Alien, Mine Page 3

  Did they know what had befallen her? She had, quite literally, disappeared off the face of the Earth. Were they even aware of the existence of aliens, the possibility she’d been taken? If not, her father and brothers would have searched for her day and night—and found only cold failure.

  Her mother would be distraught beyond comfort and no doubt harrying officials on every level in an attempt to find her. She just hoped to God they were alright. And what about Rinty? A feeling of disquiet and emptiness scooped a void in her heart where her dog should be.

  “I would like to apologize for tranquillising you on the Bluthen asteroid.”

  She turned to the General and gazed into the intellect radiating from his eyes. A warm connection flickered deep within her. The rather inappropriate feeling that, given time, she’d forgive him anything, stole over her.

  “And the surgery without my permission?”

  He nodded. “That as well.”

  She really didn’t want to fight with him, and he’d had good cause to act as he did on both occasions. “Please don’t do it again.”

  The sombre inclination of his head made his silent assent.

  “I was on an asteroid?”

  “In Bluthen space, yes.”

  “Where am I now?”

  “Kintista military base. We are on a moon orbiting a gas giant.”

  “And you don’t know where Earth—that’s the name of my planet—is.”

  “No, we do not. As I said, we have not encountered your species before.”

  “What you’re saying then is that Earth is not situated within the realm of space you are familiar with.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Big, is it?”

  His eye-ridges raised and she wondered just how the translator had interpreted her words.

  “Oh, er, yes. The Alliance, which comprises Angrigans, Magrans, and Legolopanths covers a relatively large area of the Galaxy.”

  She ran a hand to her forehead and leaned into it.

  How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this?

  “You are not going to . . . Do you require the doctor?”

  “No, General, I’m not going to faint and, thank you, I don’t require the doctor.”

  He dragged the chair closer and stared with solemn gravity into her face. “I can’t even begin to understand what you are going through.”

  For a long moment, she drank in the compassion and strength emanating from his gaze. The sheer enormity of what plagued her paled a little.

  “I admit I’m more than a tad upset, confused, frightened, and angry.”

  She bent her legs to sit cross-legged, stuck an elbow on one knee, and rested her chin on the palm of a hand.

  “Tell you what, General, if you’ve got a Galactic map, I’ll show you where Earth is.”

  “You know where your planet is located?”

  “Roughly,” she said, and then quoted, “The unfashionable end of the Western Spiral Arm.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  A sigh leaked out of her, like air from a tire.

  Yeah, me too.

  “Just get me the map, General.”

  He nodded. “Very well.”

  His intense regard remained focused and she could not but help fall into his reef-water green eyes as she would the sea. Silence wrapped a heavy, almost intimate, blanket around them.

  “What happened to your ridges?” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She lifted a hand and sketched a line along the top of either side of her head. “Your ridges. You had lateral cranial ridges in the cavern.”

  “Ahh, they are products of . . . high emotion—such as aggression.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  He frowned. “I’m not going anywh— Oh I see! When we are faced with . . . provocation, the ridges harden and swell.”

  Must be great for head butting. “And they contract when the threat is over?”

  “When we are no longer experiencing stimuli, yes.”

  She ran her fingers into her air. It was clean, but, heavens, her scalp felt itchy. Patiently she tried to finger-comb several knots free.

  “Thank you for saving my life, General.”

  “The honour was entirely mine, Sa— Miss Fairbairn, and my name is Mhartak. Eugen Mhartak.”

  “Call me Sandrea.”

  The door whooshed open and an Angrigan soldier strode in bearing a tray of food.

  “Thank you, Private,” Mhartak said.

  The soldier placed the tray on her lap and glanced into her face with a depth of earnest studiousness that surprised her. He took a step back, then stood to attention.

  Mhartak glanced at him. “Was there something else, Private?”

  “I wanted to express my gratitude to the human, sir.”

  Mhartak transferred his gaze to her.

  “The human’s name is Miss Fairbairn—”

  “Sandrea.”

  “Perhaps you should define your reasons why you think she requires your gratitude.”

  The soldier regarded her with what she could only describe as professional self-containment.

  “I was one of the group you helped free.”

  “Oh! Well, I’m grateful you were there otherwise I wouldn’t have been rescued.”

  The soldier gave a short, sharp nod and turned.

  “Private, advise Lieutenant Graegen I require a Galactic map.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  An aroma stole into her nostrils, tantalizing her taste buds. She dropped her gaze to the bowl of food and took an experimental mouthful. It did not taste like chicken, but it did appeal to her palate.

  “Your food is acceptable?”

  “I can’t remember the last time I ate.” A partial recollection flashed through her mind and she grimaced. “Actually, I think I can, but I’d rather not.” She concentrated on making a new, much more pleasant memory.

