“I’ll be pleased to,” Lan’ara said quickly, wishing he would call her by name instead of just “the girl.” She looked at Laxah. “Is there anything I can make for you?”
Laxah looked at her appraisingly.
“I do have a certain fondness for chieva brittle, but it’s a fairly advanced technique.”
“I can try it,” Lan’ara offered. “As long as you give me the recipe—”
“I notice you didn’t ask what you could make for me, girly. So you didn’t,” Drung’s hoarse, snorting voice rang out above the other conversation. “But that don’t matter,” he went on when Lan’ara looked up at him, feeling a sick coldness in the pit of her stomach. “For I’m sure that nothing you could make by hand would taste as sweet as your own little pussy.”
“That’s enough!” Need growled, glaring at the Trollox. “Treat her with respect, you big bastard!”
“Like you are, I’m sure,” Drung sneered. “Tell me, Kindred—did you taste her cunt honey? And has it sweetened up yet? That’s a sign, so it is. A sign that her Ripening is nigh. Oh, but you wouldn’t know about that because you don’t have her file.”
“You bastard.” Need rose from his chair, his face filled with cold fury. “You keep the girl’s name out of your mouth and any thoughts of her out of your filthy mind! I told you before, she belongs to me.”
“More’s the pity for her, so it is,” Drung snorted. “For how is the girly ever to get any relief for her cravings when you don’t even know how to sate them? She’ll be in pain, soon enough, so she will. Just turn her over to me for one night—I’ll satisfy her if you can’t.”
As he spoke, he leered at Lan’ara, cupping his crotch and drooling through his yellow tusks in a way that turned her stomach. She looked away quickly, not wanting to see those piggy little eyes trained on her.
“That’s enough of that,” Captain Glo’ll remarked sternly, before Need could reply. “Last Meal is hereby adjourned. Everyone back to your posts and batten down for the night. I’ll see you all again tomorrow.”
Still glaring balefully at the Trollox, Need rose and pulled out Lan’ara’s chair, helping her to her feet. It was a possessive gesture, she thought—as was the heavy, muscular arm he encircled her shoulders with.
She didn’t mind, though. It was only when he was holding her that she felt safe from the disgusting lust of the Trollox. She only wished he would touch her when Drung wasn’t threatening her—touch her because he wanted to.
But no—why was she thinking this way? Why was she so desperate for the big Kindred’s touch? Could it have something to do with the “touch cravings” Drung had mentioned?
Oh, how she wished she could read her own file or had ever read it before. But a student’s file was strictly confidential at Twyleth Tigg and she was never allowed to see what was written in it—it was only for the school nurse and the male who bought her to look at.
Whether the ugly Trollox was telling the truth or not, it was far better she should keep her distance from Need, Lan’ara told herself sternly. That way she would be more likely to keep her virtue—what remained of it, anyway—intact, until she reached Genu Six.
It didn’t seem to matter what she told herself, though. Lan’ara still found herself snuggling close to the big Kindred, breathing in his spicy fragrance and loving the feel of his big, strong arm encircling her as they left the dining area.
She wished the way he was holding her could last forever.
Nineteen
Need let his arm drop and took a step back from the girl as soon as they got back to his quarters. He liked touching her too damn much—enjoyed the feel of her soft, curvy body pressed against him much more than he should.
Besides, he had sworn never to touch her again right before dinner—he had even made certain to sit across from her instead of beside her, so he wouldn’t be tempted to take her hand or put an arm around her.
But when that fucking Trollox had started eyeing her and insulting her, Need hadn’t been able to help himself. A protective Rage had risen within him and the need to keep her close had overcome his self-control. He had forgotten his promises and simply reached out to bring her close—his need to protect her and claim her as his own too overwhelming to deny.
“Sorry,” he told her roughly as he stepped away. “I know I promised not to touch you again.”
“I…I don’t mind, my Lord,” she said softly, looking up at him. “I don’t mind a bit.”
“Well, I mind,” Need said, frowning. “When I give my word, I at least try to keep it.”
“Yes, my Lord.” She cast her eyes down and looked miserable—at least Need thought she did. “My Lord,” she said after a moment. “Do…do you think there was any truth to what the Trollox said?”