Page 49 of Havik: Warlord Brides
“Do not.”
“Boring but fine. I’ll refill our drinks and see if I can overhear anything.”
His arms tightened around her, trapping her. “Do not.”
“Look, we can’t keep pretending to make out. The bartender is going to yell at us to get a room.”
He liked that suggestion. “I do not want you to be alone. It is risky.”
She leaned back, pulling away from him. “Isn’t that the point of this? I’m bait? Time to cast me out and see what we catch.”
“I am liking the plan less and less.” Weeks ago, he viewed the plan as flawless. The tracker embedded under her skin was undetectable. Now, all he saw were flaws and risks.
Her small hand cradled his face. “Me too. It’s such a stupid plan. So, I’m going to go to the bar, make a distraction, and you’re going to slip out. Then we can regroup.”
“What kind of distraction?” He suspected that her idea of a distraction would curl his tail.
“I’m just going to spill a drink. Relax.” She rose to her feet, adjusted her glasses, and smoothed her hair. Lifting her chin, she tugged her jacket back into place and headed toward the bar.
Then her distraction happened all on its own.
Thalia
So that happened.
Thalia took a moment to collect herself and catch her breath because wow. Wow. He kissed her like a thirsty man needed water and he listened to her.
Careful to keep her gaze averted, she walked by the smuggler’s table. A man coughed without covering his mouth. She ignored the need to scold him about public health and not being a germ-spreading douche. Instead, she made for the bar and wondered if she could get two bottles of the ale to take back to the ship but didn’t know if the bar was quite that dodgy. Respectable places wouldn’t let you carry out an open container but there had to be an alien equivalent of a brown paper bag.
A Sangrin man lurched to his feet, wildly pointing to his throat. He gasped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and Thalia realized that was what was happening. He couldn’t breathe.
The others at the table looked at him without a shred of concern. “What are you going on about? Sit down, you fool,” the human woman said.
“Can’t. Drank—” More gasping as he fumbled for something in his pocket, knocking over his glass of beer.
Thalia raced over and stuck her hand in the man's pocket. That got a reaction from his companions. “What are you doing!?”
“He’s trying to tell you he’s having an allergic reaction,” she said, shouting over the other man’s protests. Instead of finding an injectable antihistamine in his pocket, she found a medical card.
Useless.
“He’s allergic to a berry, I think,” the woman said.
Thalia tossed the card to the table. “Hey! You got a first aid kit?” she shouted to the bartender. He nodded and produced a red plastic box.
The man continued to clutch at his throat, desperately sucking in air.
“You need to calm down,” she said, using her most soothing voice. “Panicking is making it worse. You have a couple of minutes. Relax.”
Her words had the opposite effect. His eyes went wide, and he backed away, like he was prepared to outrun anaphylaxis. Gray splotches covered his throat and his lips.
Sighing, she suddenly understood why Doc always browbeat his patients into submission. Fear and panic made people stupid.
She grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him down into a chair. Moving swiftly, she grabbed the blaster from his shoulder holster, dialed the setting to the lowest level, and pressed the barrel to the side of his head. With a brief hum and flash, the man slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Rough hands grabbed her. “What did you do?” the other Sangrin man snarled.
“Stunned him. Panic makes the reaction happen faster.”
