Destin's Hold (The Alliance #5)(37)

Destin seriously doubted the Trivators would be able to find the rest of the women after all this time. Razor had promised he would reassign the men, but Destin was skeptical of his brother-in-law’s promise considering the new threats to the Alliance. From the little that he had overheard, there was more at stake in the universe than the lives of a group of human women.

Destin bent and brushed a kiss across her lips. “I know you will,” he murmured before he pulled back and grimaced when the communicator buzzed again. “We’d better get a move on or Trig will be having puppies.”

Sula’s brow furrowed at the comment. “I do not think Trivator males can have puppies. They may obtain them, but the canine species are not found in their world,” she said, following him when he slid out of bed.

Destin’s eyes twinkled with amusement when she stood up and straightened the oversized Chicago Cubs T-shirt she had confiscated. Sometimes Sula took his statements very literally, leading to some interesting – and often amusing – discussions. He shook his head and wrapped his arm around her. If it wasn’t for the fact Trig was getting impatient to get off the ship and wouldn’t leave them alone, he’d postpone going down to the planet for as long as possible. The communicator chimed again, almost as if Trig sensed his procrastination.

“For crying out loud,” Destin muttered, glancing at the message on the communicator. “He is worse than a kid at Christmas!”

“What does it say?” Sula asked.

“’Are you ready yet?’” Destin replied with a slight growl in his voice. It pinged again. “’How about now?’ I’m going to shove this damn thing down his throat.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to remove his ability to communicate with you?” Sula asked.

“Yes, but not near as much fun,” Destin muttered, sliding his hand down over Sula’s hip and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m going to have Cutter assign him to latrine duty at the Army National Guard building if he doesn’t stop driving me crazy.”

Sula chuckled. “I think we’d better go,” she murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth.

There was a bang on the outer door. Destin watched Sula quickly gather some clothing and step into the bathroom. Grabbing a pair of jogging pants, he quickly pulled them on before he strode the short distance to the door and opened it. He glared at Trig.

“I got your message,” Destin replied dryly. “All of them.”

Trig looked Destin up and down with a dark, impatient frown. Destin watched Trig shift from one foot to the other and glance over Destin’s shoulder into the cabin behind him before scowling at him again. Destin raised an amused eyebrow at Trig and ignored the alien male’s impatient glare.

“We’re here,” Trig stated.

“I know. You already told me that,” Destin pointed out.

“Why aren’t you ready?” Trig demanded. “I’m ready to get off this ship.”

Destin casually leaned against the door frame. Amusement swept through him when Trig’s expression darkened at his lack of motivation.

“I can kinda tell you are ready to get off the ship. Did your parents ever tell you that you are very annoying?” Destin asked before he shook his head. “The answer to your question is no, we are not ready. We were asleep until a few minutes ago. It should only take us about fifteen minutes if you stop interrupting us.”

Trig’s lips twitched and his eyes glittered with a rueful expression. “You don’t want to ask my parents that question. It would take years to hear about how annoying I can be,” he retorted, glancing over Destin’s shoulder again. “Good morning, Councilor Ikera.”

“Sula,” Sula responded automatically, wrapping a tie around the end of her long braid. “Good morning to you as well, Trig. I understand that we have arrived. I have already submitted my request for delivery of my belongings down to my new living quarters.”

“At least one of you is organized,” Trig replied with a satisfied nod before he stepped back and started to turn away. “I’ll meet you in the shuttle bay in ten minutes.”

“Fifteen,” Destin called out behind the Trivator.

“Shuttle leaves in twenty,” Trig retorted, not turning around.

Destin chuckled and straightened. Turning, he closed the door to his living quarters. His gaze swept over Sula. She looked beautiful, exotic, and definitely alien in the dark red, form fitting top, leggings, and silver transparent cover. Her hair was braided to the side and hung down over her shoulder. Thin ribbons of red and silver ran through it.

“You look beautiful,” Destin murmured, stepping toward her.

His fingers rose and he brushed the back of his knuckles down along her cheek before turning his hand to trace the line along her throat. His fingers grazed the long scar along her neck. Bending, he brushed his lips against hers before releasing an annoyed grunt when his communicator chimed.

“I’ll kill him while you go get ready,” she laughed, lifting her hand to brush it across the rough skin of his jaw.

“Sounds good to me,” he grunted out, reluctantly turning away from her. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

“Take your time. I’ll need it to hide the body,” she teased.

“Unit Three in the Disposal Unit incinerates really well,” he suggested, turning and retrieving some clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.