  When Lieutenant Graegen appeared at the open doorway and entered carrying a pair of thin, metal tubes, she paused and gave him a bright smile.

  “Hi, Lieutenant, how’s things?”

  “Well, thank you, Sandrea, and you?”

  “You needn’t have brought the map yourself, Lieutenant,” Mhartak reprimanded. “That is, after all, one of the duties of a private.”

  She flicked her gaze to his frowning face.

  What’s that about?

  “Yes, General,” Graegen answered and handed the cylinders to him.

  “Can you stay a minute, Lieutenant?” she asked.

  Mhartak’s jaw clenched. “I’m sure the Lieutenant has much to accomplish, Sandrea.”

  She frowned.

  Are those ridges swelling?

  “I’m only asking him to stay for a minute,” she said in her best ‘be-reasonable-will-you?’ voice.

  “Your attire is hardly appropriate,” Mhartak censured.

  Disbelief flamed through her.

  This from a man who sat by my bed while I slept!

  “I don’t have anything else to wear, General.”

  “I am rather busy, Sandrea,” Graegen deferred. “Perhaps I’ll come back later.” He turned to Mhartak. “It’s selected to the required map, sir.”

  Mhartak grunted, pressed a switch on one of the tubes then separated them about a meter. Between the two pipes a blue haze glowed then filled with dots of white, yellow, and red in the shape of a barred spiral galaxy. He shifted the map so she could view it.

  Briefly ignoring him, she waved good-bye to Graegen then turned her attention to the map, and the solid strength in Mhartak’s forearms caught her eye. Muscle rippled beneath smooth mocha skin dappled with smudges of gold. Her stomac
h dipped and she gritted her teeth.

  It’s bad enough that my body has this uncontrollable response to his, but does it have to do it when I’m miffed at him?

  “This spiral arm,” she said after a moment’s observation and pointed. If I remember my graduate astronomy classes correctly. “We’re about eight kiloparsecs from Galactic centre. Here.”

  “Kiloparsecs?”

  “Three point two-six light years to a parsec, so, um, put down the eight, carry the four . . . just over twenty-six thousand light years.”

  “Lieutenant!” Mhartak’s roar reverberated through her skull, and she slapped a hand to her ear.

  Goddammit! Did he have to do that?

  Graegen’s footsteps jogged back. Mhartak showed him Earth’s location. The pair exchanged a look that was far from reassuring. She bounced her gaze between them.

  “They’ve penetrated that far?” Graegen seemed amazed.

  “So it would seem,” Mhartak replied with resigned disgust.

  Their distress almost compelled her to offer comfort. She lifted a hand toward them and they turned to her. The similar, compassionate expressions in their eyes levelled a kick to her gut.

  “What?”

  “The distance to your home is considerable,” Mhartak said.

  “You can’t get me back?”

  “Regrettably, no.”

  Anguish pierced her heart while rage threatened to screech her rejection of fate. Her body folded and sagged to the bed, swamped by a violent flood of loss and misery.

  “You will, of course, be welcome with us.” Mhartak’s soft words drifted like fragile petals into the dreadful turmoil of her emotions.

  The lifeline he offered seemed all too insignificant against the tide of bitter despair burning her soul. Her throat clogged with churning emotion, she managed an abrupt nod.

  “Is there anything we can do for you?” he offered.

  She closed her eyes, unable to bear the pity hovering on their faces, unwilling to break down before them.

  “No.” She drew her legs up and buried her face in her knees.

  “Would you like the medical officer to attend you?” Graegen asked.

  “No, thank you,” she muttered into her legs.

  “We will leave you then,” Mhartak said.

  The door closed behind them and tears of angry, frightened desolation ripped silently from her heart. She cried for her family. There would be no closure for them, no end to their mourning.

  No chance to say good-bye.

  She cried for herself and cried for every stolen tomorrow, lost now to her forever.

  Mhartak ground his teeth together and slammed into his office.

  g’Nel be damned, he’d done it again!

  This time was far, far worse. He hadn’t wanted to leave her. Had yearned to take her in his arms, hold her close, stroke his hands down her back and assure her everything would be alright, he would make certain of it. But her actions made it plain she wanted neither his presence nor his touch.

  And probably never would.

  Chapter 3

  “ . . . a traveller here might chart a course . . .”

  “How are you feeling?”

  Sandrea looked up from examining the morbid potential of her future. Drengel stood in the doorway offering an empathetic smile. She shrugged. The bleakness had begun to recede like a slow tide. She pushed herself to move, to sit up, to metaphorically go forward in life. Before her lay a choice to accept what had happened and deal with it or choose not to deal with it and wallow in stagnation. She forced her gumption together.

  I will not allow the Bluthen to steal my life. I will not retreat from circumstance.

  “I’ll live.”

  He lifted a bundle of material. “I have some clothes for you.”

