Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
"Of course."
He taps at the pad and then bobs his head in the emphatic way I've learned means “no” amongst the avians. "What we have out is all we've got."
"Drat." I tilt my head, regarding him, and finger the fabric, pretending to consider it. "You think you really know all the praxiians on this planet?"
"Unless they're in hiding, yes." He looks up and frowns at Zhur.
I turn to see what my new “husband” is up to. Zhur is pretending to shop. He's picking up item after item, turning it over in his hand, and then setting it back down with a curl of his lip, as if it doesn't meet his impossibly high standards. Such a snob. He doesn't realize how happy each of these small luxuries make us. That someone who lived in a cage for three years is going to be thrilled to have a soap that smells like roses or a pair of socks made for human feet and not alien ones.
Giving him a tight expression, I pull my gaze away from Zhur and back to Skritch. "Know of any praxiians on the planet here that are soldiers or maybe nobles? My husband's looking for a cousin of his."
"Praxiian nobles? On this planet?" Skritch laughs.
I laugh, too. "Silly, right?" I whisper. "But I promised I'd ask."
Skritch leans in as if sharing a secret. "The only praxiians here are criminal sorts, most likely in hiding."
"Yikes." Big yikes.
"Not all of them are bad sorts. It's not like they're here to rob the locals. Most just want to settle down with their wives and raise their children quietly. And then of course there's Nassakth."
I blink at him, not recognizing the name. "Who?"
"Big gray praxiian. Older than your mate there. Has a wife and three children. Says he's in hiding but like...he didn't exactly hide very hard? Everyone here knows his name." At my blank expression, Skritch chuckles and dips his beak under a shoulder feather, fluffing it. "He was a gladiator."
"Aaaaah," I say, as if that answers everything. The galactic equivalent of a sports hero, I'm guessing.
"There's a few praxiian dockworkers settling here, but something tells me your mate wouldn't know them."
Something tells me he's right. "He might. Give me their names anyhow."
I scribble the names down on a bit of plas with the wax crayon he uses for marking where to cut the fabric while Skritch retrieves my order from the back. When he rolls it out on a laden cart, I slide him a few extra credits. "You don't know how much I appreciate this."
The credits disappear under a flurry of downy feathers and he makes another one of those happy squawking noises. "I am happy to be of help. You know where to come for all your needs." He leans closer to me as Zhur picks the first sack up out of the cart and loads it into the back of my air-sled. "And I can get you all the noli you want. Praxiian males, they love that stuff. And their mates love it even more."
I ignore his chortling, keeping a wan smile on my face. Like hell I'm requesting more of that drug. It's already done enough damage.
CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN
ZHUR
We load the air-sled with Maeve's goods and she chats with the avian and another human that comes in. I grow impatient, tired and still aching from the noli frenzy. I don't want to be around others. I want to grab Maeve and pull her away from anyone that tries to talk to her. I want to carry her back to her bedroom and run my muzzle all over her skin. I want to do all kinds of filthy things that aren't part of our agreement, which tells me the noli is still lingering in my system.
It puts me in a foul mood.
I'm still surly by the time we get into the sled and start to head back to her farm. Maeve insists on piloting, which irks me for reasons I cannot fathom. I had pilots to shuttle me about back home. Why is it that Maeve driving her own sled bothers me? Is it because I should be taking care of her? Or is it because she should have someone doing it for her? Or worse yet, is it more noli-induced reactions, wanting me to drag her to the nearest nest-shaped bed and not let her out...ever?
This is supposed to be a fake marriage. My cock does not seem to be paying attention to the fake part.
"You're really going to have to lighten up when we go into town," Maeve tells me, shooting glances in my direction. "You were really cranky to Skritch. And now Greta—that's the blonde that was in the store—is worried about me and my taste in men."
"Must you talk to every person that comes into town? Endlessly?" I grump.