or he was enthralled by the crystal skylight in the ceiling; whatever it was, he didn’t struggle.
Reccin placed a hand on Hamm’s arm, claws sheathed, rumbled and motioned toward the far side of the room. Hamm studied Staille’s profile, but released the soldier and followed Reccin.
“Can you trust him?” His second wasted no time, speaking in a low tone as though concerned the alien’s small ears would distinguish something intelligible in their rumbles. “Can you trust he won’t bring them down on our heads?”
“You mean more than they are right now?”
“It can always be worse.”
“You think so?” Hamm glanced at the prisoner, watched Staille blink and lower his chin, run exploratory fingertips over jaw and neck. Then he crouched into a squat and stared at his hands, turning them this way and that, flexing them rhythmically. He wondered what thoughts ran through the alien’s head. If they resembled his in any way. Those hands had killed his squad. He looked back at Reccin. “The squad’s efforts today bought us time. I won’t waste their sacrifice. We’ve a chance here to put an end to this in one fell swoop.”
The grooves furrowing Staille’s brow relaxed. Attention loosened, gaze sliding away, Staille dipped his chin.
Hamm angled his head and projected his voice for the soldier to hear him. “What do you need to make contact?”
“Your permission, a moment’s silence. And preferably an open space aboveground.” Staille held his gaze, a strange blend of challenge and submission.
Hamm had successfully squashed his arousal, regained control of his pheromones—but it cranked up a notch, and not because he’d caught a whiff of Staille’s scent from across the room.
“Before my commander and I escort you outside, I’d like to know your motivation.”
Reccin had blatantly taken control of the conversation, but it hadn’t been intended as a direct affront to Hamm’s authority as commander. Hamm knew that and tried not to hackle, but it happened anyway. His hair lifted around his neck and shoulders, all the way down his spine. When Reccin and Staille both stared at him, he realized he’d growled a warning at his second as well.
Fucking instincts were a real son of a stray.
Reccin didn’t back off, just tightened his grip on Hamm’s arm. Refusal to submit. The silly thing was that the chief’s caution wasn’t unreasonable. Hamm chuffed, irritated with himself. He wasn’t usually this sensitive about it. Then again, usually he didn’t have an alien throwing everything off kilter.
Staille eased to his feet in one fluid motion, the sort of deadly effortlessness that he was used to seeing in furrs. And for all they’d been watching these aliens, he’d not seen it in any of them. Until now.
“It’s okay, Commander. I’ll answer the question. It’s a valid concern.” He stepped closer, his stance relaxed. Did Staille really expect to fool either of them? All it did was make Hamm want to throw the male over his shoulder again. He could still smell the fluid dried on the inside of the soldier’s thigh. There’d been enough to darken a sizeable spot on his armor. Definitely ’nip, only . . . not. The scent of something else mixed with it. More concentrated, lacing the air as the prisoner continued.
“Your planet is your own. You’re a sovereign species with rights. To set your own trade agreements, to profit from your assets. It’s my job to kill things. That’s all I do. I never signed on to counter sapient aggression. I’m part of an exploratory force, not an invading one. And that’s the heart of it.”
Reccin glanced at Hamm and chuffed again, then raised his brows in an invitation for Staille to continue. He flexed a hand, letting his claws slide into sight briefly.
That hint of something else winding through Staille’s scent kept Hamm breathing deep. He didn’t care if it affected his physiology. He needed to know what that other piece of the puzzle was. As
Reccin placed a hand on Hamm’s arm, claws sheathed, rumbled and motioned toward the far side of the room. Hamm studied Staille’s profile, but released the soldier and followed Reccin.
“Can you trust him?” His second wasted no time, speaking in a low tone as though concerned the alien’s small ears would distinguish something intelligible in their rumbles. “Can you trust he won’t bring them down on our heads?”
“You mean more than they are right now?”
“It can always be worse.”
“You think so?” Hamm glanced at the prisoner, watched Staille blink and lower his chin, run exploratory fingertips over jaw and neck. Then he crouched into a squat and stared at his hands, turning them this way and that, flexing them rhythmically. He wondered what thoughts ran through the alien’s head. If they resembled his in any way. Those hands had killed his squad. He looked back at Reccin. “The squad’s efforts today bought us time. I won’t waste their sacrifice. We’ve a chance here to put an end to this in one fell swoop.”
The grooves furrowing Staille’s brow relaxed. Attention loosened, gaze sliding away, Staille dipped his chin.
Hamm angled his head and projected his voice for the soldier to hear him. “What do you need to make contact?”
“Your permission, a moment’s silence. And preferably an open space aboveground.” Staille held his gaze, a strange blend of challenge and submission.
Hamm had successfully squashed his arousal, regained control of his pheromones—but it cranked up a notch, and not because he’d caught a whiff of Staille’s scent from across the room.
“Before my commander and I escort you outside, I’d like to know your motivation.”
Reccin had blatantly taken control of the conversation, but it hadn’t been intended as a direct affront to Hamm’s authority as commander. Hamm knew that and tried not to hackle, but it happened anyway. His hair lifted around his neck and shoulders, all the way down his spine. When Reccin and Staille both stared at him, he realized he’d growled a warning at his second as well.
Fucking instincts were a real son of a stray.
Reccin didn’t back off, just tightened his grip on Hamm’s arm. Refusal to submit. The silly thing was that the chief’s caution wasn’t unreasonable. Hamm chuffed, irritated with himself. He wasn’t usually this sensitive about it. Then again, usually he didn’t have an alien throwing everything off kilter.
Staille eased to his feet in one fluid motion, the sort of deadly effortlessness that he was used to seeing in furrs. And for all they’d been watching these aliens, he’d not seen it in any of them. Until now.
“It’s okay, Commander. I’ll answer the question. It’s a valid concern.” He stepped closer, his stance relaxed. Did Staille really expect to fool either of them? All it did was make Hamm want to throw the male over his shoulder again. He could still smell the fluid dried on the inside of the soldier’s thigh. There’d been enough to darken a sizeable spot on his armor. Definitely ’nip, only . . . not. The scent of something else mixed with it. More concentrated, lacing the air as the prisoner continued.
“Your planet is your own. You’re a sovereign species with rights. To set your own trade agreements, to profit from your assets. It’s my job to kill things. That’s all I do. I never signed on to counter sapient aggression. I’m part of an exploratory force, not an invading one. And that’s the heart of it.”
Reccin glanced at Hamm and chuffed again, then raised his brows in an invitation for Staille to continue. He flexed a hand, letting his claws slide into sight briefly.
That hint of something else winding through Staille’s scent kept Hamm breathing deep. He didn’t care if it affected his physiology. He needed to know what that other piece of the puzzle was. As
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