She may have thanked him--in the most obnoxious way--and he did appreciate it, but he wouldn't be seeing her again. With all the coming chaos, he doubted there would be any time to speak to her again. Regardless if she was Khalzin's mate's friend.
Though he wasn't even sure about that--he could have been speaking to the wrong one. There might have been others with the same fiery hair that reminded him of the lava pits near the mining stations.
He'd only headed toward the female that drew him across the platform before the explosion. He had not thought about how she felt against him, her smell, and her feel, and how she drew out his armor, especially his back ridges, so easily. That must be a coincidence of circumstances.
From across the hall, Stron saw Patrie headed his way.
“Are you well?” she asked when she got closer to him.
He nodded. “I'm better now. Were you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I was in the back getting supplies when the first explosion happened and have been working to triage this banquet hall for the survivors.”
He cringed at the words. The survivors. It sickened him to think that was something that would need to be addressed today.
“Do we know how many casualties?” he asked.
Her gaze moved across the room, settling briefly on the cluster of foreign survivors near the far wall. Something in her expression shifted — just for a moment — before she looked back at him.
“My staff all seems healthy. The guards I think are well, from what I can tell. I saw Khalzin earlier leaving with his female,” she said the last of that with such disdain, it irritated Stron.
He looked away from her, scanning the crowd. “I see Dhomhes is holding a session over there,” he said, gesturing to his friend and the gaggle of females that surrounded him.
“Who is leading?” Patrie asked.
One of the guards approached him. “Gol-Vett, we need to speak about the status of things.”
Stron glanced at Patrie. “I suppose I am.” He let the guard lead him off to see what needed to be decided upon. Someone needed to take charge.
He turned back to the guard. “Tell me everything.”
10
ADRYEL
Kantenan guards carried large, curved weapons and marched around. Others mingled in with the off-worlders, taking names and information so that everyone could be logged and counted. It was a strange combination to see the Kantenans, all of whom looked like warriors, carrying data pads and generally playing bookkeeper rolls.
It was something to look at. To think about, instead of the last few minutes.
As Adryel waited with the others to be treated medically, she took in the buzz of her surroundings. And wondered where the one who’d saved her had slipped off to.
Fancy dresser that he was, he had vanished into the crowd, but she had a feeling if she looked long enough, she’d find him again.
Looking at her.
Sure enough, in a cluster of others, his gaze met hers.
And he gestured from across the room for her to get treated.
She could wait. Other people had it worse than she did. She didn’t need to rush it. The pain in her side slowly grew, but it felt karmic.
After all, she’d nearly got everyone killed. If they had listened to her and went inside the ship instead of getting off the platform like they wound up doing when she was arguing with that Kantenan, they would have been killed.
Everyone.
Once again, Adryel made the worst possible decision in the circumstances, and people suffered or died because of it. She seemed to be very skilled at those kinds of decisions.
Someone came up, and Adryel gestured for her to go in front of her. The wound in her side ached, and she started to wonder if it was worse than she realized.
