by Cynthia Sax
“I’ll reinforce that message when I speak with him.” Oghul returned his hand to its place on her back, the contact soothing her.
“That’s unnecessary.” She pocketed the gun once more. Her attacker was in no state to cause anyone harm. “And you have training to complete.”
“Delivering that communication to him will take three heartbeats.”
His tone worried her. “If you kill him, Kralj, the Ruler, will kill you.”
“Would you be sad if I died?” He hugged her closer to him as they walked.
“I’m not an unfeeling being.” Some residents thought that of her. She didn’t want Oghul to share their view. “Of course it would sadden me.”
The thought of him dead, his magnificent body ripped apart and impaled on the spikes outside the settlement walls, serving as a warning to others, shredded her soul. She might not be able to spend time with him, but she wanted him to have a long lifespan, to be somewhere in the universe, fighting his wars and doing whatever else barbarian warriors did.
“I knew you cared for me.” Warm lips pressed against her forehead.
“I’m a medic.” Gisella downplayed her emotions. “I care for everyone.”
“You care for the humanoid who attacked you?” He called her on her shit.
“I care for almost everyone.” She amended her statement.
Her warrior chuckled, the sound giving her a strange joy.
They moved toward the medic bay. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t have to peer into every shadow, look for possible threats, fear the unknown.
Oghul walked behind her. He would safeguard her.
But only a foolish female would grow accustomed to that protection. He would be leaving her. Soon.
That had to happen.
Quashing her regrets, she lifted her chin and balled her fingers into fists. The goal was to look as strong, as unapproachable as possible. She must have succeeded. A dirty-faced urchin squeaked and sprinted away from her.
“My fierce gerel,” Oghul murmured.
“I’m not your anything.” She stopped strides away from the medic bay’s front entrance. “Thank you for the rest cycle…and for dispatching the humanoid. Have a safe voyage to your home planet.” Her voice faltered.
Her barbarian thankfully didn’t comment on that weakness. “I’ll meet you before your second shift is done.” He brushed his lips over hers, the kiss unseen yet felt down to her boot-clad toes. “Don’t leave the medic bay without me.”
The damn male wasn’t listening to her. She was trying to say good-bye.
“I don’t want to see you.” The medic in her couldn’t end her statement there. “Unless you’re bleeding and require medical care.”
She wouldn’t deny him access to healing. All other contact with him, however, would now be ended.
That was the way it had to be. Her role came first.
She turned and walked away from her barbarian, her soul screaming she was making a mistake.
***
Half a shift later, Gisella was in trouble. Her hands shook as she closed the weapon fabricator’s wound. Her skin burned where it touched the male’s bare arm, her fingertips blistering, the pain demolishing her concentration.
She ignored the mind-numbing agony and forged on, sealing the bone-deep gash, repairing the tissue and skin. Her patient, high on pain inhibitors, watched her with unfocused eyes. He was a big brute, had accidentally inflicted the injury upon himself.
The weapon fabricator had sought treatment. Her lips twisted. Unlike a certain barbarian, he valued medics.
She set down the sealing device. Grabbing a cleaning cloth, she removed the blood. “Don’t use this arm for three planet rotations.”
“Frag that.” The weapon fabricator stood, flexing his biceps, putting strain on her healing. “I have nine daggers to craft this planet rotation.” He lumbered out of the chamber, the doors closing behind him.
The seal over his skin wouldn’t hold with the physical work he completed. He’d return to the medic bay.
But she wouldn’t see him. Her gaze lowered to her hands. Several blisters had popped. The tips of her fingers had split. Blood seeped from the tiny wounds.
Her brain was fuzzy with pain and with lust. Need for her barbarian warrior knotted her insides and sapped her energy.
If she continued healing in her current state, mistakes would be made and her patients might suffer. She had to be professional, had to admit defeat.
She had to give up her role.
Fuck.
Anger coiled within Gisella. Oghul had done that to her. He had taken her ability to heal away from her.
Similar to how her father had taken the ability to design ships away from her mother. Was she destined to relive her beloved parent’s lifespan? Would she become resentful and unhappy, separated from her true cause, her reason for being?
She tidied her hands and garments, activated the self-cleaning for the sleeping support and the rest of the chamber. Bots exited panels in the walls, rolled over the floor tiles, seeking dirt and grime. They returned to their storage spaces as quickly and as silently as they appeared.
Gisella wished her current situation could be put to rights as easily.
She smoothed Velorum syrup over her palms. The substance had been the inspiration for the modified humanoids’ nanohumanics. She used it in her sealant. It allowed wounds to heal faster.
The Velorum syrup wouldn’t heal her hands fast enough to allow her to continue in her role. And it didn’t dull the pain within her soul.
The doors to the chamber opened and closed. Boot heels rang on the floor tiles. She knew who the newcomer was before turning her head to look at him.
Her nipples had tightened. Only one male had that effect on her.
The being responsible for her plight had arrived. She scowled at him.
“Is that how you greet your patients?” Oghul grinned back at her. “You impress them with your ferocity?”
