by Starla Night
Galina looked curious. “Get started. I’ll drop in as soon as I’ve finished with ours.”
So, their usual arrangement.
But nothing about this was usual.
Her nerves twinged.
Laura straightened her scrubs, mindful her hair was pulled neatly under her cap and she had her scratch paper and basic supplies in her pockets. Her granola bar crinkled. She was no longer hungry.
Hurrying to Room 2, she could hear Kyan’s patient from the hall. A high, nasally voice expressed disdain for the surroundings.
“—and you’ve brought me to this human hospital, which is entirely insufficient for my health needs.”
She took a steadying breath and walked in.
Kyan towered over the small exam table, filling the room with his commanding presence. His black-on-black clothes, boots, and trench coat only made his piercing blue eyes stand out more in his brutal face.
She melted.
Her fantasies had been good. Too good. But they had missed his spicy, black ops smell. Male, virile, and heady. A hint of new Kevlar and musk was indefinably him.
He fixed on her as though he had heard her breathe outside the door. Why not? He probably had.
But … he did not look as happy to see her as she felt to see him. No hint of friendliness escaped from his black expression.
She schooled her own reaction to professionalism. Maybe he wasn’t happy to see her and maybe he was just doing his security job with the patient he’d brought in. If he was still around after her shift, she’d gauge his feelings then.
And if he still treated her like an unwanted stranger, then she’d curl up in a ball and cry.
The other male tutted with disdain. “And they’ve put me in Room 2. I should be in Room 1! I will not forgive this insult.”
“Um, the rooms are numbered in order of their distance from the door, not in order of importance,” she said, drawing the male’s attention. “If that helps. And Room 1 has a touchy blood pressure cuff. This is our best room.”
He glared at the low ceiling. “It is rather small.”
Well, her opening conversation had established that her patient’s airway was unobstructed, breathing clear, heart was beating, and he had the highest level of consciousness. He didn’t seem confused or particularly in pain.
Of course, it might be impossible to know with an alien.
“What brings you in today?” she asked, bracing herself for a foreign answer.
The male pointed at Kyan. “He did.”
“O-of course.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, what’s your chief complaint?”
“That I, a full-blooded aristocrat and rightful CEO of Carnelian Clothiers, have been insulted and forced into a position unbecoming of my status.”
“I see.” She finally looked at the chart Sabrina had handed her. Patient name: Chrysoberyl Carnelian. More minerals; very dragon alien-y. “More of a metaphysical injury than a physical one…”
Was he in for a psychiatric evaluation?
She tried once more. “Where are you injured?”
He frowned. “You are the medical professional. You should be able to tell from looking.”
It was going to be one of those nights.
“I like to hear it from your view.” Then, she flat out lied. “As the principle party, you are the most important eye witness.”
He seemed to like that. “Yes. Very well. I will allow you to heal my injury.”
“…which is?”
“He burned his hand,” Kyan said shortly.
Of course! She set aside the chart and took a good, solid look at her patient. One of the most important things was to actually look at the person in front of her. Chrysoberyl looked…
…extremely healthy, to be honest.
She pulled on exam gloves. “Burns are so painful. I didn’t realize fire-breathing dragons can suffer them too.”
“Of course they can, uneducated human.”
She mentally added “cranky” to his chart. “Let me see your injury.”
He regarded her outstretched hands with distrust. “What are those blue things?”
“Non-latex gloves,” she assured him. “So I can examine your injury without passing on pathogens.”
He puffed up. “Finally, someone understands. Grubby human fingers should not dirty an aristocrat’s skin.”
Actually, it was for preventing the patient’s pathogens from ending up on her. But anything that made him easier to work with made her a happier nurse. “Roll up your sleeve.”
He did so.
Was there a slight red mark on the back of his hand? Maybe if she squinted.
She checked with Kyan. “Should we use anything from the medkit for this exam?”
Kyan’s expression remained closed. “The medkit is designed for dragon bodies.”
“He’s a dragon.”
“In human form.”
“But the whole reason we have the medkits is for treating dragons.”
He focused on her with new clarity. Rage disappeared, replaced by his capable calm. “Treat his human form. Shifting exacerbates real injuries.”
“Real injuries?” Chrysoberyl huffed, listening way too closely to their conversation. “You dare to insinuate my injury is not ‘real’? I am deeply injured in my person! A concept you clearly cannot comprehend. Aristocrats aren’t used to rough treatment.”
Kyan stared over her shoulder, zoning on the wall behind her, as he seemed to retreat again into the mask of cold, hard fury.
Well, at least she wasn’t the source of Kyan’s unhappiness. Or at least she wasn’t the only or most obvious source. That warmed her right in places where it shouldn’t.
She focused on her patient again. She’d seen worse sunburns at a junior league baseball game. A well-prepared Girl Scout could diagnose and treat this burn.
He was an alien…
The last injured dragon alien she’d seen had survived fourth degree burns. It suggested dragons were hardier than humans, not weaker.
So…
Urgh!
She was supposed to be confident. Based on her assessment of this minuscule injury, should she really just hand Chrysoberyl a cold pack and give him an ibuprofen? Laura willed Galina to appear in the doorway behind her and take away the responsibility.
