by Amanda Milo
His jaw almost drops the floor and his hand slowly rises to his head. “How much DID I drink?”
I can’t hold back anymore. I pull away from Tiernan’s astonishment-loosened grip, and rush for Qolt. I try to drop to my knees but miscalculate my ability to balance—but Qolt’s arms fly up to help me ease myself down safely beside him. “Oh my goodness, I—I don’t even know where it’s safe to touch you. Are you all right?”
His eyes glitter as he leans back, considering me. “Can I make a suggestion on where I want you to touch me?”
I huff at him. “You’re hurt!”
He reaches for his head, and then his busted lip, seeming to take stock. “I have a feeling you could make me feel much, much better.” He tries out a lady-killer smile, but when he brings his brows together to complete the masculine-pouty look, blood leaks from above his eye. Yeah, it kills the effect. He swipes at his face. “I’m Qolt. Tell me I’m a lucky Na’rith and that bedsheet you’re wearing is mine.” A wrinkle forms so deep on his smooth forehead that it makes him look as afraid as it does confused. “Should I ask you your name first or apologize—or is that agonize?—that I might need a refresher on how you came to be wearing said bedsheet of mine?” He inhales deep, his chest expanding, the cut of his muscles sharpening for a moment before he lets go. “You smell good. And,” he inhales, and a slow, satisfied smile rolls across his mouth. “So does this room.”
My skin turns a rosy shade of boiling lobster. I smell—and so does his room—a little bit like sex.
But my embarrassment takes a back seat to my concern. I’m so worried for him that tears sting my eyes.
He must see some evidence of this because his own eyes widen, and he lunges forward. “Don’t cry, narra!” Then he pulls up sharply, wincing hard as he reaches for his head again. “Owww… cog-damn, I got into something strong.”
I reach out, and brush back his hair to examine his head. Despite having blood on him, nothing looks serious. And although I saw him get shot, I don’t find a burn or any sort of visible damage. I guess Ekan’s gun could fire something that really is less dangerous.
But clearly, this doesn’t mean that Qolt came out unscathed. I take his hand and hug it to my chest. His fingers flex, and his thumb sneak-brushes my sheet-covered left boob. I ignore him, shakily asking, “Are you… are you all right?”
His voice creaks. “Put a man’s hand on a woman’s breast and ask him how he’s doing. His outlook will always improve.” He gives me a crooked smile before his eyes waver, dropping to the nipple-dents I’m making in his sheet. “I’m doing great,” he answers almost dreamily.
Behind us, I hear Tiernan’s rumbling comment, “Solid steering, Ekan—shoot him in a jealous rage to warn him away from Beth—and now watch him getting healed by her kisses. Well done.”
“That fired back all wrong,” Prow agrees. “If you hadn’t fried his brains, he’d probably be thanking you for this. Hells, he might still thank you since he doesn’t need a brain to see he’s got Beth’s attention.”
I ignore them, and pet Qolt’s hair softly. I also ignore how nice his hair feels as my fingers run through it. The man is injured; now is not the time to enjoy these things. But as if to stymie my efforts to avoid this inappropriate appreciation for his fine self, Qolt—his lashes lowered to his battered cheeks—catches me by the wrist, and brings my hand to his mouth, where he presses a gentle kiss to my skin, about the area where I gave him his hickey.
My toes curl.
“If I didn’t tell you already: nice to meet you,” Qolt tells me, lashes slowly rising, revealing a pair of very fine eyes, such a warm steel grey now they almost match Ekan’s. “Very nice to meet you, narra.”
“Crite!” Oquilion barks.
Qolt’s hands jump back to his head.
Oquilion winces. “Sorry—if you’re not playing us…” He swallows, a look of dread overtaking his expression. “If you’re serious, you need the infirmary.”
“There is nothing playing around with this skullache,” Qolt laugh-groans, “But hells no, I don’t need the cog-damned infirmary,” he says, trying to draw himself up indignantly but only succeeding in half falling on me. “Scum take it; sorry, narra,” he curses as I help support him.
Using my free arm, I struggle under him, trying to tuck the sheet under my armpits like a giant bath towel.
