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From slave to freedom.
Etterian battleship Phoenix, at last.
About damn time.
As short as Macy was, seeing all the prisoners was a struggle. She had no idea if one would attempt to kill Cyndi, but then again, the way Iddan guarded her, maybe not. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be...higher. The tallest point was crates stacked in the center of the warehouse-like room. She grimaced. Which meant climbing in her slippers, with a gun, and a sore back.
On her tiptoes, she pushed the gun on top of the crate, gripped the edge, then gripped the edge, locking her knuckles in place. A whimper slipped past her clamped lips. No matter how much she willed herself to pull her body weight up, she couldn’t. Her limbs refused, made stubborn by the fire bathing her shoulder. Huffing, she scanned the area, searching for tiny crates or a toolbox, anything to give her a little leverage. If the universe didn’t hate her, a stepladder would appear out of thin air. She blinked. Nothing, not a shimmer of light or something useful appeared. Yup, well, universe, the feeling’s mutual.
Crates, barrels, and heavy-looking rolls of thickish material filled her line of sight. In the corner, sheets of metal rested against one wall. She tapped her chin. That could work. If she laid it like a ramp, she could walk to the top of the crate.
She weaved through the crates and the prisoners, climbed over a roll that had the texture of canvas, and squeezed between wall and crate to reach the metal sheets. The edges were curled inward which made gripping it easier, and it was as light as a feather. She put it down, picked it up again just to be sure she wasn’t losing her mind, then waddled to the crate.
“Excuse me,” she muttered over and over, even though she doubted they understood her. Still, they let her through but lingered to watch her balance the sheet. As light as the sheet was, it was cumbersome, but when in place, she stood back to admire her brilliance.
She made it halfway up before she slid down, landing in a disheveled heap at the bottom. Heat flushed her body, from the wound and sheer embarrassment.
“Now if you had listened to me, we’d be on top already.” She glared at her arms. Rocking onto her hands and feet, she clambered to her feet, offered a sweet smile and a curtsey to her avid audience, took several steps back, and bolted, sprinting up the ramp.
She slipped and scrambled but managed to reach the top just as the sheet fell. Brushing the hair from her sweaty face, she hefted the gun with a gasp and clutched it to her chest, fearing and relishing the warm stickiness on her back.
Dizziness assailed her as she stood on guard, trying to be vigilant in a multi-colored sea of species. Her feet throbbed, her vision blurred, but when she lowered the alien gun to lean on it, a fresh wave of agony lanced across her shoulder. Her nightshirt pulled tight, stuck with blood to her skin. Still, it was warm, barely keeping the chill of the warehouse at bay.
Damn, she could sleep for days. A soft bed, a hot shower, and something solid to sink her teeth into like a burger, or an apple... Oh. She gasped. A hot cup of tea would be amazing.
“I am told to speak Earth English?” an older man with yellow skin said. The thick tentacles he had instead of hair undulated in soft sweeping movements regardless. Dark spots traveled from his temple, fading into his tentacles, and his black eyes saw too much.
She smiled. “Yes, thank you.”
“I am Pannos, a Maloidian.” He smiled and didn’t move along, choosing instead to lean heavily on a metal rod.
She studied him, noting the many wrinkles that lined his face, like slow-drying paint. “I’m Macy. A pleasure to meet you, Pannos.”
He tapped his rod. “Please, address me as Lommia.” He gestured to his body. “It is a term of respect for one of my age.”
“Of course.” She winced. “I meant no offense.”
“No, not one as sweet as you.” He chuckled. “It is also an endearment.” He pointed to her collapsed ramp. “I watched you. It was most entertaining and revealing of your character: stubbornness, ingenuity, determination. Truly remarkable, Macy.”
She shrugged, not sure how to respond to his compliments. “I’m short. I tend to find myself in situations requiring resourcefulness.”
