| |
What the fuck? When the hissing shark approached, she leaped over Oyaz’s body, ready to defend him with her life. She had no weapons but her wits, and after an epic orgasm, even those had abandoned her. She struggled to form a plan.
“Don’t you fucking touch him.” She spread her legs, ready to tackle the alien.
The alien’s backward swing took her by surprise. She landed with a cry. Fire spread across her jaw, and the familiar metallic tang of blood pooled in her mouth. Her shoulder and hip throbbed, and the back of her head ached like it had bounced off the floor.
Before she could scramble to her feet, the shark used his booted foot to pin Oyaz’s arm to the floor. A bolt of yellow shot out the gun and hit Oyaz’s wrist. She screamed when another bolt hit him. Electric sparks dissolved into his skin. He twitched and jerked. She crawled across to cradle his head.
Despite the tears blurring her vision, she glared at the alien. “I hate you. He was unconscious. You didn’t have to shoot him over and over. Are you such a coward that a harmless male threatens you?” Since the tremors had subsided, she set Oyaz’s head down and jumped to her feet.
“I am no coward, Earthian female.”
She jerked, and like with Vorn, fury slammed into her and stole her tongue for a second. “You fucking understand me?”
“Your voice irritates, puny female.” The other sharkman hiss-laughed, and since her gaze was on him, she didn’t sense the other’s movement until he swung an arm around her collarbone.
Screaming, she squirmed, trying to break free, then froze, her limbs numbing.
There on his arm was a bitemark. No fucking way.
She had nothing to hurt him with, no weapons, no random sporting equipment, and no spade. And she didn’t have Oyaz’s arm thingy to zap or to call Pilot Vyar. On the verge of giving up, she spotted an unused tag on the table.
Keeping her gaze on the laughing shark watching his friend struggle, she dug into her pocket, tapped the front of the tag, and stuck it to the bitemark. When Vyar zapped him, she would go with and get Oyaz help. Argh, shark DNA. She shivered, swallowing a gag.
But the stupid alien dropped her. She fell, landing on her arm. Gritting her teeth, she rolled over onto her stomach, huffing the hair out of her face.
He was gone.
His friend released a war cry that drenched her with ice from scalp to toes. Panic was swift to strike, and she activated the last tag and threw it at his lunging body. It stuck to his shoulder. He rasped something, flung his black gun aside, and tried to swipe the tag off. Bam. He too was gone.
“Sorry, Vyar. Hope you zapped them to storage.”
Realization struck, and the horror of it froze her veins. Shit. Had she just sent two sharkmen to Simmy’s room? Izzy whimpered, collapsed to her knees, and let the sobs rack her. Her tears flowed unhindered, and she only moved to swipe a wrist across her runny nose. Everything she touched turned to disaster. And there was nothing she could do to fix it this time.
Oyaz was unconscious, and who knew for how long. She couldn’t operate her sister’s tech since it was set to her voice. Nor could they stay here or hide in the tunnel. More aliens might search for their friends. Leaping across to Oyaz’s sprawled body, she climbed over him to pat his cheek.
Nothing happened. She might as well have been touching a cyborg.
Swinging her hand back, she slapped him hard. He didn’t flinch.
As fresh tears rose, she clung to his chest and sobbed again. She needed him, now more than ever. They had to return to the battleship to save Simmy.
Her head whipped up mid-sniffle. With their sensitive noses, would smelling salts work? Or vinegar? Scrambling to her feet, she sprinted to the kitchen, skidded on the floor, and slammed into the doorframe while she passed through. Rubbing her burning arm, she scrounged through the cupboards and was victorious when she emerged with a small bottle of vinegar. Holding it uncapped under his nose drew a twitch but not enough to wake him. Right, what was worse than vinegar? Bleach? Back to the kitchen she darted. Under the sink was a bottle of turpentine. That would do.
She was careful, though, not to let the rim of the bottle touch his skin. He jerked, his eyes flew open, and a shudder tore through him. She squealed. Relief washed over her. There was still time, but they had to hurry. Yanking the bottle back, she capped it, put it aside, and threw herself against him.
