Chapter 75: Flirting with the Wrong One

His fingers brushed along her jaw, tracing the line of her neck, still glistening with droplets. He lingered there for a moment—as if measuring his own restraint.

“You’re covered in dirt,” he murmured, his voice deeper than usual.

Evelyn lifted her chin. “I’m cleaning up, Kael’tarian. Unless you want to do it for me?”

Vykhor raised a brow. Then, without warning, he slipped a hand behind her neck and pulled her in—slowly, inexorably. Not a kiss. Not yet. Just that tension, razor-sharp. His lips a breath away from hers.

“I could,” he said. “But I doubt we’d come out cleaner afterward.”

Evelyn’s soft laugh vanished into the warm air. Her heart beat faster. And she knew his did too.

Behind them, Zeynn groaned loudly. “Seriously? Can you at least wait until I’m out of visual range? I’m stuck between a shirtless Kael’tarian and a dripping wet scientist oozing chemistry.”

Vykhor sighed and slowly let her go.

“Shame,” he murmured near her ear, before stepping away reluctantly.

But Evelyn was smiling.

The tension was there. Alive. Crackling. And just getting started.

A few minutes later, the path finally cleared. Evelyn walked ahead at a good pace—hair half-dry, features relaxed despite the humidity. Zeynn, however, walked with… let’s say, a lot more caution.

He eyed every suspicious puddle, every treacherous branch ready to fall, every bush too bushy to be trusted.

“Could you slow down a bit, Evelyn?” he muttered, voice low and tense. “I’m getting flashbacks.”

Evelyn glanced back with a smile. “It was just a bit of mud, Zeynn.”

“That’s what you say. I nearly got swallowed by a mutant swamp, thanks.”

Vykhor, bringing up the rear, walked silently, rifle slung over his shoulder, posture straight and alert. He didn’t need to speak to command calm—or to warn every lifeform in the area that one wrong move would be their last.

But even he noticed a change in the kid. Zeynn no longer walked like a distracted brat. He kept glancing at Evelyn every two minutes, feline ears twitching at the slightest sound. He hadn’t said anything. He wouldn’t. But he was protecting her, in his own way.

And Vykhor, though he didn’t show it, appreciated that.

Not that he needed the help, of course. He was Kael’tarian. But the fact that this unpredictable, loud-mouthed teen was starting to understand the prime rule of the Kael’seth pack… that deserved to be noted.

Evelyn didn’t comment. But she felt it. The glances. The silence. That familiar, reassuring tension. This trek through the sticky, teeming jungle was no longer just a mission.

It was progress. A quiet declaration.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

They reached the meeting point without further incident. A circular clearing, the ground paved with smooth white stones. At its center stood a small structure crowned with a golden dome.

Zeynn let out a theatrical sigh of relief. “No mud. No leeches. No ridiculous death. We’re improving.”

“For now,” Vykhor said gravely, making Zeynn jump.

Evelyn giggled and turned to them, the transmitter in her arms. “Almost done. Just the drop-off, and then... I’ll cook us a real meal.”

That promise made both men smile.

But behind the apparent calm, they all knew—calm never lasted long with the Kael’seth.

They entered the central building of the clearing, a structure with strange architecture—organic wood blended with polished metal, bathed in warm, golden light. Around them, translucent-leafed plants pulsed gently, as if breathing with the space.

And in the middle of this technonatural sanctuary... their client was waiting.

He was tall, slender, wearing a tight, shiny suit in eye-watering shades of purple, adorned with patterns that seemed to shimmer as he moved. His eyes, a sickly green, blinked with almost artificial intensity, and his mouth held a smile far too wide to be sincere.

“Aaah! The magnificent heroes of the hour!” he exclaimed, opening his arms as if welcoming old friends. “And here is the famous Evelyn Ashcroft… I’ve heard so much about you.” His gaze slid over her with poorly veiled interest.

Evelyn, always polite despite the surprise, gave a small nod. “Here’s the transmitter, as agreed. Intact.”

“Of course it is. You’re fabulous.” He approached with a graceful, almost dancing step. Too graceful. Zeynn grimaced.

But Vykhor didn’t move.

Not yet.

The client leaned toward the case in Evelyn’s hands. His fingers brushed hers—too slowly to be innocent.

“And to think a woman so brilliant, so exquisite, hides in the darkest corners of the galaxy… What a waste.”

The click of Vykhor’s prosthesis echoed through the room.

Zeynn turned his head. All he saw was a twitch in the Kael’tarian’s jaw.

Which, in Kael’seth language, meant apocalypse pending.

“Evelyn,” Vykhor said, voice glacial, “step back.”

She raised an eyebrow, surprised, but obeyed without a word, handing over the case.

The client took it without blinking, then turned to Vykhor, clearly amused. “Ah, so you’re the protector. The great Kael’tarian. I see now why she feels so... fulfilled.”

Zeynn made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and an attempt to run.

Vykhor stepped forward. Just one step.

But it was enough to make the client instinctively back away.

“You got what you wanted,” he said, voice low, calm, deadly. “Keep your gratitude for someone else. And don’t ever touch my My’Lari again.”

Silence.

Even the plants stopped pulsing, swear to the stars.

The client straightened up with forced elegance, then, with a fake-sounding laugh, raised his hands. “All right, all right. No contact. I’m a man of peace. And good taste.”

He held out a small case. “Your payment. Triple the amount. For the style.”

Evelyn snatched it quickly and backed off, knowing if she didn’t, Vykhor would switch to “eliminate” mode.

As they exited the building, Zeynn whispered, “Was that flirting? ‘Cause if so, I do not wanna know how they date on his planet.”

Still tense, Vykhor answered without looking at him, “He almost died. Where I come from, that’s called a mistake.”

Evelyn… simply smiled.

Because despite the irritation, the tension, and the barely concealed jealousy… Vykhor had said “my My’Lari.”

And that one word was worth all the silent threats in the galaxy.

**Narak’Tharr Docking Bay – 17:03 Galactic Standard Time**

The ramp hadn’t even fully lowered when Blue sneezed.

Not a cute sneeze.

A monstrous sneeze from a semi-predatory creature mid-growth spurt, shaking the cargo bay walls like thunder. Zeynn, leading the group, leapt back with wide eyes.

“By Veyra’s moons, what the hell was that?!”

Evelyn raised her hands like she was defusing a biological bomb.

“He’s sneezing. That’s all. Must’ve caught the scent of the tropical plants. Or… or us.”

Blue stalked forward, nose twitching, sniffing Zeynn, then Evelyn… then Vykhor. He sneezed twice more, blowing Evelyn’s hair and Vykhor’s patience clean off.

“I think he’s judging whether we’re still worthy of his loyalty,” Vykhor muttered.

That’s when Kryna chimed in, her voice echoing from the speakers with far too much smugness.

“Olfactory analysis: high presence of unidentified plant matter, surface mud, sweat, airborne pollen... and other compounds I’d rather not name.”

Dramatic pause.

“Immediate decontamination recommended. Subjects to be separated into three individual sanitation cells, of course.”

Zeynn raised a brow. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” the AI replied flatly. “My virtual olfactory system is already suffering.”

Evelyn stifled a laugh, her eyes twinkling.

“You’re not encouraging this, are you, Kryna?”

“Me? Never. But I did record a consistently elevated heart rate in one Kael’tarian throughout the mission. Perhaps the scent of mud triggers… certain instincts.”