Soul of a Predator

by Angela Verdenius

  "No shit?"

  "I'm not used to telling someone else about my plans."

  "In case you forget, Elyse, we're travelling together, and I need to know of any change of plans.” He jerked a thumb at the map. “There are a couple of planets closer than Saalm. We can stop on one of those and you can get your medicine there."

  "No."

  His eyes narrowed. “Why?"

  "Because."

  "We're wasting time."

  "I'm going to Saalm."

  "That puts us behind a full day."

  Giving him one cold rake of her eyes, she turned and left the cabin.

  That simple dismissal of him simply prodded Shaque's temper. Following fast, he caught up with her at the doorway to her own cabin. Balancing on one leg at a time, she was taking her socks off.

  Seeing him coming down the corridor, she tossed the socks into her cabin and straightened, stepping away from the doorway to balance on the balls of her feet, her arms swinging loosely by her sides.

  "Why the hell can't you get your damned medicine elsewhere?” Shaque snarled.

  "You don't need to know that."

  "Is that right?” Leaning down until they were almost nose-to-nose, he gritted his teeth.

  She looked coldly back at him. There was a glint of red in her eyes, so fleeting that he wasn't certain if he'd really seen it, or simply imagined it.

  He wasn't imagining the warmth coming from her skin though. Reaching out, he made to place his palm on her forehead, only to have her grab his wrist.

  "Back off,” she growled.

  Straightening, he looked down at her. The top of her head just came to his chin, so she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze when he was standing so close. The light showed the slight flush in her cheeks.

  An unfamiliar concern tugged at him, causing him to take a deep breath and pull his anger under control again. “How sick are you?"

  "Like I said, I just have to pick up some medicine. We'll be there less than an hour. You wait in the ship, I'll go see my medic, and then we leave.” She released his wrist with a deliberate little shove away.

  "If your being sick is going to disrupt the mission—"

  "You can't do without me, Shaque, so don't think you're in charge here.” She stepped back. “We'll land on Saalm in the morning, I'll get my medicine, and all is well."

  Shaque wasn't so sure of that. But he was sure that he couldn't go far without Elyse, and as much as it grated on him, he had to give in over this. It didn't mean he had to do so gracefully.

  They looked at each other coldly. Silently. Assessingly.

  It was, Shaque thought with disgust, going to be a long trip. A very long trip.

  Retreating to his cabin, he went to bed, but it took him a long time to go to sleep.

  * * * *

  The Man walked around the trembling children, nodding his head and giving the woman who stood near the door instructions.

  "The youngest boy might be good for adoption. The second boy—work. The two girls ... well, the youngest could be for the kitchens somewhere, the oldest could make her way up to the whorehouse."

  The oldest girl shivered, biting her lip. Her arms were around the two youngest of her group, holding them to her as they whimpered and pressed their dirty little faces into her equally dirty skirt.

  "Bathe them,” The Man ordered. “Dress them up and then bring them back. I want to see how they scrub up."

  He dismissed them all, and the men closed in to drag them away to the bathing rooms.

  * * * *

  Unable to sleep, Shaque ordered the light on low and squinted across at the timer on the wall. Two in the morning. Something had woken him, but he didn't know what. Then he heard it, the quiet thump and a curse.

  Getting out of the bunk, he yanked on a pair of pants and padded barefoot to the doorway. The corridor was dark, but there was a dim light on in Elyse's cabin. Her door was open.

  The bathing cabin door opened and Elyse stumbled out, steadying herself with one hand against the wall. One hand was placed on her forehead. Carefully she straightened and walked slowly back to her cabin.

  In the light he could see her outline. She wore a thin nightgown, the hemline halfway down her thighs. There were no sleeves, just thin straps. It skimmed her curves loosely.

  Placing her hand on the edge of the wall, she slowly entered her cabin.

  Shaque frowned. The woman was sicker, it would appear. He wondered how much sicker, and stealthily moved down the corridor to peer around the open door.