He held her away, muttering something.
She frowned, not understanding his words. Was he injured? Why couldn’t she hug him? When she stared at him, her world tilted, her hope and joy drained from her.
His eyes were dark blue.
Her chest cinched on a whimper. “What’s wrong?”
Pushing her aside, he used the coffee table to stumble to his feet. One side of him dragged as if numb, useless, and confusion twisted his features when he scanned the living room. His gaze settled on her, and her worst fears were realized. He didn’t recognize her. His tone and words confused her.
Again with the strange language, but as lyrical as it sounded, she didn’t understand him. “Don’t you speak English?”
He frowned and stroked his forearm, over a black burn on his wrist. No holographic lettering formed, and no response was forthcoming when he spoke to Vyar. At least, she recognized one word out of his gibberish.
“Oyaz.” He touched his chest, his gaze pleading for help.
“Izzy.” She bit her lip, hoping the sharp pain of her teeth tearing into her flesh would stem the fresh flow of tears. Crying wouldn’t solve anything.
His rattled-off words, though beautiful and foreign, were drenched in a confused tone, with the sentences ending on high notes.
Assuming he was asking about his injury, she hiss-laughed, unable to think of another way to indicate that sharkmen had attacked. Twisting, she hefted the black gun and showed it to him. After he took it from her with one hand, she pointed to it, then double-tapped her wrist.
Capturing his injured hand in hers, she used her forefinger to touch his chest.
“They did this to you. We must leave... Hide somewhere safe and think of a plan, maybe—” her voice cracked, “—buy you time to heal.”
He tilted his head, listened to her but didn’t respond, just blinked.
She looped an arm through his on his sagging side and urged him to sit on the couch. Memories assaulted her, and she raised her chin toward the ceiling, fighting the sting of tears. He settled back and sniffed the air. His gaze flicked to her and widened. He studied her, lingering on her breasts.
Yes, her Oyaz was there deep inside. She just...had to get her shit together. Brynr or another medic could heal Oyaz, could bring back her Eth. As long they survived, then she could fix this. Throwing out her palms, she urged him to stay seated.
She dived into the deep chest set in the corner where her camping gear was stashed. She dumped the tent, the sleeping bag, and a medkit on the coffee table before climbing the stairs to her childhood room. One of her old jackets would keep her warm and dry. She didn’t pause to travel down memory lane, not when more sharkmen could arrive. Throwing her closet open, she yanked out a drymac and put it on while clambering down the stairs. All they needed was sustenance.
Grabbing a hiking backpack from where she propped it against the hall closet’s door, she threw bottles of water inside and what snacks she could find. Simmy wasn’t good at cooking, so she stocked instant meals like nuts, dried fruit, energy bars, snack packs, and dried meat. Izzy filled the bag. The more she had, the better because staying for longer than a night was possible. As she searched the kitchen, she told Oyaz her plan, talking to him from all over the house. Without much effort or her assistance, he was trapped to the couch for now. His arm-thingy must have acted as a translator because with it gone, he didn’t understand her. But she had to voice her thoughts, as if doing so tested the validity of the plan.
“I know these woods. My neighbor Miri and I would spend summers camping. We’ll hide there for the night while we think of a way to get you to the battleship. Maybe if we’re gone long enough, one of your men will come looking. Hopefully Aaro or Garix will miss us.” She pulled out her phone and waved it at him. “It’s dying. I don’t know who to call for help. It’s not the same as your display vids. I must have their number first.”
She knelt before him, cupping his knees. “Oh, Oyaz, why did this have to happen? You...you’re my Eth.” Tears trickled free. Grabbing his boots, she helped him clip them on. “You were my one chance at happiness, at meaning something to someone.”
Scrambling to her feet, she laughed at her silliness. He didn’t understand her, and the sadness in his eyes only mimicked her mood. As she stuffed the sleeping bag into the backpack’s compartment and strapped the tent to the bottom of it, she snuck peeks at him. He rested his injured hand on his thigh and curled his fingers, as if he tried to form a fist. When he failed, he’d grunt and try again. She bit her lip, wanting to cry at how helpless she was. Hoisting the backpack onto her back, she snapped the hip belts in place.
