And one of them had given me the only scar I would gladly erase.
Marla… She had been the embodiment of perfection, with the face and the body of a goddess, long, golden hair that had captured the rays of the sun, sinfully plump lips, and breasts made to fit snugly in the palm of my hands. Her throaty voice whispering my name, whispering words of love had been nothing but a siren’s song. Like my firstborn, I’d always prided myself in being an excellent judge of character. But she had played me in the most masterful way, before walking away from both me and our son.
I no longer loved her, but my heart continued to mourn the female I had believed her to be—wished her to be. Seeing Anton’s happiness with his Grace and Ravik’s with his Mercy only reminded me of the gaping hole in my chest and the old scar that never fully healed. To think Anton had planned on sending Mercy to me… She could have been mine. Our Dagna was stunning and fierce, a true goddess among mortals. But while I couldn’t deny sharing the collective Braxian infatuation towards the Magnar’s woman, I needed a submissive mate, which would never be the case for Mercy.
As carefree and content as I pretended to be, I held the hope that my turn, too, would come when the one female truly made just for me would enter my life. Failing that, I prayed the Ancestors bring us another great war for me to express the excess of emotions filling me by crushing the fools who would stand in my path.
The hovercar stopped in front of a tall building made entirely of reflective, tan-colored glass and a soft golden metal I didn’t recognize.
“Thank you,” I said to the chauffeur to be more civil than my usual grumpy way.
“My pleasure, Mr. Aldriss,” said the young human male with fiery hair and a constellation splattered all over his face.
I suppressed a snort at his obvious joy that I’d acknowledged him enough to actually speak to him. Humans were silly. Stepping out of the vehicle, I entered the sleek building, nodded at the guard manning the entrance, and made my way up in one of the elevators to the penthouse of Roman Tusk. Mercy had initially put me in touch with that human broker. The former mercenary reminded me of William, Anton’s right hand. He had already handled a couple of deals for me in the past, finding me strong business partners or buyers for my goods.
The elevator doors opened onto a large seating area, which served as both an entertainment room for guests in the evening and an informal reception waiting area during his business hours. The guard having no doubt informed him of my arrival, Roman stood waiting for me in the center of the room. At fifty-nine years of age—two years my elder—he looked good with his ruggedly handsome features and his tall, broad-shouldered body that he’d kept fit as many former mercenaries were wont to do. Despite being a handful of centimeters short of two meters, the top of Roman’s head barely reached my shoulder.
“Greetings, Roman,” I said, slapping my fist on my chest in the standard Braxian greeting. “Blessings on your house.”
“Hello, my friend,” Roman replied, approaching me with his hand extended.
That human practice of shaking hands always baffled me, feeling often unpleasant with their hands being clammy or shaky as they all but feared I would crush it—not that the thought didn’t frequently cross my mind. But I went along with it, appreciating his firm, confident grip.
“Come, we have much to discuss,” Roman said, leading me to a large couch in his seating area instead of the far too cramped office he loved to bring his customers into.
Without asking, he poured me a large glass of Xelixian wine—for which I’d recently developed a taste—then one for himself before settling in a plush, matching brown leather chair across from me.
“What news have you got for me?” I asked, twirling the bluish liquid in my glass.
“Excellent news,” Roman said, flashing his white teeth at me. “Your idea of using your gems as focus crystals for lasers in both weapons and medical equipment was pure genius. I have four buyers in a bidding war. You technically could let them push each other into raising the price and then selling to all of them as I understand you have a near endless supply of the gems?”
“Correct. My son negotiated an exclusive deal for my otherwise worthless crop in exchange for the gems that are equally useless to my client,” I said proudly.
“Well then, you keep coming up with such clever ideas, and soon your wealth will rival your son’s,” Roman said teasingly.
I snorted. That would obviously never happen. Whatever Anton touched all but turned to a mountain of credits. Still, I couldn’t wait to show him how I was growing and multiplying his precious gift to me. My son had devoted most of his life to making me proud of him not realizing I’d always been. What would he think if he found out that I, too, wished for him to be proud of me, not for my strength—which was merely due to genetics—but because I could be as smart?
“To success,” I said, raising my glass of wine.
“To success,” Roman repeated, imitating me.
I took a large sip and purred loudly at the sharp, but lightly fruity taste of the treacherous wine. You could drink it like juice, and then, minutes later, the alcohol would hammer you all of a sudden. Roman laughed, pleased by my approval before taking a sip of his own drink.
Over the following hour, we discussed various other business opportunities and agreed on meeting dates with the potential partners. My original plan on staying for two days ended up being stretched to a full week. Yulan and Zartag wouldn’t mind, and I could be tempted into exploring some of the more decadent forms of entertainment Anton’s space station had to offer.
As if he’d read my mind, Roman’s dark eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief.
“There is one last piece of business I want to discuss with you, but later,” he said mysteriously, his odd emphasis on ‘business’ piquing my curiosity. “First, we’re going to celebrate your success at Bacchus. I have prepared a very special surprise for you, which should be ready as we speak. We shouldn’t delay.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is that why you asked me to clear my agenda for the day?”
“Yes,” Roman said with a fiendish grin. “You are about to receive the Royal Treatment from a most stunning female; three hours, anything you want.”
I snorted and shook my head. “And she’ll run for the hills the minute she sees me walk in.”
“Wrong. She knows exactly what you are and is quite eager to meet you,” Roman retorted smugly. “Spare me the dubious look. I never promise what I can’t deliver. And that little gem—who isn’t Braxian—does not require Denax.”
My brain froze as I gaped at him. Roman burst out laughing at my incredulous look.
“That’s impossible!” I exclaimed, this time fully intrigued.
“I never lie. Come on, old friend. It is rude to make a lady wait,” Roman added, rising to his feet.
We walked the short distance to Bacchus among the throngs crowding the walkways. Dinner service had just begun in most venues offering meals. Considering the high demand for tables in the VIP section, being even a minute late for one’s reservation almost guaranteed it would be passed on to the next person on the waiting list. But carving ourselves a passage through the masses wasn’t an issue.