Page 37 of Warrior's Reign
She grit her teeth and yanked her mind back onto her task. She needed to figure out if her watcher was a suitor, or their fishy. Vykhan was around here somewhere, watching, weighing her performance—he’d said he would be her backup and though she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him,thatwas a male one could take at his word. Reign sighed, irritated. Vykhan was going to think she was incompetent. She turned and made her way back to the bar, but Whatever You Like was gone. Oh, well. She was here to work, anyway. Not flirt.
Reign swiveled in her seat and people watched. The music didn’t hurt her ears, a small mercy, but this still wasn’t a place she’d come on her own for a night out. Too dark, too crowded, too full of other people’s expectations. If she wanted to get smashed, she’d take a bottle to a secluded part of her favorite park and drink in peace.
She turned back to her food and brooded into her plate, cognizant of her brief. Hyper aware of people who walked by, the laughter of groups and couples, bits of whispered conversations. Her aural enhancements allowed her to tune in to listen to what she wanted, but after an hour of ear surfing, her frustration grew.
“You look lonely, human.”
Reign turned. A Yadeshi male of middle height stood a few feet away; lean chest, flashy dress blazer that was the unfortunate fashion of the season. The man who’d been watching her all night.
“I didn’t know lonely had a look,” she said, but softened it with a smize.
His gaze traveled up and down and he gave her a smile. So help her Haeemah, if this was a pickup and not their fish, she was going to ransack this place. This night was dragging on and with nothing to show for it.
“It looks like sexy human. I know you’re here alone. You must be looking for me.”
Her mood dived. But there was still a chance he was just feeling her out first.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Am I looking for you? Are you someone I should know?” She crossed her legs and folded her arms over her chest, then offered a prompt. “I work at the palace, you know.”
“The palace? Are you a translator?”
Because of course that’s all a human could be, was a translator. “They have devices for that these days,” she said, voice flat.
He shrugged, and leaned on the bar next to her. “I don’t know much about the palace.” He flashed a smile. “I work in. . .shipping.”
Right. This wasn’t her guy. “That’s great. Look, I have some reading to do before I’m on shift this evening.”
“I don’t see a datapad.”
“It’s in my bag.”
“I don’t see a bag. You aren’t shy, are you? I promise I don’t have fangs.”
Some Yadeshi did, a holdover from their prehistoric past. “Scram.” He blinked at her. Probably hadn’t translated well. Reign chose smaller words. “Get lost. I’m not interested.”
She shifted on her stool. This outfit was too tight for any apparent weapons, but a place like this was full of them, if her hands and feet—not to mention these heels—were ever insufficient. Numar would cloister himself in shame if a student of his couldn’t kill a person without the use of a weapon.
He scowled. “So you’re a professional companion? I don’t mind, but I want to see your license.”
. . .the fuck?
Could she afford an official reprimand on her record so soon in her career?
“If you insist on this,” she said, “you will be out of work for at least three weeks. That will be the amount of time it takes you to heal from your injuries. I won’t kill you as a professional courtesy.” And death should really only be reserved for the truly wicked, not just the infernally annoying. Haeemah preferred mercy unless all else failed.
The male laughed. “Human, I think I like you. But I prefer the girlfriend experience.”
Reign waited dispassionately until he reached out and put his hand on her arm. A moment later he was against the bar, howling.
The bartender came over, and stared down at the male. “Is this necessary?” He wasn’t talking to the male.
“I apologize for the trouble,” Reign said politely, her hand still gripping the annoyance’s neck. “I am but a lone, unprotected female.”
The bartender gave her an ironic look, then turned away. When he returned, she’d shoved Annoyance away and took the sanitizing cloth she was handed and mopped up the mess. It was the least she could do.
She glanced at the bartender a split second after his eyes widened, and she moved too slow. The wine, the drugging influence of dancing with Whatever You Like, irritation dulling her senses.
A hand shoved her head toward the counter, likely trying to mimic her own move. It took a second for her reflexes to spring into action and she twisted, breaking his hold, whirling in time to see—
