AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Mal’ik's face softened into a smile too, and Patrick’s chest eased a bit. Mal’ik had enough on his plate without trying to worry about Patrick’s failing career, too. “There should be.”
Patrick followed Mal’ik into a cozy den. Large pieces of leather furniture sat arranged for conversation. Oversized art hung on the curved ship walls. Long shelves held fancy and elaborate bottles of alcohol. And—Patrick cocked his head and blinked to be sure he was seeing it right—Oliver Turner stood with his lower lip between his teeth and aimed a dart at what looked like the most expensive dartboard money could buy.
“Uh.” Patrick cocked his head the other way. “You hate darts.”
“No.” Oliver threw the dart hard and it thudded into the middle of a cluster near the center. “I hate losing.”
“He’s tired of Sebastian picking on him.” Mal’ik passed Patrick and went to the alcohol-laden shelves.
“The next time I see him, I’ll give him a proper game.” Oliver pressed his lips together and threw the last dart in his hand. When it landed dead in the center, he tossed his chin and looked back at Mal’ik with a pleased, arrogant little smile.
The look Mal’ik gave him back as he set out two crystal glasses, made Patrick feel guilty for ever wishing Mal’ik had never met Oliver Turner. He’d never seen that sort of utter adoration in his friend’s eyes—hell, in anyone’s eyes. Mal’ik looked comfortable here and happy and confident, and when he gave Oliver a proud smile, Oliver looked so pleased, he glowed.
Sickening jealousy reared its head through the guilt as Patrick plopped himself down into one of the comfortable chairs. He’d wanted Mal’ik once, when they’d first met, decades ago. How could he not have? He was everything Patrick had ever found attractive: big, strong, shrewd, aggressive, someone that could go toe to toe with him in a fight. That Mal’ik hadn’t even conceived of being interested in Patrick had been pretty clear, pretty quickly.
It had hurt, but mostly because out-of-hand rejection hurt. His feelings for Mal’ik had become strictly platonic years and years ago. So, when Mal’ik had looked at Oliver like he was the fucking sun and he didn’t care if he got burnt, the jealousy hadn’t been so much about wanting Mal’ik as it had been about not wanting to be alone.
Patrick had thought he was over wanting someone to want him. He’d thought he’d accepted that it wasn’t in the cards for him. And he’d been okay because he’d thought it wasn’t in the cards for Mal’ik either. He’d thought they’d spend their days fighting the world together. But then Mal’ik had found Oliver, and Patrick had realized it was only not in the cards for him.
“Patrick!”
“What?” Patrick jerked his head up when Mal’ik said his name again, loud enough that it bounced off the metal walls. “Sorry.” I was moping about how you’ve left me for the love of your life. “I was thinking about the Trial.”
Mal’ik nodded understandingly. “What do you want to drink?”
Patrick trailed his gaze across the overwhelming array of bottles and shelves. “Damn, I didn’t know you two were such drinkers.”
“We’re not,” Oliver snorted as he retrieved his darts from the board. “They’re mostly for show. I bring officials and business executives I want to impress—”
“Or scare,” Mal’ik added.
“Or scare. Here.” Oliver pointed the feathered end of a dart at a small bottle two-thirds full of a dark green liquid. “Try some of that. I think you’ll like it.”
Patrick didn’t think Oliver knew him well enough to have any idea what he’d like, but he shrugged and nodded. “Sure.”
Mal’ik poured the green liquid into both glasses, then walked back over and passed one to Patrick. “So, is your squad ready for the Trial?”
Patrick accepted the glass and took a sip. A warm, herby aroma hit his nose before the subtle tasting liquor touched his lips. It wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. “If you’d asked me a month ago, I’d have said fuck no.”
“And now?” Mal’ik passed Oliver his own glass when he reached for it and accepted it back after Oliver took a quick sip.
Patrick jerked his eyes away from their casual intimacy and took another swallow of the herb bundle in liquid form. “Now, we might have a shot. Funny as it is, Sazahk has really helped them gel.”
“Sazahk’s here?” Oliver looked over his shoulder at them with a look of surprise.
“Yeah, he’s on my squad. Requested it, apparently.” Which had felt nice, Patrick had to admit. Sure, his country had it out for him, but at least the Carta Cartel still liked him.
“And he’s…” Mal’ik raised an eyebrow. “Fitting in?”
Patrick laughed. “He really is. The others didn’t know what to make of someone that didn’t want to fight them, and he just sort of—” Patrick shrugged “—won them over with weirdness.”
Oliver hummed and turned back to his board. “I guess that’s one way.”
“So, yeah, a month ago I’d have said they’ll kill each other before we get to the Trial.” Patrick smiled at the memory of his team today: Bar’in and Tar tossing each other supplies, Fal’ran defending Sazahk and ribbing Bar’in, Fal’ran’s positioning strategizing. “But their attitudes are a lot better now.”
Mal’ik choked on his drink. “That was your young soldier’s better attitude?”
Heat raced up Patrick’s face. “He’s not my—I mean, he is my soldier, but just my soldier.”