“Come, Oyaz, let’s leave before more sharks arrive.” Fear slithered down her spine as if Death trailed his cold, boney finger. More sharkmen meant two things. They’d be pissed she did something to their buddies. And she had no more tags, leaving her and Oyaz at their mercy. When he didn’t budge, she whimpered as the full impact of the situation hit her. Sucking in calming breaths, she fought a rising wave of fear leaking into her limbs, threatening to numb her. Tugging on his good arm, she tried to show he needed to follow her.
He frowned and assessed her backpack. Just like that, with one awkward push off the couch, he stood. Gathering his T-shirt, the only cover he had, she left him to pull it on, even one-handed. She was too short to be anything but a hindrance. Instead of watching all that gorgeous skin disappear behind the white fabric, she closed the front door and latched all the locks. If they tried to get in again, they would have to blast the door off its hinges.
When she faced Oyaz, his shirt was on. Relief slumped her shoulders. But when he shuffled to her with his left side dragging, her hope fizzled. A pulse ticked at his jaw, and his eyes darkened. Vibrating with fury, he spewed words, but since she didn’t speak Etterian, she went with what it sounded like, which was cursing.
He waved the gun then tapped his leg with it. She assumed he wanted help to strap it to his thigh. Kneeling with a backpack on wasn’t easy, but gripping his thigh helped her balance. He growled, and her heart leaped, recognizing the rumble from their quickie. But a glance showed his stoic gaze. With one hand, he held the gun in place. She had to peel the holster’s magnetic straps apart before she could wrap them around leg and gun. They snapped closed.
Rising, she lifted his left arm and slipped under it, supporting as much of his weight as she could. “We’re going out the back door.”
Pointing toward the kitchen propelled him in the right direction. It was slow going. A fine sweat coated his brow by the time they limped across the kitchen. He must be in pain, but except for the tremor running through his body and the occasional groan, he said nothing. Her thighs burned, not used to carrying this much weight. She kept a steady, cheerful chatter on what she and Miri would get up to in the forest. The best place to camp would be at Flat Face, a wall of rock they had painted stick figures on. One side of the hill was off-limits. It had a cave entrance where, a century ago, a hiker had plummeted to his death. The forest was denser on that side too. She and Miri had snuck as close as they dared before they hit the boundary markers. Those had flickered red, still active and monitored by law enforcement.
“If you weren’t injured, you might ask me where Miri is.” Izzy flashed him a cheeky grin, as she slid from under his arm to hurry down a step, offering her hands to guide him. He stared at her, at her palms, and frowned. She captured his massive mitts in hers and pulled gently. With each step they managed, she bubbled with encouragement. Perhaps if she urged him on, his anger might ease.
When they reached the worn path leading into the forest, she danced around him to lock the back door. She pocketed the key. Under his arm again, she gripped his waist and chatted on, sharing her life with Caro and what happened at the club. His silence dampened her spirits. The falser the hope sapping her energy, the more she called forth from within her. He could never know how worried she was, how fear churned her stomach.
The sun had set by the time they breached the forest’s outskirts. The moonlight illuminated the way, painting the trees in silver. An owl hooted from the northeast, another responded from the west. Various insects serenaded each other—a low buzz, a trill, and somewhere in the middle was a tweet-tweet. A few night birds added their calls, and nothing strange pierced the noise. Any movement would be marked by silence.
If she wasn’t familiar, they would’ve been lost ten minutes into the dark interior. But trees had personalities, and as teenagers exploring the peace and joy of the forest, she and Miri had named them. Old Man Carn was the first she and Oyaz would come across, with his scarred bark and moss growing like a mustache around a coiled branch.
She veered west. Two more trees lay in their path. The Dandy with his limbs extended as if he offered a handkerchief, Next would be Lady Artwell with her knotty ‘nose’ tilted to the air and her roots like a draped gown. Both trees pointed in the direction Izzy had to go.
