Five hours ago, I’d pulled his corpse out from under a stack of dead enemies.
At least he’d taken five of those Hive bastards with him.
Yeah, I needed more than one drink to dull the ache.
Glancing up at the Atlan bartender, I lifted my chin. “Can I get a shot of whiskey, please?”
Her gaze softened, and I realized she really was beautiful. “Sure, honey. Jack, Johnnie, Jim or Glen?”
“Glen.”
“Bad out there today?” While her job kept her at the transport station, she knew what we did, the horrors we saw. The lingering emotions.
“Yes.”
She nodded and slid a shot glass full of synthesized whiskey toward me. The S-Gen—the matter generator that provided all our clothing, food and other incidentals that came from various planets in the Coalition—on the transport station had been programmed with Jim Beam, Johnnie Walker, Jack Daniels and Glenlivet, as well as a selection of vodkas, gin, beer, wine and every other type of alcohol imaginable from Earth. Drinks I’d never heard of from other planets, too. After puking my guts out in college on tequila, I steered clear of hard liquor most days.
Today was not most days. I just wanted to forget for a while. At least until I was called out on a clean-up mission again.
My mystery alien hottie watched me as I threw back the shot, closed my eyes in bliss as the alcohol burned its way down my throat, and gently placed the shot glass back on the bar like a revered friend.
“You want another one?” the bartender asked.
“No, thanks. We’re second wave.” We weren’t first out, not right now, but we were backup for the next emergency. Which meant I couldn’t drown myself in whiskey and pass out in my bed like I wanted to. I fiddled with the band around my wrist, my link to the alert system and the rest of my team. A darker green than my medical uniform, the center of it held a lighted band that communicated orders, coordinates, whatever we might need wherever we were on the ground. But right now, the colored band was a light, airy blue. Baby blue, cotton candy blue. It changed based on status. Red was first call, blue second, and black meant we were considered dormant, off duty. We called it dead time, and it was both rare and valuable.
There were only three emergency medical teams on Zenith, and we were all very, very busy.
“What is second wave?” He stared, like he was putting together a puzzle. Undeterred, he leaned forward when I ignored him, almost as if he was going to…
“Did you just sniff me?” I blurted, leaning back. Our gazes locked, and I felt like a deer in the headlights. I should get up and run, run, run. So why did I freeze in place, almost eager to see what he would do next? I felt like I was dancing with a cobra, and the risk was intoxicating.
“I don’t usually need to talk with a female to entice her into my bed.” His eyes were pale green, a few shades lighter than mine; my mother always said I had emerald eyes. But his were intense, almost mesmerizing and completely focused on me.
“Yeah, you might be better off with less talking.”
He grinned as if I amused him, and his gaze roved over my face, to my lips, then my hair, which he stroked. Involuntarily, I tilted my head into the heated touch. His hand was so big, reminding me of our size difference. I was tall but he was a head taller, if not more. And he was big. No doubt, everywhere. His hand slid down, over my shoulder and lower, to my hand, which he lifted between us. “You are from Earth.”
“Yes,” I confirmed, although his remark hadn’t really been a question. “Never seen an earthling before?” The question dripped sarcasm, but if anything, his smile widened.
“Only one.” He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask. I didn’t care who he knew or didn’t know. Not. My. Business. Besides, if it was a woman, I’d just want to claw her eyes out as well, which was just stupid. What he did and who he did it with was none of my business. Better to leave that one alone.
“Why do I smell blood?” He sniffed again, his brows drew together and any bit of playfulness was gone.
I shrugged. Sure, I’d showered and even changed into a fresh uniform, but none of my team had gone to medical to get our bumps and bruises taken care of. As usual, we’d made it back, washed the grime of death away and headed straight for the bar. We were used to losing people, but losing Henry was extra hard. He’d been a practical joker, the comedian and prankster who’d gotten away with murder and made life on this remote station almost fun. Every human on the station had heard of his death by now. Heard, and was heading here to drown their sorrows. In a couple hours, this place would be packed.
Maybe I should have another shot of whiskey. The raucous singing and toasting would go on for hours. I sighed and rubbed my temples. I could feel the headache coming on already.
Sexy alien’s eyes narrowed when he saw my hand—the one he wasn’t holding—dark green bandage still in place. “You are hurt.”
He switched his grip to the injured one, and I felt small in his hold. The touch was personal, intimate, and made me seem somehow precious. Fussed over. And I found myself hungry for that connection. He was taking liberties, keeping my hand in his as if I belonged to him. He unwound the narrow bandage.
“It’s nothing. Really.” A small cut on my palm from a piece of ripped metal. I’d had worse while working. Much worse.
He turned my hand palm up, cupped it in one of his and his fingers brushed gently over the gash. It had stopped bleeding before I transported back to Zenith. A scratch. I welcomed the stinging pain. Sometimes, pain was the only way I knew I was still alive. I’d taken a few extra minutes after we transported back, made sure Henry’s body got to the morgue and joined my team.
Over hunk’s shoulder, I saw our second-in-command, Rovo, watching me. He was with the others, but the look he was giving us gave me pause. He shifted his worried eyes—totally normal expression for Rovo where I was concerned—from me and glared at my companion’s back. Hottie must have noticed my distraction and glanced Rovo’s way. Their gazes locked for a split second, some kind of alpha male thing going on I didn’t understand. But I wasn’t worried. I was safe. My entire team was here, sitting along the wall, watching my back, talking trash and unwinding from that shithole, desolate planet we’d just come from.
Fighting over dead planets. While it seemed ridiculous, it made sense. No one wanted a Hive base in this solar system. Hell, this galaxy. So, the Coalition troops fought over dirt. Position. To keep the Hive away.