Oquilion tries again. “Not to alarm you, Qolt, but you… something’s not right about you.”
“Heh,” Qolt laughs and grimaces all at once. “I could’ve told you that when I first came aboard.” He fingers his/my bedsheet. “Nice sign-on bonus, by the way.”
Ekan draws himself up, body stringing even tighter. “What did you say?”
But Oquilion’s continuing like he’s not going to be deterred. “One of my koundreths pulled a bad deal in a gem mine and took a pickaxe to the brainpan. The doctors on that rock managed to save him, but he wasn’t rigged right after that. His short term memory was fragmented.” Oquilion appears supremely unsettled, and very grave. “Not that you don’t deserve your damage, but… we should really get you checked over.”
In school, when they were teaching us about the Iron Horse racing across America, the case of Phineas Gage was touched on. He was a railroad construction worker who got an iron rod rammed through his head, right through his frontal lobe, and as a result, he became dramatically different in personality. “I’ve heard something like that too,” I share, worry eating at me as I glance up at the man sprawling on me. He almost doesn’t resemble the Qolt who was on top of me in a very different way just a few minutes ago. I clutch the bedsheet tighter and take more of Qolt’s weight as he sags heavier against me. I poke him in the ribs. “Are you falling asleep?”
He tries to sit up, slurring, “Not if I can help it. Least let me finish you first.”
Prow snorts a laugh. “He’ll be fine.”
Ekan, though, seems frozen in an involuntary cringe.
I pull my eyes away from him and focus on his wounded brother. “You probably shouldn’t sleep,” I continue, placing my hands on either side of Qolt’s massive ribcage, mindful to be gentle where Ekan’s fists surely connected—and to keep my elbows tight to my own sides so that my bedsheet doesn’t drop and give everyone even more of a show than we’ve already had. “Where I’m from, men with head injuries who sleep could die.”
His eyes trying to close again, Qolt swallows thickly. “Sounds about right.” He’s still for a beat before his eyelids jump to half-mast and his pupils dilate as he focuses on my face, so near his own. “Give me a click and maybe we can find an alternative that feels better than sleep.”
My hand slides up his side until I’m cupping his jaw. “Ease up, Romeo, you’re hurt.”
At my use of Romeo, Ekan stiffens—and I realize I’ve called him Romeo before too.
Maybe it’s my use of an endearment he thought was for him alone, or maybe it’s his guilt over whatever is wrong with Qolt, but he holsters his gun and clears his throat. “Do you want help to the infirmary?”
Qolt squints. “Eh?”
Ekan grasps at his bottom lip with his thumbnail and index finger, worrying it. “Tevek. Let’s get a look at you—”
My hands fly to Qolt’s chest when his arm suddenly encircles my hips and he drags me into his chest with much more force than I’d expect from such an injured man. Then again, he’s not human, and even Ekan doesn’t know how the shot affected him. “If ever I’ve earned favors with you, let me cash them in now and give me time to enjoy the company of this fine lady. You can drag my rakehelly ass to the infirmary later.” Qolt’s eyes drop to me, to his sheet wrapping me, and he licks his lower lip. “Much, much later.” But he winces again after he says this.
“It seems his motor skills are in fine form,” Tiernan points out as Qolt’s fingers tease along my thigh. I catch them only for him to tease along my palm, really sweetly. “Machaii,” Tiernan addresses Qolt with cold finality, “You go to the infirmary on your own power
, or we’ll drag your sorry ass there—what’s it going to be?”
CHAPTER 27—BETH
BETH
They drag Qolt kicking and cursing to the infirmary. While they wrestle him out the door, I sneak away to grab a fresh tinytop and miniskirt set—and it’s amazing how dressed you can feel in practically nothing. When I’m no longer pregnant and I don’t feel like I’m a giant oven to this cute little bun I’m carrying, I might need real clothes with actual coverage simply because I’m not running quite as hot. It would serve all of them right if I start strutting around in a parka and mukluks after I deliver.
I make it to the infirmary just behind the struggling mass of men. Qolt’s still insisting that he’s fine, so he’s refusing their assistance—loudly. The guys are going to have to hold him down if they want to run scans.