Strips of leather hung from his waistband, falling to his knees. She suspected he wore nothing underneath that flimsy ass covering.
Over than that and his boots, the rest of him was bare.
He was injured. Blood gushed from tiny wounds on his left shoulder, dripped down his chiseled chest.
“You’ll have to find another medic to treat you.” She cast a dark glance at him. “My hands are shaking. I’m not capable of healing you.”
“You’ll soon recover.” He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her face against his chest.
She should murmur a protest, fight to free herself from his clasp but her pride had been shredded by wanting and the embrace felt right. His touch calmed the turmoil inside her, soothed the ache, was what she needed, what she had been craving.
“We require frequent contact in the early moments of our bond.” Her barbarian rested his chin on top of her head. “Once we’ve reconnected, you’ll be capable of healing.”
Warmth streamed along her side. Her rational thought returned.
“You require healing now.” She wiggled, trying to break his grip. “I’ll call another medic, ask her to tend to you.”
“I don’t want another medic tending to me.” He tightened his hold on her, refusing to release her. “I want you.”
He wanted her. His words increased her arousal and her suspicion.
She glanced at the five small puncture wounds on his shoulder. They looked like they had been caused by the tips of claws. Chameles had retractable claws.
“Did you inflict those wounds upon yourself?” She had told him she didn’t want to see him unless he was bleeding.
Then he had showed up in the medic bay bleeding.
“I was battling my brother.” He dropped his gaze, pink pigment rushing up his face. “My hands were shaking like yours were and my brain was foggy with need. I made a mistake.”
It irked her barbarian to admit that. She heard that in his voice.
“This is interfering with bo
th of our roles.” Gisella leaned against Oghul. The warmth of his bare skin permeated her garments. His scent surrounded her. She revisited his words. “You said we need frequent contact in the early moments of our bond. Then this will pass?”
“It will become…manageable.” He rubbed her back.
She was more determined than other beings. If it was manageable for them, she shouldn’t notice it. Her addiction to him would end and her lifespan would return to normal. “How long will it take to reach that stage?”
“In a couple of planet rotations, we should be able to make it through a shift without needing to touch.” His deep voice massaged her battered soul, his words soothing her unrest.
There were three shifts in a planet rotation on Carinae E. If it took a couple of planet rotations to make it through one shift, in ten planet rotations, they shouldn’t need to touch at all.
She could tolerate the connection for that length of time.
“And what about this?” She held up her tattered fingers, her hands now steady. “Will this go away too?”
Her barbarian grabbed her wrist, holding her and her hand still. His face darkened. His eyes blazed.
“Who did this to you?” He roared, the sound blasting her, the intensity of his reaction stealing her breath. “I’ll kill the being for daring to harm you.”
She blinked once, twice. Caring for others was part of her role. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone cared about her.
“Tell me who is responsible for this,” he demanded.
“You are responsible for the state of my hands.” She rolled her eyes. “Since we fucked, I’ve developed an intolerance to other males’ skin.”
He looked at her, looked down at her hands. His gaze returned to her face. “Oh.” His shoulders slumped.
“Yes, oh.” She eyed him. He appeared to be sincerely outraged by the state of her hands. “Is this why female medics only tend to female patients?
“You’re human.” His forehead furrowed. “I didn’t think you’d be affected.”
“I am affected, you big barbarian.” Her lips twisted. “Most of my patients are male.” Who seemed determined to kill each other. “I have blisters after half a shift of healing. Imagine the impact of a couple of planet rotations. The flesh on my hands would be stripped to the bone.”
“You will not treat another male patient, not until I fix this.” Her barbarian’s command straightened her back.
“Did I say I was treating another male patient?” She frowned at him. “No, I didn’t. And even if I had said that, that’s my decision to make. You will not tell me how to perform my role. You don’t have that authority.”
“It isn’t a question of authority. It’s a question of logic.” He met her gaze, holding it. “You’re a great medic. You must realize you can’t tend to your patients properly while you’re hurt.”
“I had reached that conclusion before you arrived.” She was a great medic. “I decided to assign the males to other medics.”
Oghul’s forehead furrowed. “Then why are we arguing?”
“We’re arguing because you didn’t ask me. You told me.” She explained that nuance to her dominant male. “I’m capable of making decisions on my own.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I’m accustomed to commanding warriors.”
“I don’t mind that when we fuck.” Her face heated as she made that confession. “But this is my role. It’s important to me.”
And she might lose it. Because she had fucked the wrong male.
“Can you fix this?” She searched his face. “Will I regain the ability to heal males?”
She couldn’t be a medic at the Refuge if she was restricted to treating female patients. A hard ball of emotion formed in her throat.
She’d be forced to heal in an all-female settlement, maybe a clone community. Those were smaller, rarely had the medical equipment and supplies the Refuge provided. Beings would die due to that lack and she wouldn’t be able to prevent that.
That would shatter her.
“Tell me you can fix this.” She needed to hear that assurance.