When the hole appeared in the wall and crates were shoved aside, the tall man who entered the bay through a makeshift hole made Macy gasp. Shit. They don’t make them like that on Earth. She glanced at the other angelic-looking Etterians, who had marched through the breach to stand on guard, and sighed. Yup, nothing like that where I’m from. And just as gorgeous as those paparazzi pics. Damn, I sure hope there’s one for me.
Pannos followed her gaze. “Ah, our rescuers. They are a good species and stubborn, just like you.”
Casting a glance at him, she chuckled. “I can’t claim stubbornness for my kind. I think it’s determined by character, no matter the species.”
Pannos chortled. “And wise.” With a shudder, he tightened his grip on the pole.
She frowned at him. “Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?”
“Doctor?” He shook his head. “In time. For now, I am grateful to be out from under those Yithians. Their intentions were not honorable.”
She raised her gaze to admire the Etterians. “We were lucky.”
Pannos tapped his metal pole. “Maloidians do not believe in luck, Macy. We spend our lifetime mastering fate.” He lifted his stick and pointed at the prisoners. “The Etterians will see to our needs. Come find me when you can.” He toddled off.
Smiling, she stared after him.
A few Etterians spoke to Cyndi and Iddan, then gathered the prisoners into lines. In sync, they crossed the makeshift tunnel. Macy peered down it, trying to see inside. Which was silly when she’d find out soon enough. She huffed. Teetering, she hurried to straighten before she toppled off the crate.
“Milady?” An Etterian gripped her hip with his bronze-toned hand. Even in the yellow lighting, his skin shimmered.
She blinked at him.
“You are safe,” he said.
“Duh.” She grinned.
A smile teased his full lips but didn’t fully form. Wow, so gorgeous. Up close, he was better than the paparazzi pics. She sighed, then winced when the weight of the too-heavy gun pulled on her arm.
“I scent blood. Are you injured?” His brow furrowed while he ran his deep-blue gaze over her.
She twitched, tempted to throw an arm across her body as if it could hide her overabundance of curves, her ratty clothing, and overall lack of hygiene.
“Yes.” She chose honesty, especially when the heavy-metallic scent of her blood lingered in the air.
He held out his palm. “Can you walk?”
Knights in black armor, sexy-as-sin, and built like brick shithouses? When a man like that offered his hand? She took it, no questions asked and with not an ounce of hesitation.
A squeak escaped when he ushered her toward the edge of the crate, then with the gentlest of swings, whipped her to the floor.
“Thanks,” she rasped, stepping back and taking her hand from his. Up and up she lifted her gaze until her neck muscles twanged. From the crate, she hadn’t grasped how tall these Etterians were. “I’m...Macera or Macy.”
“Sub-Commander OyazetBoaz. Please, this way, Maceraormacy.”
She giggled. “No, my name is Macera or you can call me Macy.”
He nodded. “Thank you for clarifying, milady.” With a sweep of his massive hand, he gestured to the hole. “Let me escort you to the medic.”
Sub-Commander? She handed him the gun and “strolled” down the tunnel. The aliens veered around her. Each step drained her. Her breathing labored, and her vision spun, forcing her to palm the metallic wall to keep her balance.
Not once did OyazetBoaz rush her. She cast him a smile, even if it was weak. Gran hadn’t raised an impolite woman.
By the third stop-for-breath, she couldn’t muster a word, glance, or smile. Just kept her head down, eyes squeezed shut, as she willed her trembling limbs to keep her upright.
“May I carry you, milady?”
She gasped and threw up a hand, caught it trembling, and snatched it back. “I...can do it.”
He smirked. “Are all Earthian females this stubborn?”
“We don’t claim ownership of that trait, but we do have a fair share.” The break had helped. She trudged onward, gliding a hand along the wall. “How far is it?”
“Far.”
He’d hesitated, which meant a lie. She met his gaze and rested her good shoulder on the wall. “Fine. Carry me...please.”
And she was airborne. In the seconds it had taken him to hoist her, he’d made sure not to harm her. Neither did his long strides jar her nestled in his arms. She hadn’t been carried since she was a child. The floating sensation was strange.
