Alien, Mine Page 2

  Chapter 2

  A Long, Long Way from Home

  Guilt gnawed at Mhartak as he stared down at the sleeping form of the alien female. The urgent need to communicate with her, to discover if she had information about the Bluthen had forced his decision to authorize the surgical implantation of a translator. Concern for her health had caused him to order sedation for several days.

  Would she understand? Forgive the violation of her body and her rights? Or would she think him no better than the Bluthen? Despite the Chief Medical Officer’s assurance the operation was a success and she had suffered no ill effects from the surgery, he hovered over her like a possessive sentinel. He shook his head in bewildered exasperation at the inexplicable swiftness and depth of his attraction to her.

  Murmured voices in the outer ward reminded him of the unofficial nature of his visit and he stepped away from the female’s bed. He adopted his most detached military bearing, clasped his hands behind his back and faced the door. It slid open and the Chief Medical Officer entered. Surprise flitted across the doctor’s features, followed by a swiftly schooled scowl.

  “General, I really must protest. The patient is still recovering from her experiences, she is hardly able to answer your questions.”

  “I am merely checking on her progress, Doctor,” he replied and strode from the room.

  Demons hunted her. Reached for her soul with grey, dead hands. Light flashed on the sharp edge of a blade.

  Sandrea screamed and sat bolt upright. Her eyes snapped open. Her heart thundered. Cool air brushed against the sweat covering her trembling body. Her frantic breath billowed in and out of her lungs.

  Dim light illuminated a compact, windowless room. A few coloured lights blinked on machinery lined against one wall. She stared at the sheet clutched in her fingers and struggled for recall.

  A door whooshed quietly open and an alien walked with soft steps into the room. Her every muscle tensed. His features seemed almost familiar, then recollection surged into her mind. She allowed herself to marginally relax. He approached slowly, his close-lipped mouth curved upward.

  “How are you today, Ssileela?” he asked.

  Astonishment joined the wariness burning through her. She stared back at him.

  “I mean you no harm.” He pulled a silver polyhedron-shaped device from a coat pocket and ran what she presumed was a scanner over her.

  Her ears heard the timbre of his voice; her mind supplied his words. She forced her dry vocal chords to work.

  “Why can I understand you?”

  He lifted a hand toward her temple.

  She jerked away and he lowered his arm.

  “A translator has been implanted at the forefront of your brain. You may have a slight headache for a while. If it increases let me know. My name is Drengel, I’m the Chief Medical Officer here.”

  A surge of anger burned through her chest and gut.

  “You performed surgery on me? Without my consent?”

  “It was done at my behest.”

  She speared her gaze to the being at the door. The commander’s green eyes wandered over her.

  “I need to communicate with you,” he said, “and the translator device must be implanted in the brain.”

  Her mind seized on “device”, “implanted”, “brain”, and rage shattered her fragile control.

  “How dare you!” she cried then tried to master her unharnessed emotions. She didn’t know these beings or what they intended. Antagonizing them could be dangerous.

  The commander approached, fingernail-sized mahogany scales shadowed the line of his strong jaw, like the beard on a human man. His warm hand grasped her forearm. Her skin tingled, greeting the slight pressure like a boat finding shelter in a storm. Confusion washed into the tumbling mass of her emotions.

  “It is a necessary procedure,” he said.

  She compressed her mouth. The validity of that fact did not alleviate her sense of violation. Didn’t he have any idea what she had endured at the hands of those other aliens? How much it hurt to have her tentative trust in him, them, betrayed? What it was like to have her fledgling hope of security abused? Did he even care?

  His fingers slackened their grip then smoothed down her arm, a flood of prickling warmth rippled through her stomach and irritation flared at her body’s response.

  “I will return when you are calm,” the commander murmured.

  “You do that,” she muttered.

  His fingers pressed her wrist for a moment then he withdrew.

  “Excuse me, Ssileela,” Drengel said. “General, a word if you will.”

  His footsteps echoed in the general’s wake.

  Disillusionment burned bitter in her stomach. She drew a deep breath. She understood his motivation, but his damned autocratic behaviour didn’t endear him to her.

  It’s not my approval that he’s after. I expect all he wants is information.

  She slumped back on the pillows, grateful for the fact she wasn’t restrained. She felt . . . clean and . . . stronger. The hospital gown covering her was gentle on the tended cuts and abrasions on her skin.

  So they’ve taken some care with me.

  Renewed hope bolstered her spirits while unanswered questions spun in her mind.

  Where the hell am I? Is my family safe? What happened?

  The medical officer appeared in the doorway and seemed to give her a searching glance.

  “Are you well, Ssileela?” he asked.

  Hell, that whole lips-out-of-sync-with-what-her-brain-told-her thing was disturbing. And she was so going to ignore how weird it felt to address the sentient descendant of a reptile.

  “Pardon? What did you call me?”

  “Ssileela. It is a form of address.”

  “What’s it mean?”

