AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Former Gat’Raph mercenary and Klah’Eel army captain—and very brief commander—Mal’ik of Klah crossed his flesh and metal arms over his broad chest and raised his eyebrows over bright orange eyes. “Is that what this is?”
Patrick grabbed the rope hanging between him and Fal’ran and swung both legs over the side of the tree branch.
“Smith, who the—”
Patrick lost Fal’ran’s tense voice to the rush of wind in his ears as he slid down to the ground, not caring about the rope burns catching fire along his palms. His feet hit the ground so hard he winced, reminded of how old his knees were these days, but he ignored the sharp pain and strode into the open arms of his oldest friend.
Mal’ik wrapped him up and pulled him tight against his chest, enveloping Patrick in his huge, solid body and his familiar, musky scent. Patrick clapped his back and tangled his fingers in the one unfamiliar thing about him: his uniform. For a horrifying moment, Patrick’s throat closed around a sob.
“I—” Patrick tried to swallow it down, thankful that his squad was still up in the trees and too far to smell or hear him. “I fucking missed you.”
Mal’ik’s chest rumbled under Patrick’s cheek. “I missed you, too.”
It had been almost three months since Patrick had last seen Mal’ik. That was longer than he’d gone without seeing his best friend in years, but aside from that, it had been three months of hell. Three months of isolation and self-loathing and doubt and frustration and loneliness. The month before, when they’d been at war with Tava and Patrick had feared Mal’ik had gone off to die a martyr, had been worse, no doubt about it. But it had been worse in a different way.
Mal’ik dropped his nose to Patrick’s temple and inhaled. He was checking on him, like he always did, but it reminded Patrick with an uncomfortable rush of embarrassment and longing of the way Fal’ran had breathed him in and he untangled himself from Mal’ik’s arms.
Mal’ik frowned at him, his heavy brow furrowing, and opened his mouth, but then his eyes snapped to a point above Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick had a moment of confusion before he heard the zip of hands sliding down a rope and the heavy thud of boots hitting the ground.
“Who are you?” Fal’ran’s voice rippled with a vicious antagonism that Patrick realized he hadn’t heard since before the day Patrick had beaten him in the sparring match.
He spun around and fixed his soldier with a glare. “Watch your tone when speaking to a superior officer.”
Fal’ran’s shoulders tensed at Patrick’s snap, but he kept his eyes locked on Mal’ik. “That’s not a Klah’Eel uniform.”
“No,” Mal’ik replied in his calm, deep voice, but he glowered at Fal’ran with a hostility that made Patrick recoil when he looked at him. “It’s a Tavan one.”
That made sense. Patrick swept his eyes over it and felt a pang of betrayal to see his friend out of the uniform they’d always worn together.
“So, you’re not my officer.” Fal’ran’s nostrils flared, and so did Mal’ik’s. Whatever Mal’ik smelled made a growl build in his throat.
Patrick jumped between them and gave Mal’ik a wild look. What the fuck? He’d never seen or heard Mal’ik react to someone like that before. His dumbfounded expression seemed to make Mal’ik catch himself, and his scarred lips twitched, and the growl died back.
He turned a stern scowl on Fal’ran next. “Southern Tava is our ally now, which means General Mal’ik here still outranks you. And me.” As he always had. “So, show a little respect.”
Showing the very opposite of respect, Fal’ran bared his canines and had the goddamn gall to push Patrick behind him with one of his muscular arms as he stepped around him. Patrick's fists clenched, and he prepared a spitting fury of reprimands as Fal’ran opened his mouth.
But Mal’ik beat them both to it, stepping chest to chest with Fal’ran with a full-blown growl in his throat. “Stand down, soldier.”
Fal’ran vibrated with tension as he and Mal’ik stared at each other. The younger man was tall, broad, and strong but Mal’ik still dwarfed him and Patrick wondered if it was that or the pure alpha authority Mal’ik exuded that kept the younger man from growling back.
“Fal’ran,” Patrick hissed, and Fal’ran twitched, but neither klah’eel looked at him.
Mal’ik sniffed the air and his scarred lips lifted in a snarl. “Your captain ordered you to stand down.”
Patrick's cheeks flamed. He didn’t need Mal’ik fighting his battles for him. He could keep his own men in line. Except he fucking couldn’t, could he? “Fal’ran! Step the fuck back. Now.”
Chapter Seven
After a torturous moment, Fal’ran stepped back and Mal’ik’s growl receded. Fal’ran spun on his heel, and, for the first time since sliding down the rope, looked at Patrick. His burnt orange eyes stormed with aggression and something else Patrick couldn’t identify before he stalked off to one of the Yelt tree ladders. Patrick lifted his nose out of a habit born from living among klah’eel all his life, but, of course, his stupid human nose didn’t help him.
Mal’ik stepped up beside him and watched Fal’ran scale the tree. “I take it he’s been giving you problems?”
“You can say that again.” Patrick rolled his shoulders, trying to shrug the frustration and embarrassment off his back. “He’s good though, Mal’ik. Just wait until you see him in action.”
Patrick saw out of the corner of his eyes as Mal’ik turned towards him. When he saw his friend’s nostrils flare, he shoved him in the chest and stepped back, hyper aware of what Mal’ik might smell on him.
“Not right now. Let me just wrap up my team and then we can talk.” He clapped his hands and raised his voice so that even Bar’in up in the tallest tree with his sniper rifle could hear him. “Alright team, good work today. Pack up and head off to dinner. Tomorrow’s PT is the obstacle course.”
