Protected By the Alien Mercenary (MY MONSTER, MY PROTECTOR) by Robin O’Connor EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Robin O’Connor
- Language: English
- Genre: Paranormal / Sci-Fi
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 6.2 MB
- Price: Free
Thar’oc
The dim interior of the bar was thick with smoke, the smell of many
unwashed bodies, and spilled beer. It was a scent that was as familiar as the
scent of my quarters aboard the Varakartoom, which I often shared with
three other males in rotating shifts of two. Honestly, Rikon’s dive might be
an improvement over dealing with my bunkmate’s stinking socks.
I followed my crew mates further into the bar, hanging back because I
wasn’t into the private gambling games that went on in the backroom.
Rikon, the owner of the bar, was an older Pretorian male with a shockingly
protruding belly; an extreme rarity to see in his species. With four arms, he
was an expert bartender, but the cloth he was holding was for show, not to
wipe up any stickiness that clung to the wood.
“Ah, Rikon. My friend!” Aramon exclaimed boisterously, while slapping
his gloved hand down on the dirty surface without hesitation. “Serve us
your finest ale, please.” The vocal Asrai of the two grinned over his
shoulder at his silent twin, sharing a joke I wasn’t in on. Likely, it had to do
with the quality of Rikon’s ale. There was no finest, there was just the
watered-down stuff from the tap. It was soothing to a parched throat, so it
would do.
The red skin of the Pretorion was a little washed out even in the bad
lighting, but his mood freckles were easy to read. He was excited about
something, which meant high rollers were about to hit his tables. I sucked in
my bottom lip as I contemplated that. It wasn’t going to just be beers;
Aramon wouldn’t be able to resist.
My boots creaked when I shuffled through the sawdust to the nearest semiclean table and parked my ass. That last job on the Varakartoom had been
exhausting. I hated stakeouts, and I hated sitting still. Both of which were
terrible traits for a sharpshooter to have, but there you had it. I was a
fidgeter. Case in point, as soon as I was sitting I started jiggling my leg.
Restless energy coursed through me.
“What the fuck is up with you today?” Jaxin demanded. The Rummicaron
Weapon Master’s voice rumbled from his deep gray chest. He had rows
upon rows of sharp teeth shaped like hooked triangles, that he displayed to
me with an annoyed grin. Despite the danger, I was always tempted to stick
my fingers in there.
I shrugged and grabbed the beer the bartender was plopping with a slosh
down in front of me. I threw it back in a few big gulps and still, my leg
jangled and my tail twitched rapidly behind my back. I had no clue. I wasn’t
normally this fidgety; this was extra.
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