  Elyse was sitting on the edge of her bunk, elbows resting on her knees, legs slightly apart. Her hair was bundled back in a ponytail, loose strands sliding across her shoulders.

  He'd never seen her in anything but pants and shirts, and he was vaguely surprised to note that she looked a lot softer, more womanly, in a nightgown that showed off her smooth skin.

  Then she lifted her head and he saw her face.

  "Goddamn, Elyse!” Striding into the cabin, he dropped down to one knee in front of her. “How long have you been this sick?"

  She looked at him out of overly bright eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, a trickle of sweat running down her temple. He could feel the heat coming off her, even though she'd obviously just had a cold shower. Touching her arm, he felt the cool skin turning first warm under his fingertips, then too warm.

  "Shaque.” Drawing a deep breath, she picked up the little face washer sitting on the bedside table and wiped the sweat off her face. “What are you doing here?"

  "Never mind that.” He touched his palm to her forehead. “You've got a fever."

  She pulled back from him. “Go away."

  Like that was going to happen. “Have you taken your medicine?"

  The expression in her eyes was unfathomable.

  Glancing around the cabin, he spotted the bottle on the little table and pushed upright. Retrieving the bottle, he saw that it was empty. There was no label. Was it the medicine?

  When he glanced questioningly at her, she said tonelessly, “It's finished. I'll be fine once we land on Saalm."

  "I want to know what it is you've got, Elyse.” He put the bottle back on the table.

  "Just an illness that comes and goes."

  "Is it catching?"

  "I wouldn't be heading for civilization if it was,” she said with a trace of sarcasm.

  "Good. Otherwise I'd have to nurse you up here myself."

  "Perish the thought.” Lying down, she wiped her face with the towel.

  "Can I do anything for you?” he asked abruptly.

  "No. I'll sleep until we get to Saalm."

  Not knowing what else to do, he nodded and left. But he couldn't rest, not knowing that Elyse wasn't well, not when he didn't know exactly what was wrong with her.

  After an hour, he was still lying awake on his bunk when he heard a groan. Within seconds he was off the bunk and out in the corridor. Unerringly he ran to Elyse's cabin, and when he looked in, he swore.

  * * * *

  She was burning up, she could feel it. When the chill that had invaded her very veins had started to disappear, Elyse had been relieved, especially as she'd just taken the last of the pills that Byron had given her previously.

  But now she had more problems. No medicine, and she was starting to cook from the inside ... if one could cook in reality, of course.

  Sweat running down her temple, she dressed in her coolest, shortest, cotton nightgown, the one that went to mid-thigh only, but even that wasn't cool enough. The cold damp cloth turned warm within seconds of being on her skin.

  She'd contacted Byron earlier, told him she was swinging by to pick up more medicine. That she wasn't feeling too crash hot. And boy, was that the understatement of the year. Since speaking to him, rugged up as she had been, her temperature had swung in the opposite direction.

  Having a cold shower earlier had only given her relief for a short time. The heat was building up inside her, and for the first time, she wonde
red if this was it. If she'd finally reached the end.

  The room started to go out of focus as she sat in the chair, slumped over the table. Recognizing the danger of falling on the floor and maybe not being able to get up, she pushed upright from the table with effort, and staggered across to the bunk, where she collapsed onto it. Rolling onto her back, she wiped the sweat from her face and shoulders, taking deep breaths, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart.

  Suffocating heat seemed to surround her, sweeping through her veins and pushing outward, and she wasn't even aware that she started groaning.

  From far away she heard someone calling her name, and hazily she looked up into a classically handsome face, the winter blue eyes scrutinizing her face intently. A cool hand touched her brow, smoothed down her cheek. Shaque. She wasn't alone.

  "So hot,” she whispered. “Burning..."

  "You can bloody say that again. You're on fire."

  The face disappeared and she shifted restlessly on the bunk, trying to find a cool spot to lie against.

  A cold cloth was laid on her brow, and with a moan of pleasure she pushed up into it, but the coolness was too fleeting. It warmed so quickly, becoming hot, and she shoved it away.