Oghul’s eyes softened. “I can fix this. You’ll have the ability to heal other males. I give you my vow.”
Gisella relaxed, believing him. He would right her world once more.
“Until then, you can heal me.” He sat on the edge of the sleeping support. Crimson rivulets ran down his form. “Show me your skills.”
She would do that. Her chin lifted as she tidied her hands with a cleaning cloth. She’d heal the fuck out of him.
Chapter Six
Bonding with his gerel had hurt her.
Her fingertips were blistered, the skin torn and bleeding. Those wounds had disturbed Oghul greatly, but they would eventually heal.
The emotional damage their connection had inflicted upon her was more alarming. Gisella placed healing above their relationship, above her own safety. She had been forthright about how important being a medic was for her.
At the moment, she couldn’t touch many of the patients entering the medic bay. She couldn’t hold the role she loved.
Because of him.
He would derive a solution, give her back the ability to heal. She wouldn’t be harmed because she was his gerel.
Oghul gazed down at her bowed head. Not one strand of her gold-streaked hair was loose. Every tendril was ruthlessly contained.
That turned him on. Everything about her appealed him.
Not wanting his senses to be dulled, he had refused a pain inhibitor. He noticed every erotic detail about his gerel.
Her scent teased his nostrils. Her skin brushed against his. Her breathing broke the silence, the shortness of it attesting to her attraction to him.
His cock hardened, tenting the leather covering his groin. He shifted on the sleeping support, uncomfortably aroused.
“We’re not fucking so put that away,” she muttered. “This is a respectable medic bay. You might not appreciate my role but—”
“I appreciate your role.” He appreciated her. She was strong and fearless and his.
“Your skin tells me a different story, barbarian.” She drifted her damaged fingertips over his chest, her touch sending mixed messages to his brain. “Each one of these scars could have been avoided with proper healing.” His gerel sighed softly. “You don’t value medics.”
“I value them too much to waste their time with non-life-threatening wounds.” Admittedly, he couldn’t recall the last instance he saw a medic. He preferred to tough it out whenever possible.
“Did you believe this wound was life-threatening?” She bound his shoulder injury with white gauze.
His males would tease him about that highly visible bit of pampering. “You said you wanted to see me if I was bleeding.”
He had happily grasped that excuse, the need to touch her almost overwhelming him.
She made a noncommittal noise. That wasn’t a denial. She must have wanted to see him.
She fastened the gauze, set the excess aside. He pulled her to him before she could escape, needing that physical contact with her. She fit nicely between his legs.
“We’re not doing anything.” She frowned at him, looking so adorable it was a struggle not to cover her face with kisses.
“We’re not doing anything.” He agreed with her. “The more we touch, the longer we can last apart. In a few more moments, we’ll have the ability to make it through the next shift. I’ll return to training.” He’d burn off his desire for her. “You can heal patients – female patients.” He stressed that point.
His gerel exhaled loudly. “This is difficult.” She leaned into him, resting her chin on his shoulder.
“This is difficult.” The most challenging part was resisting his urge to tear her garments off and bond with her again. “But we’re strong. We’ll get through this.”
He rubbed her back, inhaled her scent. She was as aroused as he was yet she would never act on that wanting, not in her beloved medic bay.
>
Oghul realized that and respected her for her stance. He took his role as seriously as she did, had dedicated himself to protecting others, fighting for their way of life.
Would she agree to relocate to his home planet? “We have medics on Chamele 2.”
“I’m sure you do.” Her tone smacked of condescension.
“They’re valued by everyone, not merely by me.” His gerel would have the respect she deserved.
She gazed up at him, her expression solemn. “Are they valued more than warriors?”
“No.” He shook his head, bemused by that thought.
His little human’s eyes hardened.
“Warriors protect all Chameles, including medics.” He rushed to explain to her. “They risk their lifespans to ensure others are safe.”
“Medics heal all Chameles, including warriors.” She countered with that argument. “They can save lifespans…if they are given the resources.”
He opened his mouth.
“They won’t be given those resources if they aren’t valued.” She didn’t allow him to speak. “I’ve been a medic for many warrior factions. Warriors allocate resources to battle. They expect medics to heal without pain inhibitors, without machines, without systems.”
“You have machines here.” Oghul glanced at the equipment in the chamber. It looked advanced and new. “The Refuge is ruled by warriors.”
“Kralj is the exception.” Her hands balled into fists. “He values medics.”
Zondoo. He was starting to hate that word. “I value you.” His voice raised. “Chamele medic bays have machines also…I think.”
“You think?” Her lips twisted.
“It has been many solar cycles since I entered a Chamele medic bay.” He admitted to that. “My wounds have been minor. I was busy fighting in the succession wars. Those wars are now over.”
Three brothers, including the Warlord he followed, had emerged victorious. They ruled the Chamele sector.
“But there’s another threat, isn’t there?” Her tone was dry. “There always is…for warriors.”
He wanted to deny her claim, was unable to do that. “A rogue Chamele and his followers have been attacking settlements, stealing older females and orphaned offspring.”