And that is exactly what they want.
Qolt puts up a much more impressive fight than I did when Ekan brought me here that first day. He struggles to such an extreme degree that he manages to give each one of the guys a reason to knock him around as they take hits trying to keep him on the table. They’re feeling less and less concerned for his well being right up until they find that Qolt’s sustained a fractured skull at some point in his life.
Qolt looks as shocked as we do. Then his expression closes down. “That crack is nowhere near the blaster injury site. It’s old. I told you: nothing’s wrong with me that wasn’t already wrong before. Now let me up, you sacks of machaii.”
With no indication of damage—at least nothing new that shows on the equipment available to them—they let him up. Tiernan leans towards Ekan, and I’m standing close enough to hear when he murmurs, “Too many hits could have scrambled something.”
“Tevek,” Ekan grits out. “I know it.” He moves to block Qolt, and goes so far as to bravely put a staying hand on Qolt’s shoulder. “Just—”
Qolt snarls at him and shrugs it off. “No. We’re done here.” He dismounts from the table, shoves the guys back, and stalks out of the room.
“That went well,” Prow says with a sickly version of his usual grin.
Everyone’s head whips up when Qolt stomps right back into the room, and right up to me. “You should eat,” he orders randomly.
I look to the other guys. Nobody seems sure what to say, so I turn back to look up at Qolt. “I could eat.”
What follows is the most uncomfortable meal in history. Prow begs off because someone has to sit in the Captain’s chair and pretend he’s busy, but the rest of the guys all crowd into the kitchen and park themselves, all staring at Qolt with varying degrees of reaction—mute horror for Oquilion, guilt for Ekan, and a closed off expression for Tiernan, who stands with his hip resting against the counter, his arms crossed.
Qolt ignores everyone. Well, not me—he gets two plates out and proceeds to play house with me, like we’re a couple making a quiet meal together. Not like we just had sweaty almost-sex, not like I panicked when I saw his alien junk, not like everyone’s gawking at him for being damaged, and not like he just took a painful head shot with a space gun.
When we move to the table, he takes his seat, I start to take mine—only to have him jump to his feet, making the rest of the guys tense—but Qolt just moves behind me to push in my chair like a gentleman would do on Earth. It’s very gallant.
Evidently, it’s also completely unexpected. At least, coming from Qolt.
Ekan’s mouth is hanging open, Oquilion’s rubbing his temples, and Tiernan’s eyes are just two slashes under big, lowered brows.
Nobody speaks, and I look over at Qolt, but it’s like he doesn’t even notice the tension. He’s just watching me, his Excalibur-grey eyes expectant.
Grimacing, I take the first bite of my food. Its looks are deceiving; hashbrowns is not at all what it tastes like, although I thought it resembled a pile of just that. It tastes more like unsalted wax beans, which I guess isn’t so bad. Boring, but edible. I take a second bite.
Like this was some signal he was waiting for, Qolt nods like he’s satisfied, and rolls several round, pink and red spiky things onto my plate. I had purposely avoided taking these a second ago when Qolt was trying to reach past my blocking hand to load my plate up like we were at a buffet, and I should be making my choices based on my need to feed my brood of twelve baby hippopotamuses. Hippopotami? This is just like the octopus problem. What is it with the latin names in the animal kingdom?
And what are these spiky things?! “What are these red things?” I ask, scared.
“They’re Qolt’s favorite,” Ekan says faintly, staring at where Qolt is pinning my fingers so that I can’t stop him from flicking two more onto my plate.
“He fights us for them,” Oquilion adds, his features pinched in a way that says he’s concerned with what he’s watching.
Tiernan tells me their name. “Lyatubmar. It’s a fruit you eat once you peel it.” His lips are pursed, and he’s studying Qolt with an intensity Qolt has to be able to feel, because he roughly scrubs the back of his head, like Tiernan’s focus is causing him to itch.
Without a word, Qolt returns to the pile of the lyatubmar, cracks one with a deft whack of his fork, and splits it open.
Out pops a dry, grey… grape-thing.