  Her hand was nudged out of the way and another cold cloth replaced the first. A second cloth was wiped across her shoulders and down her arms.

  He worked silently, replacing the warmed cloths with cold ones. It wasn't enough.

  "We're stopping off at the first planet for a medic.” His words sounded far away.

  Opening her eyes, she grabbed his wrist. “No. Byron is waiting for me."

  "Saalm's at least another four hours away—"

  "Saalm only. Byron's my medic, he knows. He has the medicine I need.” Focussing on Shaque's face, Elyse whispered, “Please, Shaque. I'm begging you. Saalm. Nowhere else."

  Nothing showed in his face as he stared down at her. No flicker of emotion, no hint of his thoughts. After a long minute, he nodded and continued to wipe her down with the cold cloths.

  She didn't know how long he was with her. The cold cloths were great at first, but after awhile the comfort they brought was minimal. The hotter she became, the more agitated her movements.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, the logical part that seemed to watch from afar, she knew her movements weren't helping, but nor could she stop them. Bending her knees, stretching her legs, fretfully pushing at the hands that continued to relentlessly wipe her down with damp cloths.

  Cool air blew into her face, and dimly she realized that Shaque must have found and turned on the extra air circular.

  "Shaque..."

  "I'm here."

  Time drifted in a heat haze.

  At some time, she became aware of a deep voice calling to her, big hands running over her body, a huge palm on her forehead. Shaque talking to someone else.

  Opening her eyes a fraction, she found herself gazing up into Byron's strong face, the Saalm medic who had cared for her for a while now, and relief filled her. Another two Saalm medics were behind him, readying a floating stretcher.

  Beside them Shaque was dwarfed. The Saalm men were as big and muscular as their friends, the Daamen men, but without the rough, piratical appearance. Their hair was confined at their napes in neat ponytails, their sleeveless tunics belted at the waist, their pants white and of a finer material than the coarser pants the Daamens wore. The Saalms were warriors, and their medics among the best in the galaxy.

  "Byron..."

  "Here.” His green eyes swam before her unfocused gaze. He took her hand, gave it a squeeze.

  "It's worse..."

  "Stay quiet. We'll take care of you."

  Red heat filled her vision and with a groan she closed her eyes. Vaguely she felt someone lifting her, then a cool mattress beneath her. A sharp sting in her arm followed by a cold stream of something in her veins.

  Not enough, still not enough.

  Arching up, she reached out, and a warm hand took hers. Even without looking, without having to see, she knew it was Shaque. His hand wasn't as big as the Saalms, but the strength in the grip was reassuring.

  Voices fading in and out, the flash of sunlight on her face, the cool darkness of the medic centre.

  But all the time the heat, burning her, flaring through her body and threatening to consume her.

  "Open your eyes."

  "No.” She didn't want to.

  "Elyse, open them,” Byron ordered, his voice louder, coming through the hot layers that bound her.

  "No.” She resisted the call, not wanting to open them.

  Scared to open her eyes.

  Scared of what he'd see, what he'd tell her.

  "Elyse. Open them. Now."

  "Byron...” The choking in her own voice was something she hated, but she couldn't stop the waver of it.

  "Now, Elyse.” His tone brooked no argument.

  Taking a shuddering breath, she lifted her eyelids and met his assessing gaze. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did he give his thoughts away, but his orders came fast and decisive.

  Insistent heat washed through her again, a flush of fire, making her arch up and grip the sides of the medic bed.

  "Easy, Elyse.” Big hands on her shoulders pushed her flat onto the stretcher, more hands holding her knees down as she writhed. “Easy. Try to relax."

  Relax? That was a joke that wasn't even funny.

  This time the heat that rolled through her was hotter, fiercer, almost at boiling point, and she started to fight against the hands that sought to hold her to the bed. She twisted, grabbing at the thick wrists, shoving them away. When those hands, uncomfortably hot, refused to shift, the frustration started to turn to anger.

