Nadia wouldn’t last long, either, if he allowed Nocc to have his way with her.
“Show the boy how to fuck.”
Nocc’s words followed him.
In all honesty, he would’ve wanted to see that. Even more so, he would’ve liked to do that to her himself. Nadia’s sweet, tantalizing scent seemed to have soaked his lungs and permeated his clothes. Even with her no longer around, the mere memory of her scent teased his cocks like a stroke of a hand... Her hand.
He knew that Vrateus and Malahki added something to the soap on the Dark Anomaly that neutralized their scent, making them practically undetectable to errocks’ acute sense of smell.
Before reaching Nadia’s room, he made a sharp turn toward the closest storage, instead. He needed that soap for Nadia so she could wash off her tormenting scent.
The door to the storage room was open. He poked his head in to find Svetlana rummaging through one of the boxes on the shelf unit by the wall.
He cursed under his breath. He didn’t expect to find her here, though it made sense that he would—they all used the same supplies stored in the same rooms.
Her shoulders jerked, and she stilled for a moment before turning to face him, laser gun raised in her hand.
“Oh, hi Wyck.” Her voice was friendly enough, though she didn’t put away the gun at seeing him. In fact, she adjusted her aim, pointing it straight at his head. “Looking for something?”
“Soap.”
“Here.” She stepped aside, gesturing at the box she’d just taken two soap bars from herself. “All yours.”
She slid closer to the door, waiting for him to move so she could exit.
A whiff of her scent reached him. From this distance, even her daily showers didn’t mask it completely. In addition, Wyck could clearly smell Vrateus’s most recent kisses on the skin of her neck. The two scents mingled in an alluring, enigmatic combination, stirring tantalizing reactions inside him.
He hated having his cocks twitch in response to Svetlana. The fact that he had no control over it left him feeling powerless. He reached deep inside his emotions, searching under the thick layer of arousal for the resentment he had been breeding and cultivating toward Svetlana ever since she’d murdered Crux, the man who had been his father figure.
According to the customs of his family, the murder of one’s father could only be avenged by the death of the killer. Crux might’ve been only his adoptive father, but he’d taught Wyck everything he knew.
Svetlana deserved to die, by his hand.
He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t done what the family honor demanded of him. Vrateus trusted him enough to have him guard Svetlana on occasion. Sure, Svetlana had always been careful and carried a gun on her at all times. However, there were ways for him to ambush her despite that. He’d had opportunities to kill her.
Of course, Vrateus would’ve ripped him limb by limb and fed him alive to the vasai centipedes if he so much as made a hair fall off Svetlana’s head. But Crux would’ve been avenged.
“Well, um...” She edged closer to the door, keeping her distance, her gun trained on him. “I’d better go.”
He stepped into the room and to the side, getting out of her way.
Her expression relaxed a little at having a clear escape route. Then her gaze slid to the wound on his side.
“You’re hurt.” Her dark eyebrows slid close together into a frown of concern.
Concern—the last emotion he wanted her to feel for him.
“It’s nothing,” he dismissed gruffly.
“It’s from a fight,” she stated, confidently. Plenty of injuries on the Dark Anomaly resulted from the nightly fights between the crew members. “I can treat it for you. If you let me—”
“No.” He needed her touch even less than he needed her concern. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, then. Well, there’re some medical supplies right here, in this box.” She pointed with the hand holding the soaps at a metal crate behind her. “I have more in our room if you need them. Come see me anytime if you change your mind.”
She slipped out the door promptly. The sound of her light footfalls moved away down the corridor.
He guessed Vrateus hadn’t told her about Nadia, and Wyck had absolutely no reason to tell Svetlana about her either.
Grabbing as many soap bars as he could fit in his hand, he was about to leave the room, too. The wound on his side twitched with a sharp pain as he twisted his torso on his way out. A few drops of blood oozed out, trickling down the ridges of his abs.
Fucking Nadia and her blade.
He paused in irritation. The fact that the new female was of the same species as Svetlana added to his annoyance. Obviously, human females brought nothing but trouble.
The wound seemed clean and would probably heal on its own. Yet even with the slightest chance of an infection setting in, the fever would impair his abilities to take care of those in his charge.
Normally, he fussed little about his injuries. However, he’d never had as many responsibilities as he had now. He simply couldn’t afford taking any time off to fight an infection.
With a grunt of displeasure, he reached for the crate. Finding some antiseptic and sterile gauze, he cleaned and bandaged his wound the best he could, then took the cookies and the soap to the human in his charge.
Chapter 5
I WAS PACING MY PRISON cell of glass when the doors swished open and the three-headed animal ran in, its chain rattling.
With a startled noise, I leaped back.
Covered in black shiny scales with red stripes on its side, the thing was terrifying, a true creature of nightmares. All three of its mouths hung open, saliva dripping from its sharp teeth, with three black tongues dangling out. Its long tail slithered behind it like a snake.
“Lesh, back,” Wyck commanded in a quiet voice, and the beast obediently trotted back to its master.
“You trained it well,” I said, with a genuine appreciation.
A corner of Wyck’s mouth lifted in a half-smile.
“It took me a while to teach him who the boss was. Now that he knows it, he doesn’t forget.” With a flash of affection in his gaze, he placed a hand on one of the beast’s heads.
The doors slid closed behind them. Wyck remained in the doorway, his feet firmly planted on the metal plate that covered the floor by the threshold.
“Here.” He stretched his arm my way, holding a handful of flat, black disks. “Cookies for you.”
“What did you just call them?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
Shockingly, he’d used the English word for “cookies,” carefully articulating each obviously foreign-to-his-ear syllable.
“Where did you hear that word?” I took the disks out of his hand and turned one between my fingers. It looked hard and glossy, like a flat hockey puck.
“From the woman who made them.” He took one out of the pocket on his vest. “Eat.” He shoved the whole cookie in his mouth. “See? Safe to eat.”
My empty stomach tightened. With all the worry and adrenaline, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. I tentatively bit into one disk. Hard and crunchy, it tasted very much like the sugar cookies from back home.
“Who made them?”
“The captain’s woman.” He winced, as if mentioning her left a bad taste in his mouth.