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I think I’m dying
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WET. COLD. DARK.
A man spoke, deep and rumbly, but Nissa couldn’t understand the words. The water clung, hot on her skin, but she shook, freezing.
Not just shivering. Quaking. Down to her bones. The man spoke again, and she lashed out with her hands and feet, kicking, trying to find something in the darkness. Her eyes were stuck plastered shut no matter how she fought to pry them open.
Her foot made contact with the front of his pants and he grunted.
Hard fingers closed around her upper arms. He spoke again, insistent, demanding, shaking her. Those hands pushed her head under hot water, scrubbing around her eyes. This time, when he pulled her back above the surface, she sputtered and her eyelids finally lifted.
Bright lights in a sterile room. Too bright, blinding. She had to blink before her eyes adjusted.
Shining grey walls.
Water up to her waist.
A huge man.
Searching eyes bore into hers, asking thousands of questions. His eyelashes formed spikes from the water, long black inky triangles.
Water slid down sharp cheekbones, ran over smooth lips, into a harsh stubbled jaw. Hard grey eyes moved back and forth on her face, seeking.
He looked like her people in that he had eyes and a nose and a chin and a mouth. All the features were in the appropriate place, but it was like saying the sun resembled the stars. He was big and dark and hard, where her people were small and light and soft.
He spoke again. Gruff.
The sound chafed over her skin. Massive fingers traced her cheek bones. Her teeth chattered.
He pointed at the skin of her forearm, tracing a long finger over veins that spread in dark blue webs. Dark brows furrowed. He looked worried. He kept talking in that raw voice, rough consonants and words with hard edges. He pointed at her dark veins again.
“Am I dying?” she asked.
His brows drew together and he said something again. Finally made a noise she did recognize, a noise that bridged alien gaps. “Ssssh.”
She stared up at him. He was fully clothed, in black cloth that clung wetly to powerful muscles as he stood in the pool before her.
She was nude.
The last thing she remembered was stripping because the gel would have destroyed her gown. After that, she’d taken one last look around the bunker at the people relying on her, and stepping into the preservation chamber.
She stared stupidly down at her own naked body.
Evidently, the pod had worked, but something was wrong.
She’d been frozen in cryo. How long had it been? Where were the others? Where was she?
The man towered over her. He spoke again, his big callused hands closing over her arms. She felt warmer at his touch.
Embarrassment had her hands rising to cover her breasts. Her nipples stood out, hard, and terrifyingly blue.
Every bone in her body ached, chills ran along her skin.
Fever. Only different.
Worse. Weak, drowsy, dizzy.
Her heart pounded. Breaths felt shallow and feckless.
What was wrong with her?
He spoke again, but she didn’t understand his words.
“Help me,” she said. “Please. I think I’m dying.”
From the way the muscles around his eyes tightened, she knew he couldn’t understand her, either. But he picked her up in his arms like she weighed nothing at all, held her high against his hard warm body, and carried her from the pool.