  “I am somewhat over this hospital couture,” she said, sweeping a hand over the voluminous wrap swaddling her. “Perhaps I could go for a walk somewhere, stretch my legs?”

  “I’m glad you’re feeling up to some exercise.” He strode in and deposited the parcel of clothes on the foot of her bed.

  She eyed the sand-coloured garments.

  Army issue. Well, it’s a start.

  “Thanks, Doc.” She rummaged through the pile. “No bra?”

  “You mean for your, er—” He waved a vague hand in the general direction of her chest.

  She frowned. “Breasts, Doc. They’re called breasts. What, don’t Angrigan women have them?”

  “No, Angrigans do not have breasts, ergo do not require bra. Some of our allies have breasts, but they do not compare in, hmm, size to yours.”

  So, no bra and no likelihood of one in the near future.

  She was going to have to suck it up and get used to a lot of things being absent from her life. Placing a pair of boots aside, she unfolded a shirt and held it up. “How’d you manage to get one small enough?”

  “These are cadet uniforms for Legolopanths. They’re built somewhat similar to you. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  She wasn’t huge in the breast department, but she did require support. “Would you have something like a wide, long bandage?”

  “Certainly. Self-securing?”

  He seemed to have caught on to her intent. “That’d be great, Doc, thanks.”

  While he went to fetch the bandage she clambered from the bed and shook out the rest of the clothing. Something heavy clattered to the floor and she crouched to pick up a bright splash of iridescent lavender and pearl.

  “Tor’s Talons, where’d you get that?”

  She flicked her fascinated gaze to Drengel standing in the doorway.

  “It was in the clothing.” She turned the elegant comb over in her hands. “It’s beautiful. What is it?”

  “Stone of moonbeam.”

  She caught the quick, speculative glance he narrowed at her. “What? Is it valuable?”

  “And rare.”

  “Any idea who put it amongst the clothes?”

  His lips pursed. “Someone who thinks you should comb your hair?”

  Or someone who thought I might like to.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said, handing over the bandage and retreating.

  She registered his departure on the edge of her awareness, her enchanted eyes fixed on the beautiful comb. Carved from a single piece of stone, yet light as air, the artist had captured its glorious colours with breathtaking impact. Tiny swirls and tendrils inlaid with gold traced the wide side.

  With reluctant determination she placed the comb on the bed and dressed. Five minutes later, she tucked the legs of her trousers in her new boots and snapped closed their clasps. Only then did she allow herself the reward of applying the gift to her hair.

  With patient loosening and untangling, she managed to free every knot. And, man, it was heaven to run the teeth of the comb over her scalp. She checked for signs of grey, surprised after all she’d been through she wasn’t totally grey—or bald.

  Her hair was still the same colour though all the curls were gone and now hung straighter than a ruler. Could that account for the extra length—or had she been gone that long? She glared at the new growth extending her hair to several inches passed her shoulder line. At the rate her hair grew that would mean—

  “Good morning, Sandrea.”

  Mhartak’s deep, velvet voice thrust aside the dreadful feeling stealing over her. A burst of delight warmed her insides and she swung toward the door.

  “Good morning, General.”

  Her disappointed gaze fell on the three Angrigans in his company.

  “These officers are here to interview you.”

  She eyed the sharp, precision dress of the soldiers.

  “They are
from security.” Discomfort flickered over Mhartak’s features.

  “I understand, General.” A sudden insight bloomed across her consciousness.

  And I’d lay money you’re the reason it’s taken them this long to make an appearance.

  His gaze ran over her smooth tresses and she thought a flare of pleasure blazed in his eyes for just a moment before they returned to his customary, shuttered expression.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She slipped the comb into a pocket. “Whenever you are.”

  “Would you like to remain here or are you comfortable for the interview to take place in an office?”

  She smiled at him. “I have a rather strong urge to see something other than these same four walls. An office will be more than suitable. The further away the better.”

  “You feel strong enough for an outing?”

  Surprise and pleasure comforted her. He really didn’t seem the sort to mollycoddle. Was he making an exception for her? And if so, why? Novelty value? She didn’t much care for that thought.

  “Thank you, I’m fine.”

  He probed her eyes with a quick, piercing stare, nodded, then stood aside for her to pass. Curiosity about what lay outside drove her forward and she stepped by him into a ward all chrome and white. Not far away, Drengel sat at a workstation. He eyed her neat coiffure.

  “I see the comb works,” he observed.

  She smiled her agreement then complied with a gesture from one of the officers to precede him from the ward.

  “I will speak with you later, Sandrea,” Mhartak said as she stepped forward.

  She spun toward him. “You’re not coming?” The prospect of doing this without him daunted her.

  His clear, brilliant gaze drilled into hers. “The officers will be courteous.”