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“You raise very valid points.” The minister almost managed to sound genuine. “I’m sure we’ll have time to discuss them at length during the education meetings.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Turner sipped the tea he had declared too sweet. “I look forward to it.”
Mal’ik had nothing to do but keep an eye on the perimeter, receive reports from his team—all clear—and watch Turner eviscerate everything around him for the whole day, until Turner’s last meeting with Governor Tesh of Southern Tava.
Turner stayed quiet and rigid as they walked to the meeting. He didn’t even comment on the small puddle of standing water from that afternoon’s rain that had gathered around one of the pillars they passed. He’d had a word to say about every weed and spot of peeling paint earlier in the day, so Mal’ik took that to mean he was deep in his head.
The Southern Hemisphere of Tava had been nearly leveled by the initial invasion. After the peace treaty, everything remaining had crumbled under the pressure and explosions of the militia that had fought on and eventually coalesced into the organized Resistance. Most of the humans—recent immigrants pushed out to the largely unoccupied region in an ill-considered landgrab by a Human species state bulging at its seams—abandoned it. All that remained were the humans who had lived there for generations, largely suffering from a crumbling infrastructure and pockmarked by the violent Resistance who wanted all species states out no matter the cost.
As part of the force left there after the war to stabilize the region, Mal’ik had lived among the people of Southern Tava for nearly as long as he had lived among his own family. They didn’t deserve the danger and poverty they lived with, but he hadn’t been able to fix it.
So Mal’ik was not surprised that even Turner’s mind might have been too full to focus on nonsense. But as they entered the courtyard in which the meeting was to take place, Turner had relaxed his shoulders, and the first words out of his mouth were to complain about sitting for an extended time outdoors in such a hot, humid, and downright muggy climate.
Word must have gotten around about Turner’s manner, because Governor Tesh just smiled and shook his hand in the human greeting.
Mal’ik wasn’t pleased about a meeting outdoors either. Too many entrances and sightlines. He’d called for another guard to be present, and she stood above them on a balcony.
Mal’ik had tuned out the conversation to scan the surrounding hallways and entrances when, an hour or so into the meeting, he caught a whiff of sun-dried linens. He snapped his head back to Turner and inhaled deeply.
Yes, sun-dried linens and a tint of anxiety. Turner hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said it was humid. Sweat beaded along his hairline and dripped down his neck, carving out paths in the thick cream over his pulse points.
The governor had noticed it too and had leaned forward subtly, nostrils flaring.
Mal’ik hit his comms. “Yela, get scent-neutralizing cream and meet me in the western hallway. Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mal’ik stepped forward and grabbed Turner’s upper arm. The muscles under his hand tensed, and Mal’ik smelled the startle, then a whiff of that warm, earthy scent that made him want to growl. He tightened his fingers into the human’s bicep and glanced at Governor Tesh across the table. He saw the beginnings of a sly, suspicious smile.
“I need to speak with you.” Mal’ik didn’t wait for Turner to reply. He pulled Turner up and out of his chair, the human too startled to fight back, and dragged him away to the opening of a hallway.
Once they’d turned the corner, Turner wrenched himself free. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Your scent cream is sweating off,” Mal’ik growled. “I can smell you.”
Turner’s eyes widened, and Mal’ik was hit with the full force of a wave of sweet, earthy, yearning promise. A shudder went down Mal’ik’s spine. He turned away and took a step back.
“I don’t have any more on me.”
For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Turner’s voice sounded small and unsure. Mal’ik fought the urge to turn back around, run his thumb over those sharp cheekbones, and soothe him. As though Turner needed soothing and Mal’ik could provide it for him.
“Yela is bringing some now,” he said instead. The scent faded, and Mal’ik finally glanced back at Turner to see him rubbing the remnants of the cream into more even coverage over his skin.
They stood there for a few moments, avoiding each other’s eyes, Turner’s fingers still fluttering along his pulse point. Then Mal’ik heard Turner inhale to speak.
“Thank you.” He dropped his hand from his throat and looked up at Mal’ik with his face open and devoid of the usual hint of mockery and superiority. “I know it’s your job to protect my life and not my business interests, and I appreciate that you didn’t let me lose my advantage back there. I’d be hamstrung in these talks if they could smell my thinking.”
Mal’ik just nodded. It wasn’t his job to protect Turner’s work. In fact, his government would probably have preferred if Mal’ik had just let Turner’s olfactory mask slip. But Mal’ik found the thought of Turner’s truths—sunshine, fresh air, anxiety, delicious want—slipping out past his defenses without his consent oddly unacceptable.
“Sir, I have it here.” Yela arrived a moment later and held out the small container.
Turner took it with a grateful smile. “Thank you.” He opened it and started liberally applying it to his throat and wrists, and the clean smell of him disappeared again. “No more meetings outside after this. Inside with good air conditioning only.”
“I’ll make sure of it.” Mal’ik nodded to the small jar. “And keep that on you.”
Turner tucked the container into his pocket with a wry twist of his lips. “I will.”
* * *
