CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Treto
“Ihave a feeling the females will be gone for a while,” Xan says, gazing longingly down the hall where his mate disappeared with my—with the others.
I keep thinking back on how Igid called Bela mine. My mate. The more her words reverberate inside my mind, the more I want them to be true.
I haven’t known Xan or Deja for long, but from what little I’ve learned of them, I know a more bonded pair surely doesn’t exist. My eyes wander to where Rovos is also staring after his female.
With the exception, perhaps, of my friend and his mate.
I can’t seem to keep my own eyes from the long, empty hallway where Bela went with the others. What if she didn’t want to go with them? I didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on mine when Anna pulled her away.
Stop. She’s fine,I tell myself, giving my head a shake.
“I just got a shipment ofTodella-Vahvawhiskey in,” Xan says with a chuckle as he strides across the room. “Let’s go test one of the bottles to make sure I wasn’t ripped off.”
Pulling my attention away from Bela, I follow the males to a bar area that is still in the process of being renovated. If I remember, this part of the room took the heaviest damage when Volethos attacked the compound trying to steal Anna and the rest of the humans living here.
“Don’t tell Igid we were drinking without her,” Rovos groans, sliding his huge frame onto a too-small stool. “Todella-Vahvais her favorite. She conned me out of a whole case in order to search a Xar-ad ship for the location of Anna’s home planet.”
My head snaps up. “You gave her a wholecase?” My head shakes in disbelief. That female didn’t evenshare—when Sone and I did all the work!
Rovos at least has the audacity to look repentant before changing the subject. “Xan, how are things since the raid?”
“Repairs have been slow,” he sighs, reaching under a counter, where he pulls out a square-shaped bottle filled with crimson liquid. “I’m having to divert expenses from our military forces, and then I swear the merchants demand a higher cut each time I order supplies.”
Reaching under the counter again, he puts down five glasses before pulling the crystal stopper from the top of the whiskey bottle with a loudpop.“Then there is the cost of smuggling those supplies on planet. The government, of course, wants their cut as well.”
I take the offered glass from him and bring it to my nose, letting the pungent fumes sting my eyes.
“I thought the plan was for your sons to start up their own businesses as merchant traders?” Rovos asks when he takes his glass.
“Yes, well,” Xan hands two glasses to his sons, keeping the fifth, “Brox can’t seem to make up his mind about what he wants to do.”
Brox, the younger son, gives his father a petulant look while his older brother rolls his eyes beside him.
“We’ve been over this, Da.” Keeghan sighs. With his daughter cradled in one arm, he wraps his free hand around his glass. “You’ve seen how the government tries to block us at every turn. I can’t see how they will be any different with us. What we need to do is infiltrate the government and change things from the inside.”
“My son, the politician,” Xan sighs and then lifts his glass into the air.
“Ital,” we say in unison before tipping the fiery drink down the backs of our throats.
I thought the fumes stung my eyes, but the trail of fire it leaves down my throat has me gasping and coughing into my fist.
“Ah!” Rovos looks longingly, and unaffected, into his empty glass. “Good stuff.”
Xan and his sons merely nod, their eyes watering and throats stinging much like mine.
The sound of a stool scraping over the floor draws my attention to where Keehgan has stood up. “Thank you for the drink, Da,” he says, setting his glass upside down on the counter. “I need to get this little one back to her mother. Rovos. Treto. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”
“Thank you, Keehgan.” Xan claps his hand on his son’s shoulder before dropping it to lovingly cup the babe’s small head. “Behave for your mama, little one.”
Keehgan chuckles, the dark circles smudged under his eyes suggesting she isn’t doing much behaving for either of them.
Xan pours us another glass of the molten whiskey. “I wanted to say,” he announces somberly, doling out the second round, “how very sorry I am—weare…” He pauses to clear his throat and shake his head before looking at me. “Sone was… We’re still in shock.”
His strange multicolored eyes linger, and I quickly drop my gaze to my newly filled glass. I’m not sure which is worse, the look of pity he gives me, or his genuine sadness. Knowing he shares my grief should help, right? Instead I feel anger flare up inside of me. Hot and burning. Without waiting for the others, I toss back the whiskey.