Galina didn’t. But her words did.
Your lack of confidence and constant second-guessing causes you to be slow and slow can at times prove fatal.
Not fatal for this guy. But maybe for the patient in Room 7. Or Room 10. Or somebody out in the waiting room.
Plus what would Galina really say? She could almost hear her preceptor’s chastisement. A simple burn? You should know how to treat that, Laura, so why are you coming to me? Is that really all it is?
Okay. Just to make sure she wasn’t missing anything, Laura reviewed her intake questions, skirting Chrysoberyl’s off-the-wall responses.
“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked, tilting his hand all directions under the light.
“I was attacked,” he said proudly. “In my own office. By a bomb.”
“A bomb!” Well, now she had a whole lot of new questions. “Were you concussed or struck by any material?”
“I was struck by that object.” He jerked his thumb at Kyan. “Who attacked my physical person. His indelicate movements dislodged my coffee, spilling scalding liquid all over my hand.” He sniffed. “I barely survived.”
“I see,” she said again, now itching to get Kyan undressed and have a good look.
Not only because she wanted to see him naked.
He was the type who would silently bleed out, die standing upright, and no one would ever know he’d been wounded.
Back to Chrysoberyl, she switched from a general investigation to specific concussion-trauma questions. Had he bumped his head? Lost consciousness? Was there a ringing in his ears, sensitivity to lights, any gaps in his memory? Then, just for good measure, she had him take off his shirt and measure
d his vitals.
“What is this about?” he demanded as she inflated the blood pressure cuff.
“It checks your pulse and blood volume.” She recorded his stats. “It’s important to be thorough after what you’ve been through.”
“Yes.” He lifted his chest and threw back his shoulders. “Of course. After what I’ve been through.”
“And I would also like to examine you,” she said to Kyan.
Kyan’s sharp gaze narrowed.
“Never mind about him,” Chrysoberyl sniffed. “He’s low caste. They’re used to roughness.”
Low caste? That sounded rude. But Kyan’s mask remained in place, not showing he felt any sting.
“He was with you during the ordeal,” she said. “It sounds like he could have been hit by the bomb.”
Or, if the description was right, Kyan had sheltered Chrysoberyl and absorbed the blast with his own body.
For some reason, her sentence made the aristocrat again puff up with some sort of pride.
“Indeed. I suffered an ordeal. I suppose you may check him for injuries as well.”
A gruff voice rose in the hallway. “Where is that dragon? It’s after midnight. No, I’m not the patient. He’s my new vice president.”
She turned to Kyan. “Please remove your—”
Kyan ignored her and strode into the hall.
The gruff voice quieted.
Well … okay. She was just an “uneducated” nursing student. Forget the lot of them.
She finished her examination and allowed her patient to dress. Then, she counseled him. Without holding his hand.
“You have a first degree burn,” she told Chrysoberyl.
“First!” He brightened. “I accept no degree less.”
“Er … right. Next time, soak the wound in cool water. You can take a gentle pain medication or use a mild anesthetic to soothe the skin. If it rubs or bothers you, apply an antibiotic ointment and cover it with loose gauze.”
He lifted his chin. “Although only a human, you are a credit to your profession.”
“Uh, thank you.”
“Indeed.”
He rose from the exam table. A key chain fell out of his pocket and clinked on the floor. He headed for the door.
She scooped up the key chain. It looked like a mini Magic 8 Ball on a thin metal loop. “Here, Chrysoberyl. Your keys?”
He recoiled as though offended. “That device is not mine.”
“It fell out of your pocket.”
“You are mistaken.”
“I saw it.”
He lifted his chin, imperious.
She wasn’t fighting about this. “Never mind. I’ll ask Kyan.”
“Give it to me.” He snatched it from her hand. “Did anything else drop?”
She studied the small, swept-clean floor. “I don’t think so.”
“Search, human! Someone attacked me with a bomb. This could be important.”
Good gracious.
She got down on her hands and knees and double-checked, praying Dr. Richard didn’t come in right now. If she got in trouble for “holding hands,” what would he say to her butt in the air, blowing stubborn dust bunnies from the undersides of sterile tables?
Then again, someone had bombed Chrysoberyl’s office earlier tonight. Maybe paranoia was justified.
“Nothing,” she declared, sitting upright.
The room was silent. Chrysoberyl had gone.
Okay. Sure.
Standing again, she unpeeled her gloves and threw them in the trash. Since Chrysoberyl hadn’t needed much in the way of assessment, there was also not much to tidy.
Her stomach growled.
This occasion certainly deserved a granola bar. Her first treatment of dragon aliens! Bring on the chocolate cherry peanut butter.
Yellow metal glinted on a tray, catching her eye.
Huh? That was weird. She’d just tidied the room. Had Chrysoberyl dropped this object, too?
But no, he wouldn’t have accidentally dropped it out of a pocket onto a tray at chest height.
The tray was near the open door. Anyone could have snuck it onto the table without entering the room.
Why?
