Page 4 of His Little Sapphire

In the next moment, I realize this man is also Eleadian. He’s not human. Well, I guess he’s sort of human. He looks like any other man I’ve ever seen. But he’s too tall, too broad, too imposing.

His brow is furrowed in concern, and he stares at me, holding my gaze for long seconds before inhaling deeply and shaking himself as if he’s been in a trance. “Are you hurt, Little one?”

I swallow, unable to respond. I jerk my gaze away. I shouldn’t have looked at him. I feel like something happened between us in those few seconds, and perhaps I could have prevented it if I hadn’t met his gaze.

He steps to my side and squats down near my hip. He reaches out a hand—a gigantic hand—but hovers without touching me.

I can’t shake his image from my mind. Thick dark hair and piercing green eyes. Broad shoulders is an understatement. Anything I could say about his size would be an understatement.

Another man appears behind him. “I called Surgient. He’s coming down on a pod.”

I blink. This second man is as large as the first.Who’s Surgient?I don’t ask.

“Thank you,” the first man says calmly. He finally sets his hand gently on my stomach. “Tell me what hurts, Little one.”

I lick my lips. It’s impossible not to look at him, but I’m trying not to hold his gaze. Is that even a thing? It’s as if I think I can avoid some sort of supernatural connection as long as I don’t stare too hard or too long.

Ridiculous. I’m making it up in my head. It’s not like anyone ever told me I could avoid being claimed by one of these men if I simply didn’t meet their gaze.

“Do you speak English, Little one?”

I can’t stop myself. I chuckle. “Yes. I’m fine. If you’ll just back up and give me some space.”

When I glance at him, he’s frowning and shaking his head slightly. “You took quite a fall.”

“How did you know?”

He winces as he lifts his long arm to point at the corner of the bar.

I follow his gaze. It takes me a moment to realize there’s a camera mounted in the corner. Ugh. How did I never notice that? “You were watching me?”

He shrugs. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been watching you for several days.”

I gasp as I try to run through my head what all he might have seen. I don’t think anything. I mean I don’t pick my nose or anything while I’m working. I don’t think anyway. Still. It’s unnerving to think he’s been watching me work.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was bored. I wander around at night. Cameras are always running at every angle in the club. I saw you, and…” He doesn’t finish. I’m not sure he can.

I glance at the other man who’s leaning over the first, but he quickly takes a step back and moves out of sight.

My ill-planned savior rubs my stomach gently. “Please tell me where you’re injured, Little one.”

It’s odd how he calls me Little one, but I guess to him I’m certainly small. He could lift me with one hand without straining a single muscle. Speaking of muscles, the man is not wearing a shirt, and he’s ripped. Like seriously ripped. His muscles are bulging. His chest is spectacular. Like something out of a magazine. Not that I’ve ever owned such a magazine.

“I’m Strogan. What’s your name, Little one?”

“Chrissy,” I murmur. “Christine.”

He chuckles. “Which is it? Did you hit your head?”

“No. It’s, uh, both. Either. Chrissy is a nickname for Christine. It’s shorter.”

“Oh. Huh. We don’t have nicknames. Interesting. Which do you prefer?”

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I don’t talk to people. Hardly ever. Not if I can avoid it. Few people ever ask me if I care what they call me. I’m not sure I care either. My mother called me Christine. The other children I played with at our compound when I was younger called me Chrissy. “I don’t care.”

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