Then she spoke.
Not to me. Notyet.
But her voice carried. Sharp, dry, cocky as hell. I tracked the sound before I even realized what I was doing. She laughed atsomeone—biting, not cruel—and it went off in my chest like a flare.
When I reached the bar and she turned, everything stilled.
Brown eyes, warm and cutting all at once. That mouth—gods, that mouth could tear a man down to atoms with one smirk. She looked like trouble in a softshell package, and every inch of me stood at attention.
She called me out instantly. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t simper. Tossed attitude like she’d been training her whole life just to piss me off.
It should’ve made me walk.
Instead, I leaned in.
“Evenin’,” she says with a curl in her voice, flipping a towel like a whip. “Don’t tell me you’re here to order something fruity. I might lose respect.”
I don’t blink. “Give me something that burns, as usual. And make it quick.”
Her smile goes sideways. “You ask all the women in your life that nicely?”
Only the ones I don’t plan to kill. “Only the ones I want to keep talking.”
Her scent hits me next. Something floral and gritty. No artifice. No cheap glitter-spray or borrowed pheromones. Just skin, heat, and that earthy note of someone who works for a living.
She’s… short. By my standards, anyway. Barely past my chest. Compact, strong. Curved in ways that don’t play fair with my self-control. And her eyes, gods above, they spark like a soldier ready to draw steel just for the thrill of it.
I asked her name the first time before. She gives meSouthlandlike it’s a challenge.
I want her first name. The real one. The one people probably whisper in bed or yell during fights. But she guards it.
Good.
I like when things take effort. Victory’s sweeter when it’s earned.
She pours the whiskey. Doesn’t shake. Her hands are callused on the edges, but her nails are clean. Practical. She slides the glass across the bar like a weapon.
“You a cadet?” she asks, even though I know she already clocked the rank stripes on my collar.
“Combat unit designation T-79. Advanced ground tactics.”
Her eyes narrow. “So youarethe big bad.”
I tilt my head, measuring her. “That what they call me?”
“No,” she says. “That’s what I just decided.”
I let a smile slip, small and sharp. She’s got claws. Not afraid to swing 'em. Vakutan females, they don’t waste time with banter. They fight to flirt. They bond by blood.
But this human… she’s something else.
She fights with language.
She dances with it. Flashes it like a blade. She pushes my buttons and waits to see if I explode or smolder.
Joke’s on her—I’m already burning.
She serves two more cadets while I sit and watch. Not like a creep. Like a predator. I study how she moves—confident, quick, smart. Always aware of her space. Never letting a hand linger too long, never letting a stare go unpunished.
