“Damn,” he grumbled. “This is a problem.”
24
Commander Valin spent the next morning in a state of turmoil. Confusion, even. But he couldn’t let it show. Not under normal circumstances, and certainly not in the tenuous position he now found himself. He’d lost both shuttles as well as control of the entire surface operation. It was going to take every trick he knew to retain his command, especially with Grallox clearly eyeing it for himself.
He would put on a show. He had to. From this point on, to the crew, as well as their troublesome prisoner, his appearance would be that of a man in complete control. It had to be done. And as such, he would make himself slip deeper into the typical ways of the Dohrag. The behaviors that had helped him rise in the ranks despite his bloodline disadvantage.
He had done it plenty of times before as he ascended to his position, but deep inside, behind the calm, confident façade, he was conflicted. Torn. Fighting hard against his own urges. And as the pigments in his body churned in an increasingly troubling manner, he began to worry if he might actually lose this fight with himself.
“No,” he told himself in his mirror as he dressed for the day. “Youare in control.Youdecide what you feel. Do not be such agodsdamned weakling. And because of some cursed woman? You are a man. Get ahold of yourself. You are the commander of this station. Act like it!”
Valin slapped himself a few times across the face, the sting sharpening his focus, if only for a short while. It worked for the moment at least, his churning unease settling with the flash of pain, but he was very aware that this was not sustainable. If he kept up this particular tactic, eventually the men would question the bruises he would undoubtedly make on his own face. There had to be a better way. The troubling part was, he didn’t know what that might be.
“Okay. Here we go.”
Valin stepped from his quarters, his shoulders back, head high, his gaze sharp and fierce. He was back in the mindset of the young man who’d fought his way up the ladder, and the men he passed as he stormed to the command center quickly stepped aside well before he even reached them. The aura buzzing off him was that of an alpha predator, and the crewmen reacted on a visceral, survival instinct level without even realizing it.
Valin smiled to himself—on the inside, of course—and continued to the mess hall.
“Move!” he growled to the poor man standing near the doorway.
“Sir!” he blurted, jumping out of the way. It had been some time since he’d heard that tone in the commander’s voice, but his body reacted immediately out of habit.
Valin stood a good head taller than the rest of his crew, but today it appeared as though he towered over them, his attitude adding height and bulk to his already impressive frame. All eyes were on him, conversations abruptly silenced as the men watched their commander move through the room like a stalking animal.
He crossed the space in just a few strides, taking a seat with Grallox and his friends, scooping an enormous helping from the communal dish at the center of the table. Even Grallox was at aloss for words. This was a big dog move, and for the moment, at least, his underling was put in his place.
Valin ate in silence, his aggression almost palpable like the smell of an electrical fire somewhere in the walls. You knew there was something dangerous nearby, but what it was, and more troubling, when it might flare into a deadly blaze, was anyone’s guess.
Shalia watched him from the kitchen. The way everyone reacted to him with fear if not respect making her tingle in a most disconcerting way. He glanced up at her only for a moment, his eyes hard, lacking any of the confused lust of the prior night. And then, just as quickly as they’d locked gazes, he broke contact, his attention firmly on his meal.
The commander devoured his food quickly and without any apparent pleasure, though he did note it was much better than the usual fare, not that he would compliment the chef. She was a prisoner, nothing more, and he would treat her as such.
He finished and stormed out without a word, shouldering past the poor crewman who happened to rise from his seat at the same time. Everyone, from crew to their prisoner, was somewhat at a loss at what they’d just seen. The man had changed, and in a most worrisome way.
“What was that?” Trutzo asked.
“Not now,” Grallox replied, his hard glance shutting the man up immediately.
They would talk about this later, whatever it was. For now, it was in his best interest to keep discussion of it to a minimum. Valin’s unexpected posturing had actually put the men back in line, and Grallox would have to work hard to shift them back to their former dissatisfaction. It was Pavlovian among the Dohrag. The Alpha would act, and those not in the running for a challenge would fall in line.
Shalia picked up on Grallox’s unease and made herself small, staying out of sight until he’d left for his shift. She was an easy target for the man, and if he felt threatened by his boss, he’d likelytake out his aggression on anyone under him. And a prisoner? That was about as far down that ladder as one could get.
She didn’t see the commander at lunch, and that evening when she brought his dinner to his quarters Valin opened the door himself, took the tray from her hands, glowering the whole time, then shut it in her face without a word.
“What the hell?” she wondered quietly to herself as she headed back to clean up the kitchen. “What was that?”
An answer would not be forthcoming
It went like that for several days. Worse, even. Valin was acting more and more aggressive, not just to the men, but also Shalia. He was doing more than just playing the role of a commander; it seemed he was on a rampage of sorts, and for a short while at least the skeleton crew’s efficiency increased exponentially.
As for Shalia, she felt her confusion transition to her own slow-burning anger. Sure, what had happened between them was unexpected, and extremely hot. But this guy was an alien. It struck her as almost funny, as well as annoying, but she’d kind of expected more from him. But instead he was acting just like any other asshole man might back on Earth.
The fuck-and-run act was one she knew all too well, but she’d worked hard to weed out the sort who’d pull that kind of bullshit. And now, out in space a bazillion miles from home, she’d somehow fallen into that trap yet again.
But despite his attitude, she felt his eyes on her whenever he was near, and it made her heart race in spite of herself. It was visceral, uncontrollable, and it was driving her nuts.
Four days after their tryst the full healing of Shalia’s tattoos was apparent to any who looked at her, and as a result the men were watching her with greater interest. The kind that made her feel very uneasy. She was cleaning up after lunch when one of them finally grew bold enough to accost her in the mess hall.