“Oh, that’s not right,” I mutter.
Even though my lips barely parted enough to let the words out, it’s far enough that Qolt’s able to pop the lyatubmar into my mouth, lightning-fast.
“Uglaaag!” is the sound I make.
“You can take it. Swallow it all,” Qolt says.
Now I make a choking noise, and it has nothing to do with the food in my mouth. I give him a sharp look, but his face is blank of innuendo.
“Does it taste bad to you?” Oquilion asks in surprise.
“Don’t feed my Beth unless I approve of it,” Ekan warns, bristling like someone just forced a pill wrapped in a piece of cheese down his cat’s unwilling throat.
My chair judders under me—and thanks to the unexpectedness, I accidentally gulp the whole lyatubmar down.
Qolt is what’s causing my chair to move, because he’s in the middle of dragging me *right* next to him. He spares me a glance, sees that I’ve swallowed—and he winks at me.
I dish him up my frostiest glare.
But he’s too hot to be negatively affected by my frosty; he just snorts, and of course he looks handsome doing even this. Then he locks eyes with Ekan, and in opposition of Ekan’s order not to feed me, he declares, “She’s my Beth now.”
And that’s how lunch ends: Ekan dives for Qolt—Oquilion tackles him before he gets there, and Tiernan catches Qolt by the shoulder, shakes his head, and takes me—and my heaping plate—and escorts me to the greenhouse.
CHAPTER 28—BETH
BETH
Hours later, I’m feeling more settled after spending quiet time with Tiernan. The greenhouse is a pretty peaceful place—the humidity is awful, but you can’t beat the quality of silence here. And after everything that’s gone down today, it’s nice to absorb some tranquility.
When it’s more or less bedtime, I hug Tiernan goodbye, enjoying the way he holds me with no evident agenda, before I wander to Ekan’s room. I’ve been worried about him, and I find I was right to: I find Ekan sitting on his bed in the dark, gripping his head between his bruised-up hands.
“Hey,” I say softly, approaching him slowly. I reach out and pet his hair, amazed when he holds still and lets me—he doesn’t even try to cop a feel. Actually, that’s sort of worrying. This is Ekan. “You okay?”
“I didn’t mean to actually injure him,” he confesses, looking too serious for the Ekan I thought I was getting to know. “When he said he was taking you, I worried how you’d… I was afraid of how you’d be affected, if you became afraid.” He swallows and glances at the cuts in his hands, care of hitting his brother’s teeth and bones. “My concern built up until I was just so angry, and then he taunted me—at the time, Beth, I didn’t care if I hurt him.”
&
nbsp; I move to squeeze his shoulder to offer comfort, but he cringes away from my hand, his guilt too heavy for comfort. “I despise this feeling,” he shares, lip curled. “Shame stings. Feels like teveking fire-heated wax is being poured on me.” He starts to rake his hand through his hair, but encounters my fingers. He catches them, bringing our hands to his chest.
“It’s only like this with him, you know,” Ekan murmurs so quietly I barely hear him. “I don’t… the others, they aren’t capable of provoking me to anger—not like that,” he says with a grimace. “But Qolt? Every cog-damned time we start to argue, it ends up in a fight.” His eyes flick up to me, his expression earnest. “But I need you to know: that’s his effect on me. I would never hurt you.”
“That was not one of my worries today. I’ve pretty much come to trust you, more or less.”
Ekan snorts, mustering a look that falls way short of his usual easy humor. “More or less? Is this about my vocation again? You think pirates are the only ones who brawl?”
“Well,” I say with a shrug, “You think we’d be having this conversation if you were a shoe cobbler?”
I feel a great amount of relief when Ekan gives me a smile, a real one. “What would you do all day with a shoe cobbler? You’d be bored as hells within a span.”
I deign to give him a grudging nod. “I suppose without all the looting and shooting and card sharping, there might come a time when I’d look at my cobbler and wish for a little excitement.”
Ekan’s arms wrap around my hips and he hauls me onto his lap. “Wager on it. I’m bored for you already just imagining our life without card sharping, looting, and shooting...” His thin smile dies.