His men parted without a word as he turned corners, marched along narrow passageways, and into a crowded square room. Against one wall was a counter and metal trestle tables before it. Against another wall were what looked like exercise equipment and weapons mounted to a wall. In the middle, beneath many feet, was a mat sunken into the floor.
OyazetBoaz crossed the room to the corner resembling a trauma ward. Folded beds lined walls not filled with cupboards or counters. In the center sat a bed, bright lights above it.
“Milady is bleeding.” He lowered her onto the bed, then paused to tuck a swath of her icky hair behind an ear. “Medic Rior,” OyazetBoaz growled.
She yelped, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.
“Sub-Commander.” An elderly Etterian appeared from among the prisoners. The slight wrinkles around his eyes and mouth denoted his age. Other than that, he was as buff and tall. He shoved a black box at another Etterian and gestured to a tentacled lime-yellow alien.
“Lady Macy requires attendance.”
She gaped at OyazetBoaz. “No, please, see to the others first.” She climbed off the bed only to find herself lifted onto it again.
“Females are served first.” OyazetBoaz splayed his hands on either side of her thighs, keeping her there.
“What?” she squeaked, then scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
He leaned back. “Why is this alarming?”
“The severest injury should be attended to first.” She sliced glances between them, frowning when they blinked at her. Why did she have to explain this? “Listen, my life isn’t more important than another’s.” At their continued stares, her face flushed hot as if she had a fever. That churned nausea in her gut, threatening to bring up half-digested paste. She cupped her mouth just in case.
First impressions mattered, and she’d shot hers to hell with her bedraggled state. No need to add vomiting on his biker boots to the list. She giggled. Maybe they’d think it was an Earthian greeting?
“I scent blood.” The medic sniffed, then followed his nose to her back. He activated images and lights from his wrist and scanned her.
Twisting to watch him shot agony through her. She cried out, faced forward, and folded. OyazetBoaz caught her before she fell off the bed.
“I will have to remove your garment, milady.”
At Medic Rior’s words, she whimpered but raised her chin to meet OyazetBoaz’s gaze. What the hell? Might as well add nudity to the situation.
“Males to me.” OyazetBoaz’s growl lifted the hairs on her neck again. Would he stop doing that? Every time he made that noise like a wild animal prowled around her, she almost peed herself.
Etterian men emerged out of the crowd, standing to attention with their fists pressed to their hearts.
“Lady Macy requires privacy.”
As one, they formed a circle, their backs to her, shoulders touching shoulders. Heat burned her cheeks. Right, like stripping was made easier surrounded by a wall of masculine men? She arched a brow at OyazetBoaz.
“Please, milady, lay on your front. I will peel away only what is necessary to attend to your wound.”
For that, she loved Medic Rior. Without further ado, she sprawled, taking the time to cover her ass and tuck her hair under her.
“Sub-Commander Oyaz, please step aside.”
Oyaz? She smiled. So much easier than OyazetBoaz. Was etBoaz his last name? She met his gaze, but when he hesitated, she threw out a hand and caught his wrist. “Stay.”
His eyes widened, then he settled back on his heels and folded his arms across his chest.
Cool air bathed her shoulder, and the pain faded.
“Describe what you’re doing, please,” she mumbled. “I’m curious.”
“Medic Rior has sprayed your wound with a sanitizer and anesthetic. He is cutting your garment to expose your shoulder.”
“I don’t feel a thing.” She closed her eyes and hummed a haunting song her gran had said was Irish. Macy didn’t care about its origins. For once, she was comfortable, not in pain, and...safe. “What will happen to us, Sub-Commander Oyaz?” She met his gaze.
“My supreme commander will comm our king, but I suspect you will be returned to your homeworld if you choose.”
She sighed. Go home? Mm. Starve on Earth or starve in space? Mm. “And if I stay with you? Is that possible?”
“You are most welcome, Lady Macy. If you choose to, you will be escorted to Issneen, our royal city on Etteria.” Oyaz shuffled closer.
She grinned. Decision made. She doubted the Etterians would let her starve.
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