  “Honoured guest, female. Do you not have titles on your world?”

  “Yes, we do, but none as lovely as that.”

  He nodded. “Angrigan is a beautiful language.”

  “That’s your people? Angrigan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, not that I object to Ssileela, but my name is Sandrea Fairbairn.”

  “And by which of those do you prefer to be called?”

  “Sandrea.”

  “You have no title?”

  “If you must, you can use Miss or Ms, though I’d rather you didn’t.” She studied his compassionate features. “Do you know what happened to me?”

  “Only that you were captured by the Bluthen.”

  “The grey-skins?”

  “Yes.” His gaze softened. “We are not your enemy, Sandrea. I apologize for taking liberties with your body. The General did demand certain assurances that you would not be harmed by the procedure. Would you—”

  A knock interrupted him and she glanced up. The soldier she’d freed in the cavern stood in the doorway.

  “Lieutenant,” Drengel said. “Come in so I may introduce you to your rescuer properly. Sandrea Fairbairn, please greet Kondoc Graegen.”

  The soldier came forward and extended his arm toward her. He made to wrap his hand around her forearm then hesitated. His uncertain glance shot to the medic then back to her.

  “I’m almost afraid to touch you,” he said, “you’re so soft.”

  “Sandrea’s epidermis and tissue will withstand your grip,” Drengel assured.

  The lieutenant pressed her forearm in a quick action. “Thanks for your help. I doubt we would’ve made it out without you.”

  “Why? Wasn’t rescue on the way?”

  “Yes, however when you went to retrieve the capsule, the Bluthen surgeons returned before the General arrived.”

  “So?”

  “They’d have killed us if we weren’t prepared fo
r them.”

  “What? Why?”

  The lieutenant shrugged. “It’s the Bluthen way.”

  Unlike the General’s mahogany beard-plates, the lieutenant’s showed a light dun. Not a mark marred the smooth skin of his face. The unsettling admission of just how different she was crept over her and she forced her scattering wits to remain calm.

  “Are you alright?” she asked. “You and the others suffered some cruel injuries.”

  He nodded. “Recovered enough to return to desk work.” He clapped a swift hand to the doctor’s shoulder. “And our Chief Medical Officer has administered to the rest of my team.”

  A horrible memory of the cavern surfaced.

  “That, um, the table where . . . that wasn’t . . . ”

  “No, Sandrea,” Graegen assured. “Whoever that was, they were unknown to me.”

  “Oh, well . . . I guess that’s . . . good.”

  “This is no doubt an inappropriate time to ask,” Drengel said, “but are you hungry, Sandrea?”

  A small smile for his compassion lifted the corners of her mouth. “Oddly enough, only a little.”

  He nodded. “You were malnourished and dehydrated. I prescribed intravenous nutrition for you.”

  A flash of surprise lifted her eyebrows. “You’ve knowledge of humans?”

  The soft-brown scales lining his eye-ridges quirked. “I’m a quick study and there are some medical fundamentals that do not change with most species. You would enjoy a proper meal?”

  “Yes, I would, thanks. How many humans have you treated?”

  A cautious aspect seemed to blanket his features. He shared a glance with Graegen. “Including you?”

  She nodded.

  He hesitated.

  “Doc?”

  “One.”

  One?

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “One?” she managed to squeeze out. “Why only one?”

  The answer came from the doorway.

  “That is because you are the first human we have encountered.”

  Her eyes snapped to the General filling the entrance. His chocolate liqueur voice slid so smoothly into her ears she almost didn’t take his words into account.

  “Excuse me?”

  “General,” Drengel objected, “I would prefer you did not question my patient at this time.”

  The General marched into the room, his clear, green gaze drilling into Drengel. “I need answers.”

  “I understand that, General, but I must insist you give my patient more time to recuperate.”

  First human? “How come?” she demanded.

  “I do not have the luxury of time, Doctor. I need to know now if this female has knowledge I can use. You of all people know the pain and destruction the Bluthen can inflict. She may have information that will help prevent more of their carnage.”

  “How come?” She raised the level of her voice to compete with the two of them.

  Didn’t do her any good.

  “You won’t get reliable information if she is too stressed,” Drengel countered.

  “I will be the ju—”

  “If one of you don’t answer me right now,” she shouted, “there will be blood!”

  The General’s mouth dropped open. The smooth texture of his cocoa facial skin creased around his eyes. Acute astonishment etched his features.

  Guess he doesn’t get told off too often. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

  “Are you well enough to answer some questions?” he rallied.

  She met his intense gaze with a challenging one of her own.

  “I am happy to do what I can providing you tell me why I’m the only human you’ve come across.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw.

  “Sandrea,” Drengel interrupted, “I’m concerned you are not well enough for this conversation.”

  She turned to him. “Doc, your unwillingness to have the question answered is not easing my growing anxiety.”

  His eyes examined every inch of her face. “Very well,” he said and took a step back.

