Perhaps he should use his roaks the next time, he thought, to make it even better for her. He could rub them against her, oh so slightly, not releasing too much of his pheromones, just a little bit. The thought of giving her his pheromones, seeing her body flushed with ecstasy, made him hard again. He wanted her, badly, but he would let her sleep. She needed to rest, his conniving little Kitten.
Dykan grinned. He still couldn’t believe she had shot him. Twice! Normally he would never let anyone get the better of him that easily. But somehow, around her, his guard went down fast. She looked so innocent on the outside, but he knew that on the inside she was a feisty one. Taking on him and his crew with such an air of total indifference about the consequences, she had to be feisty.
His mother would have adored having her as a daughter, he thought. His dead mother. His mother who had been killed by her species. A sharp glowing pain in his chest made him jerk away and off the bed. How easily he forgot about his mother when he was with Kat. Naturally he could never bond with a human, even if he ever got the desire to procreate. Should that day ever come, then he would simply choose a Makaen female he found adequate to have offspring with. A female who wouldn’t bother him unnecessarily and who’d devote her full attention to taking care of the young. A female who would let him be, so he’d be able to have fun with his friends, visiting taverns and pleasure houses whenever he wished. But that was a concern for the far, far future. Certainly not for now. He could barely take care of himself and his crew right now, let alone a female.
Dykan looked down at Kat. Perhaps everything would have been different if she had been one hundred percent Cassidi. It would have made things less complicated. On the other hand, maybe he wouldn’t even have looked at her twice if she were full Cassidi. She was perfection exactly the way she was, he admitted. That also meant she wasn’t to be his. So it was for the best if he stopped fantasizing about her, about them. There wasn’t a “them.” He liked to fuck her, that was all. He had to remember that. Whatever he believed he felt for her, he had to forget it. Dykan sighed. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. He needed something to help him forget.
Dykan opened a drawer and took out a bottle of spirits. Then he sank down into a chair and started drinking.
Sleepily, Kat slid her hand over the mattress, expecting to find a hard muscular body lying next to her. But Dykan’s side of the bed was empty. Confused, Kat looked up. Where was he?
“Dykan?” she whispered hoarsely, sitting up.
Kat scanned the room and stopped at a chair in the corner. Dykan was sleeping in it, his massive body scrunched up into a ball, his head leaning backwards over the armrest. How could a man his size possibly sleep like that?
With a groan, she flung her legs over the side of the bed. All her muscles ached. No wonder. Having sex in moderation wasn’t something Dykan did, nor was being gentle. But he wouldn’t hear her complain, oh no. She had absolutely loved every second of it. Every second of every hour. And it had been several hours. That man had the stamina of a bunny on Viagra.
She walked over to Dykan on her tiptoes. On the floor in front of him lay an empty bottle. She picked it up and grimaced when she read the label. It had so much alcohol in it that only one sip would burn her esophagus to a crisp. Had Dykan drunk the entire bottle? She tilted her head, gazing at him with a worried frown. Just to be sure, she checked if he was still alive by holding her hand in front of his mouth and nose. When she felt his warm breath tickling her palm, she blew out a sigh of relief. Boy, that man must have steel plating on the inside.
Quickly, Kat grabbed a blanket from the bed and tucked it around Dykan’s body. She didn’t want the cold to wake him up. Staring down at his relaxed features, Kat bit her lip. He was one handsome devil, she thought. She lifted her hand to touch his face but faltered. Instead, she bent down and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. When he didn’t stir, she also got a pillow and gently tucked it under his head.
After making sure that Dykan was somewhat comfortable in that position, she entered the bathing cubicle to take a quick shower. When she reappeared, she noticed that Dykan hadn’t moved one muscle. And even though she could stare at this beautiful male for hours, she decided to go to the mess hall for a cup of tea. She wasn’t hungry at all. She felt much too anxious to eat. Her stomach was filled by a large knot; there wasn’t any room for food.
Kat got dressed and, giving Dykan one last glance, she snuck out of his quarters. The ship was darkened and totally quiet. There was only the humming of the engines. They were still running in night mode, Kat gathered. She stepped into the empty mess hall and looked for the bag she had brought with her. Seeing it lying on the counter, she grabbed it and got the tea out. Dykan didn’t have any tea on board—apparently Makaen didn’t like that hot beverage—so Kat had been smart enough to bring some with her. She filled a mug with hot water and put a teabag in it.
She sat down in one of the seats, pulling up her legs. Holding the warm mug in both hands, she raised the mug to her nose, closed her eyes and breathed in the scented steam. It helped her relax a bit. There was nothing a good cup of tea couldn’t fix. Well, maybe this was one situation even tea couldn’t make better. The knot in her stomach was still there. Guilt, Kat thought. Yes, she was feeling immensely guilty. This feeling blew. She had told herself over and over again that she would do anything to get Lucas back, but forcing Dykan and his crew to help her, to risk their lives for a man they didn’t know or care about, felt so incredibly wrong. If anything happened to them, it would be her fault. Zzjitzzeëns were rotten to the core. Killers. What if Loanod’s brother died during this mission and the boy lost the only family member he had left? What if Dykan died? A sharp pain spread through her chest. If anything happened to him, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. She’d much rather die herself.
“A credit for your thoughts.”
Startled by the voice coming from the entrance, Kat almost dropped the mug. She flung her head to the side and saw Dykan leaning against the entrance, his arms crossed. He wore only pants that hung very low on his hips, his impressive chest bare for her gaze. His tousled hair made him even more attractive. Yep, he so pulled off the right-out-of-bed look.
Kat blinked and swallowed her heart back down. “Damn it, Dykan. You scared the living daylights out of me. Do you have to be in stealth mode? Can’t you make some noise when you approach, like whistle or hum a tune?”
Kat placed her hand on her heaving chest in an attempt to calm her pounding heart. “And the saying is ‘a penny for your thoughts.’ It’s an Earth currency.” She lifted an eyebrow. “How come you even know that expression?”
“Firstly, I don’t whistle or hum a tune. Believe me, you don’t want to hear me make those sounds. And to answer your question, my uncle taught me. During the war he interacted with humans frequently and picked up bits and pieces from their language. Don’t humans also say that being startled is a sign of a bad conscience?” he asked, tipping his head to the side. “I believe my uncle told me that one too.”
Kat smiled joylessly. “Yes, that is an Earth saying.” She wavered a moment before speaking again, uncertain how much she should tell him. “And, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Have a bad conscience, I mean.”