“We watch and wait,” he agreed.
“You and your waiting.” Baralt snorted. “One day I’ll teach you the joy of hitting a problem before it becomes a bigger problem.”
They drank in silence for a while, watching the flames, then Baralt suddenly laughed. “Here’s a story for you. You remember Captain Athtar?”
“The male with the fast ship and the slow morals.”And a very dangerous mate.
“That’s the one, although his morals have improved marginally since he took a mate.” Baralt set down his cup. “He came through a few weeks ago. Left a day later. In between, he dumped something in port that I’ve been meaning to complain to someone about, and you’ve conveniently arrived.”
“What did he leave?”
“A young male. Half-Tajiri, by the look of him—golden mane, blue eyes, claws, the whole arrogant package. Apparently Athtar took him on as crew a few seasons back, out of pity or short-handedness, I didn’t get the full story.” Baralt’s mouth twisted. “The fool repaid him by trying to take his ship. Instead of spacing him, which would have been within his rights and honestly less trouble, Athtar dumped him here and told me he was my problem now.”
His hand tightened on his cup.
“He left an off-world male who tried to seize a ship,” he said, “in the same port where you’re already fighting to keep off-world males from seizing whatever they can reach.”
“That’s the shape of it.”
He sighed. “And how much trouble has he caused so far?”
“Less than I’d expected, honestly. Rjmar caught him stealing food.”
Remembering the older male’s size and temper, a faint smile curved his lips.
“And he’s still alive?”
“Surprisingly. For whatever reason, Rjmar took a liking to him.”
“That’s a first. Rjmar doesn’t even like his own clan.” He shook his head and drained his cup. “I have some errands to run. Do you need me to send more warriors?”
“I’ve got it, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”
He nodded and headed for the door, already anxious to complete his tasks and return to his mate.
CHAPTER THREE
The baby’s tiny hand closed around Polly’s finger, and something inside her chest went soft and aching all at once.
“She likes you,” Yasmin said, threading a strand of dyed sinew through a bone bead. Like Polly, she had been stolen from Earth, but the ship that had taken her had crash-landed on Hothrest and she’d been fortunate enough to find Rhaal almost immediately. “She doesn’t grab just anyone. She screamed like she was being murdered when Zeeja tried to hold her.”
Polly rolled her eyes. Zeeja was an arrogant female who muttered insults at her whenever Njkall wasn’t around.
“That’s because she has good taste.” She bent her head over the little bundle in her arms. The baby was impossibly small, with a fuzz of white fur covering her tiny body and bright blue Hothian eyes in a human face. She smelled like warm milk and something clean and new. Her fist tugged at Polly’s finger with a strength that seemed too fierce for someone so tiny. “Don’t you? Yes, you do.”
“You’re a natural, you know.”
“I’m holding her. That’s not a skill.”
“You’d be surprised.” Yasmin knotted the sinew and held her half-strung necklace up to the crystal light. “I can trip over my own feet. Thank goodness I’ve never done it while I was holding her.”
She laughed, but her eyes kept drifting back to the small face against her arm. The baby had drifted into that boneless, trusting sleep that only the very young managed, mouth slack, one cheek squashed against the crook of her elbow. And a thought slipped in before she could stop it, quiet and dangerous.
What would it be like to hold my own baby?
She could picture it all too clearly, which was the trouble. A baby with her dark hair, or maybe white fur. Deep blue eyes or her grey ones. She imagined Njkall’s enormous hands, hands that could crush stone, cupping something so fragile with all that terrible gentleness he possessed, and her throat went tight.
She pushed the thought back down where it belonged.