  The glare he hammered the General with did not appear to have an effect.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked.

  “Before you freed my troops, for which I owe you thanks, what is the last thing you remember?”

  She swallowed, drew in a deep breath, and dropped her gaze to the bed linen.

  You had to ask that, didn’t you?

  “Body parts,” she murmured, and the eye of her mind saw severed limbs once again. She shuddered. “If it’s important I can describe them. They were unfamiliar to me.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” The General’s flat voice surprised her.

  She glanced into his eyes. They were . . . guarded. Still, as a general, falling into a fit of empathetic torment at every distressing event would be a major inconvenience.

  “Do you know where you’re from?” he asked.

  A quiet concern shimmied down her spine. She hauled in a deep breath.

  “Do you mean do I know what planet I’m from?”

  The General took a sudden, quick stride towards her and sat on the bed. Smooth warmth embraced her hands as he covered them with his own. She stared into the green depths of his incredibly clear eyes.

  Oh Lord, please tell me that isn’t sympathy I see.

  Another tremor of doubt seized her. The tempo of her heart doubled.

  “Do you know where in the Galaxy your planet is situated?” he asked.

  Her heart gave one massive thump as though swelling in pain. “You mean you don’t?”

  Gentle pressure from his fingers pressed on hers and he shook his head in one, slow movement.

  “No.”

  Oh fuck, this is really bad.

  Coldness washed down her face, tracking the warmth of her blood leaching away. Her brain blanked as shock abducted every thought. From a long way off, Drengel’s voice trickled into hearing.

  “General, Lieutenant, you must leave. Now.”

  General Mhartak strode through Kintista army base cursing fluently and silently. Every time he encountered the woman he left her distressed or unconscious—or both.

  And both were unacceptable.

  Why? He grimaced behind the expressionless mask of his face. Not for reasons of disinterested compassion, as it should be. No, she fascinated him beyond decency.

  He was truly sorry he’d had to sedate her in the cavern. The surprising strength of her understandable, though panicky, struggles would have resulted in injury to herself had he let them continue.

  Lank and unruly as her hair had been, the auburn locks charmed him, the lush elegance of her lips tempted him to taste her. What in the name of g’Nel had he been thinking to have those sorts of thoughts in combat?

  He drew a deep, calming breath, his chest expanding to challenge the dimensions of his shirt. What was it about her that spoke to him on such a fundamental level? Couched as a security question, Drengel had ruled out the influence of a pheromone. Certainly the courage and tenacity she possessed exhibited as profound. He knew the Bluthen. For one of such soft-skinned, limited stature as she to remain alive through such an ordeal was incredible. That she maintained any sense of reason after what she had undoubtedly witnessed and endured testified to her strength of character. Were all humans so durable?

  She stirred something deep and primal within him. Gazing into her eyes compared to staring into the gold-flecked, moss green depths of a pool of sacred n’rilan nectar. His palms and finger pads tingled at the memory of skin so soft and warm it felt like touching liquid light.

  As commander of this base, his responsibility required him to study Drengel’s report on her. It was not his respo
nsibility to discover if they were sexually compatible. Nor be so overjoyed by the fact that the thought of possessing her blasted a rush of sensual fire through his veins.

  The races of the Alliance took pleasure in each other and partnered often, but pursuing Sandrea at this stage was not an option. She had endured a terrible ordeal and faced the great challenge of adapting to an alien civilization—unless they could find her world. Despite the similarities of their species, they were different. He wasn’t sure she could like him. Were humans even aware of other races?

  A smile with the power to slice through his reserve landed on his lips. She wasn’t reticent in standing up to him. In spirit, at least, they matched. He gave a mental sigh. The ache in his hands to touch her again had not been quenched by skin-on-skin contact. It had intensified.

  He still had a base to run and his duty as guardian of this sector to execute. He entered his office and sat at his desk. His eyes tightened on another unconfirmed report indicating the Bluthen had developed a device that allowed individuals to visually pass as Angrigan. A consideration he must prepare for when addressing the response the Bluthen would mount to the existence of the capsule. Especially as Sandrea had done them the service of recovering the device.

  Sandrea opened her eyes to discover the General sitting, apparently working, in a metal chair a few feet from her bed. She blinked and waited for indignation to rampage through the muzziness of recent sleep. It failed to show in substantial quantities, but did put in a mild, somewhat lazy, appearance. She pushed herself up and dragged the hair out of her eyes. At least she felt stronger today.

  “Can I help you with something?” she mumbled.

  His regard lifted from an electronic pad. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  The General leaned a long arm across to the far wall and pressed a symbol on a backlit glass panel.

  “Food will be here shortly.”

  She nodded, letting her head fall back between her shoulders, and stared at the ceiling. When she’d fazed out of awareness, her mind had wandered in a funky, not-terribly-nice kind-of, way. The horror of what her family must be going through scraped across her soul. Her gut wrenched at the thought of what might have happened to them. Were they alive? Enduring the same torment she had?