularly susceptible to being knocked over. Then, once he was down, Sway could stomp on his neck and crush his throat. He’d choke around the swelling. Or maybe Sway would just crush his trachea outright.
Oh. Right. Before that, he needed permission.
Reaching for his pocket, ignoring the males around him, he activated his combot and, with a simple gesture, had it comm Tanin – an immediate function that they all programmed it to do in case they needed to get in contact with their captain emergently.
Seeing the camera, the baemoth male froze. Sway could see the fear in his eyes at the idea that Sway was comming the authorities. Or maybe getting blackmail. The baemoth might have shot the purple male, but he wasn’t actually a killer. And not even because the male wasn’t dead.
Just the act of killing someone might be enough to label a person a killer, but it didn’t rightfully make them one. Killers – real, true killers – didn’t get that look on their faces when confronted with the reality of what they had done. If he was a real killer, he would have shot Sway already, then destroyed the combot in the hopes it hadn’t already connected or recorded anything.