  And anger was so very dangerous.

  Even as she tried to twist away from the hands that held her, she let out one desperate warning. “Byron!"

  "Hold her down,” Byron said tersely.

  The fire in her veins fueled her anger. “Let go!"

  "Get the drug into her. Now."

  "Damn you, I said let go!” She thrust upwards, and felt the pressure on her shoulders and legs brought down harder.

  "Elyse, stop fighting!"

  * * * *

  Standing in the doorway, Shaque watched the four medics attend to Elyse. Lying on the medic bed, surrounded by them, she seemed dwarfed. But there was nothing even remotely amusing about it, not when he saw her fighting them. Not when he saw their muscles start to bulge as two held her down, while a third inserted an intravenous needle into her arm and Byron injected some substance into her.

  There was nothing funny about the grimness of the men's faces, nor the way the two holding her down had to exert more pressure.

  Part of him wanted to go in and protest, but his cold, calm side made him watch, gauging the scene, study Elyse, take in what was happening. It was more than obvious that her so-called illness was nothing new to these medics.

  They'd been waiting when Shaque had landed the ship, and they'd needed no instruction on where to go. Unerringly it was straight to her cabin, and everything had happened fast and orderly.

  Now he stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest, and watched, missing nothing. One of the giant Saalms should have been able to hold Elyse down easily, but two would have seemed a little excessive if he hadn't seen it for himself. Which simply made him wonder exactly what was happening with Elyse, and what the impact would be to him.

  He needed her, simply because she was the only lead he had, the only hope of finding his sister, or what had happened to her.

  The thrashing on the bed was quietening down as whatever drug Byron had given her filled her system. The medics relaxed their holds on her, one of them moving to a door in the wall. When he opened it, cold air poured forth. Retrieving a folded sheet from it, he returned to Elyse's side and draped the cold sheet over her, covering her from neck to feet.

  Byron was talking quietly to her, taking her pulse, slipping
several rings attached to a long lead onto her fingers before slipping her hand back beneath the cold sheet. The lead was attached to a small machine on a trolley beside him, and the readouts given on the screen were way beyond what Shaque could understand.

  Elyse was able to answer Byron now, and even though Shaque couldn't hear exactly what she said, he could hear the quaver in her voice. And that surprised him. Could Elyse possibly be crying?

  At that moment she turned her head and looked directly at him from between the two medics that were bent over her, one sliding another IV needle into the vein of her other arm, while another was taking a patch of some kind and sticking it to her thigh, which was revealed by the sheet being pulled aside to bare her leg.

  She looked directly at Shaque through eyes that burned a hot red. Eyes that had no irises, the whites completely obliterated, making the black of her pupils startling, frightening.

  Even as he met her gaze, he saw the drop of blood trickle from her nostril, saw the medic closest to her blot it away with quick, efficient moves, just as he blotted the next drop away and the next.

  Slowly she turned to look up at the ceiling again, closing her eyes briefly, and Shaque saw the watery red tear that slipped from beneath her lowered eyelids.

  Byron wiped it away with a gentle hand, his gaze flicking up to Shaque as Elyse whispered something to him. With a frown, Byron nodded to one of the medics, who turned and approached Shaque.

  "You need to wait outside,” the medic said bluntly.

  "Is she all right?” Shaque asked.

  The medic blocked his view by placing his big body directly before Shaque. “Out."

  The Saalms obviously didn't intend to waste time on answering questions, but Shaque wasn't about to give up so easily. “I'm her travelling companion; I have a right to know."

  The medic's brows lowered. “Out."

  "What's going on with—"

  "She needs our attention now,” the big medic growled. “I don't have time to waste with you. She'll tell you what she wants to later.” Reaching up, he flicked a switch. Shaque stepped back as the door slid into place, effectively cutting him off from the treatment room. Rubbing his chin, he stared thoughtfully at the door, then simply shrugged and sat down in one of the big armchairs that stood against the far wall.