Her voice grew hoarse, but Oyaz’s breathing labored more. She couldn’t give up now. In another hour or so, they’d reach Flat Face. Still, a little break wouldn’t go amiss. But then, if she couldn’t get him moving again, it would strand them in an indefensible spot.
She stopped and rested him against The Dandy’s chest—half a pec molded in coarse bark—to dig a bottle of water out of the backpack. Uncapping it, she handed it to Oyaz, before opening one for herself. Taking a long pull, a moan tore from her as the tepid water soothed her raw throat. Flashing him a smile, she capped the bottle and tossed it into the backpack along with his empty one.
“Ready?” She faced him while snapping the hip belts in place.
He didn’t move, except to extend his right hand and cup her cheek, brushing his thumb across her skin. Pain fired in its wake. Her breath caught. She’d forgotten about the sharkman’s backhand.
Since all she had heard was her inane chatter after they’d left the house, his deep rumble sparked joy within her. Still, she wished she spoke Etterian. He could be asking her anything.
She frowned at him. “I don’t understand, Oyaz. If you’re asking me about my sore cheek, a sharkman...um...a hiss slapped me.”
Whipping her head to the side to mimic a backhand summoned a yelp as fresh agony stiffened her neck muscles. Concern furrowed his brow, then he drew back as if he hurt her. There wasn’t a way for her to explain he hadn’t, so she grinned to show she was fine and slipped under his arm.
Westward at Lady Artwell and around Snot Rock they continued until Flat Face loomed, casting its long shadow. A jagged wall of sandstone lay at the back of a small clearing that had overgrown since she and Miri had last camped. She shrugged. It would form a softer bed to sleep on. After helping Oyaz slide down Flat Face and lean against its solid surface, she set up the tent. She hadn’t planned for a fire, not wanting to shine a beacon if the sharkmen trailed them. Unwrapping a snack bar, she offered it to Oyaz. He took it, sniffed it, then bit off half. Sighing, he chewed then paused, gesturing to her to share his.
She laughed and dug one out for herself as well as dried meat for him. Then she placed the meat and another water by his knee. While chewing on the snack bar, she unrolled the sleeping bag and flattened it. Pausing on her haunches, she admired the tiny confines of the tent. He could climb in and sleep. Keeping warm was another issue unless he slept on the bottom of the tent and used the sleeping bag as a blanket. Huffing, she stuffed the empty snack bar wrapper in her pocket, whipped out the sleeping bag, and dropped it at the entrance.
After reversing out butt first, she hurried over to him. “Oyaz, rest.”
Pressing her palms together, she pretended to sleep, then opened the tent flap and showed him the ‘bed.’ He popped the last piece of the dried meat into his mouth and shoved off the wall. He grunted, stopped to gain his balance, then limped to the tent. With each limb trembling, he lowered himself to his knees and crawled into the tent. His legs stuck out from his calves to his boots, but she followed, clambering over him like a spider monkey. Unstrapping his gun, she draped the sleeping bag over him.
He watched her, his gaze unwavering. Dark circles under his eyes and the slight sheen to his skin said he suffered.
He ended his words with an arched a brow.
She frowned. “Okay, I get you’re asking me something.”
He patted the tent floor beside him.
She shook her head. “I’ll guard. You sleep, heal, then help me. I tagged those sharkmen, and Vyar zapped them. I don’t know where, Oyaz. Simmy might be in danger.” Biting her lip silenced a sob and clamped down on the rising panic bubbling up her throat. “So, please, don’t give me shit about this.” She cupped his cheek. “Sleep, my Eth.”
Dragging the gun behind her, she left the tent, hoisted the heavy thing into her arms, and leaned against Flat Face in the same spot he’d sat. A little of his warmth lingered. She balanced the gun on her lap and stared at a row of black buttons with the yellow one glowing. Playing with the settings was beyond stupid when one could mean self-destruct, so yellow it stayed.
While she stared at the night sky, the repetitive cacophony of the forest didn’t soothe her. Tears leaked free, and with Oyaz asleep, she let them drip off her chin. As long as she made no sound, she could mourn alone.
Page of 117