Page 71 of Orange Tundra
32
BRYNN
Roqs and Cooneswept in from behind me like twin shadows, their hoods pulled low. In a fluid motion, Coone knelt and scooped the child into his arms before Roqs laid a swift touch on the hiscats. I’d never seen them move so quickly—they were gone in seconds, vanishing into the chaos of the market. I barely had time to open my mouth in protest before they disappeared completely. It stung that neither of them looked my way, but I understood there was no space for explanations or reassurances. The child was safer out of here.
“Come on!” Sim’s voice cut through my fog of confusion. “We’re leaving before the Crimson Beast’s reputation wears thin.”
I hesitated, frantic eyes scanning for any glimpse of the child or Coone’s retreating form, but Nim scooped me up into his arms without warning. I yelped, clutching at his shoulders as he sprinted forward. The speed made the walls and the rabble of the market smear into streaks of color. My heart thundered, still riding the high of everything that had just happened: the caged child, the fight, the surge of my protective fury.
We eventually stopped in a darker corridor of the underground. The salty tang in the air gave way to a biting chill that prickled across my cheeks. Sim rapped out a peculiar pattern on a hidden steel doorway. It slid open to reveal a small, empty chamber, the concrete walls bare.
“Inside,” Sim said tersely.
The moment we stepped in, Nim swung the door shut, but Sim already knelt by a scarcely visible latch in the floor. He lifted a trapdoor, revealing another set of steps descending further beneath the market. A waft of mild sulfur met us. My nose twitched at the bite of heated minerals.
I quietly followed the guys, feet dragging as we descended. My nerves still rattled from the brawl. The passage ended at a stone archway leading into a spacious room lit by embedded glow-lamps. Steam curled around the edges of a shallow, manmade pool. It looked like a cave hot spring, insulated by thick layers of rock. Some leftover gear—towels, crates, battered chairs—cluttered the corners.
Nim set me on a wide bench made of smoothed stone. Before I could catch my breath, he rummaged for his portable scanner, pressing it gently against my wrist and neck. Green lights flickered, capturing my vitals.
“You’re pushing it,” Nim growled under his breath. “Racing off like that with the child? And pregnant? Are you trying to kill me?”
Sim’s eyes flashed. “You don’t get to hog the scolding, Nim. I was ready to chuck her over my shoulder and run?—”
I glared at both of them. “I’m fine. Owning up to a moral compass nearly got us cornered, sure, but I would do it again. That kid—someone had to step in.”
“By the Ancestors,” Nim muttered, exhaling heavily through clenched fangs. “I think you shaved off half my life. Could you atleast check with us next time before you decide to challenge half the black market?”
Heat flared in my cheeks. “If I had stopped to ask permission, we’d still be standing there arguing. That child was about to be sold like a piece of livestock.”
Sim’s annoyance melted into an abrupt grin. “I can’t deny your timing with that orb was perfect.” He made a quick, vulgar gesture with his hand, still riding an adrenaline high. “You whacked that bastard so hard I nearly forgot we were surrounded by armed criminals. My cock was ready to break free watching you go savage.”
That last remark made my cheeks burn for a different reason. Nim and Sim exchanged a glance that needled some shared memory—some inside joke I wasn’t privy to. But I felt the spark shift, charged and hungry.
Nim inhaled pointedly. “We have a more immediate problem. This entire place probably sniffed out your pregnancy pheromones by now. Word travels fast in these tunnels, and certain opportunists would love to cash in by capturing you.”
“I can’t exactly hide the fact I’m pregnant,” I said, wrinkling my nose.
“Yes, you can,” Nim corrected, but his tone stayed gentle. “You just need a fresh layer of our scent to mask the delicate notes that mark you as carrying young.” His eyes softened for a moment. “We have time. The Pit fights won’t start for at least five hours. Zirc’s too valuable for them to put him in right away; they’ll save him for a later round to maximize the crowd.”
I felt a flicker of relief that Zirc’s match wasn’t imminent, but the suggestion that we had to buy that time by…covering me with their scent made my stomach twist in a complicated knot of excitement and mortification.
“Five hours?” I sputtered. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Sim raised a brow. “Better than nothing. And we really don’t need more than a fraction of that to—” His grin turned downright wicked. “To do what needs doing.”
I huffed, crossing my arms. “I have no interest in an orgy right now. We’re in the middle of a mission.”
Sim smirked. “Wanna wager on how wet I find you if I slip a hand in your pants?”
My mouth dropped open. “Don’t you dare?—”
“Too late,” Nim cut in, fingers already tugging at the edge of my trousers. His motions were brisk but gentle, a controlled urgency that hinted he was every bit as worked up as Sim. “We can argue or we can make sure you smell like us from head to toe.” He paused, lifting the laser pointer from my discarded robe with a wry smirk. “When this is over,” he murmured, “I’m mass-producing an entire arsenal of these for you.”
My lips parted, ready to fire back some sarcastic reply, but the breath caught in my throat as Nim’s hands lowered to my hips, quick and deliberate. Sim circled behind me just as my clothes peeled away under Nim’s deft fingers, the cool air making me shiver and sending pinpricks of awareness across my skin.
Nim’s hands guided me down onto the stone bench, the hard surface beneath me warming quickly from my flushed skin. My tunic pooled at my waist, leaving the swell of my belly bare. I should have felt vulnerable like that, exposed under the harsh glow-lamps, but the way Nim’s gaze dragged over me, reverent and ravenous at once, made me arch instead of hide.
“You’re glowing,” he murmured, voice thick as he bent and pressed his lips to the curve of my stomach. His tongue flicked, tasting the salt of my sweat before trailing lower. “Every part of you screams mine.”