Was it even a tool? Two strips of long, curved metal split into sections … honestly, it looked like a mini banana slicer. Like, a specialty kitchen item sold next to egg timers and cherry pitters whose only purpose in life was to evenly slice bananas.
Maybe another med tech was playing a prank?
Weird.
Oh, hey. It blinked a steady blue light.
Chapter Five
Kyan argued quietly with his oldest brother next to the elevators.
Although the hospital churned with activity, from this location he could keep an eye on the exam room, the hall, and also the three major entrance/exits, while disagreeing.
“I want you to drop Chrysoberyl and focus on the stolen medkit,” Mal ordered gruffly.
Kyan gritted his teeth on his silent growl. Mal never interfered with his work. “If Chrysoberyl is injured by humans, we lose this entire planet.”
“That’s why he will remain under the supervision of Syenite.”
“Was that Syenite’s suggestion?”
Unusually, Mal looked away. “It will silence Chrysoberyl and allow us to get back to work.”
Syenite was up to something. He’d shot — and detonated — the bomb without any regard to its devastating consequences. No security officer should ever make such a mistake.
Kyan had turned on him as soon as he was certain Chrysoberyl was unharmed. And then he had yelled. “What are you doing?”
Syenite’s mouth had closed into a thin line. He hadn’t answered.
Either he was incompetent — which he had never demonstrated before — or he was dangerous.
What game was the impassive fallen aristocrat playing?
Luckily, the bomb had been a dud. Someone had altered it to remove its payload. But how had Syenite known? Either he’d wanted to kill them all — himself included — or he’d set the bomb himself.
“And the same perpetrators who sold the medkit that injured Pyro are likely behind this new attack on Chrysoberyl,” Mal continued.
Kyan disagreed.
Another dragon family, the Tourmalines, had medical connections and had recently lost a huge market share when their “rare, human gemstones” were copied in labs and mass-produced on Draconis. Selling off a few crates of seemingly innocuous medkits gave them quick capital to regroup — never mind that it was illegal.
He just needed proof.
“Chrysoberyl aside, you must focus on avoiding the Empress’s marriage.” Mal apparently couldn’t bring himself to order Kyan to marry a local female. That was how he and Pyro had escaped her offer. “Perhaps we can arrange a video conference so she can see the male she intends to betroth.”
Kyan had already considered that.
His think tank didn’t believe his scars would put the Empress off. Or, if they did, she’d simply lock her new “husband” in a Palace dungeon to hide his deformed face.
She wanted something else from the Onyx family. Or, as her Palace advisers were rumored to believe, she really had gone crazy.
What rational female would want to marry him?
Laura’s image flashed in his head.
Tendrils of curly blonde hair had come loose from her cap. She’d listened to that arrogant aristocrat with such patience and competence. And then, she’d looked directly into Kyan’s eyes and told him she wanted to examine him for injuries.
No one wanted to examine his injuries. He was always the last to be treated and the first to be shoved into the war zone.
I wish I could kiss it and make it better.
Hot blood pulsed in his cock.
Just like before, she looked past his scars and saw him.
She had once drawn his face down to her level and touched those sweet lips to his.
Would she do it again? Even though her healing saliva hadn�
��t helped?
Kyan fought his wild thoughts.
He’d intended to never return. He didn’t want to see that he’d been mistaken before, that she actually did look at him with disgust, that her friendliness had been a figment of his hungry imagination.
But then Chrysoberyl had refused to enter the Onyx spaceship medical facilities. Refused. He’d cried so loudly about Kyan’s “assault on his person” and then balked so insistently at using a medical facility “coated with impure blood” that Kyan had wanted to pick him up and throw him across the medical facility threshold just to watch him writhe.
The next most obvious place to bring the aristocrat for medical attention had been here. This hospital. And the one fearless nurse he knew would be working here. Laura.
When she’d walked into the room, her eyes had sought Kyan’s and she’d lit up in a smile. A genuine, heart-piercing, cock-flooding smile. She’d been happy to see him. Eager. Like she actually had hoped he would return at the end of her shift to get coffee instead of dreading her unwise words.
She smelled of freshness and cool breezes, wildness and freedom. And he suddenly remembered her exact taste.
Pure, untamed, addictive woman.
Females swoon over Pyro, enticed by his dangerous confidence and bad boy attitude. Until Pyro met his wife, the interest of those females had never lasted longer than one night.
Had Laura somehow confused Kyan for a devilish, charismatic dragon like Pyro?
Surely, if someone suggested Kyan for Laura’s husband, her lip would finally curl, her pretty eyes squint, and the disgust he knew must be hiding within her would reject him.
He crushed the image.
No female of any species should desire him. His poisoned soul would damn any who dared to feel kindness.
Back to the matter at hand. He focused on Mal. “Something is wrong with this situation.”
Mal shrugged. “Even Flint can’t say why the Empress wants to marry one of us. But that doesn’t change the facts.”
“No, about the bomb. Chrysoberyl just arrived. Few knew he was coming today and fewer still were in the building when the bomb was planted. Syenite was there.”
“What are you saying?”
“If he gets Chrysoberyl killed, we’ll have a larger problem on our hands.”