by Celia Kyle
“Grace, this one’s got four lungs and two spleens? I think,” Carla called out to her. “I think there’s internal bleeding in… somewhere.”
Grace approached the wounded male. Not man because Preors were males. How did she know that?
“Grace I think I found the lung that’s punctured and maybe one of his spleens? But—”
“Lungs are called luuq. If it’s only one, he’ll be fine until the healers can get here,” she responded without hesitation, no doubt in her mind that a Preor’s lungs were called luuq and that they could survive without one or two until assistance came. Losing three was tricky but as long as they didn’t shift or try to fly, they’d be fine. “Focus on his spleen—ewae. If both are damaged, we need to prep him for surgery.”
“Grace…” Brooke’s tone was timid, soft.
Grace didn’t spare her a glance, not when she drew nearer to the downed… she narrowed her eyes and stared at the straps that crossed his chest, at the insignia on the one that laid over his right shoulder. The Preor Primary Warrior.
How…
She didn’t have time for questions. Really. Not when the male on the bed jerked and twitched, eyes closing while a deep moan escaped his lips. She stopped hesitating and went into action, reaching for safety scissors from a nearby tray as she approached. “Help me strip him. I don’t like the look of his leg and color’s changing.”
And not in a good way.
Grace whispered the warrior’s blessing while she snipped his chest straps. She still wasn’t addressing the fact that she knew Preor. Or that if someone removes a warrior’s straps, they should say the blessing in honor of the warrior.
She peeled one katoth strap away and then the other, blood flowing freely from a wound that’d been hidden by the tanned hide.
“I need a kit over here and a dozen NPs!” Possibly more than a dozen nanopads. She ran her fingers along his side, feeling the ridges and textures that made a Preor’s body different than a human’s. “Fuck. Something punctured one of his…” what was the word for kidney? “koiy and it needs to come out. Someone scrub up.”
“Nurse Hall?” Ugh. Doc Dick. “We have patients who need your care.”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
She could practically feel his revulsion ripple through the air, caressing her with its sticky, disgusted fingers. He didn’t consider the Preors “patients.”
Her assumption was confirmed with his next words. “Human patients.”
Grace spun on him, curling her lip at the doctor who ruled the ER with a speciesist iron fist. Well, not today. Something inside her gave her the strength to deny him. She was probably losing her job anyway since she was a nurse and not a doctor, but she couldn’t allow injured to go untreated.
“Unless you’re here to help, leave.”
The doctor straightened his spine and stared down at her. “You are not a surgeon.”
“No, Dr. Richards, I’m not, but I know a fuck of a lot more than you do right now.” Yeah, she still wasn’t addressing that whole thing. Better to do her job and ask questions later.
Like how she knew what to do, what to say, where to snip and tug to remove his koiy without damaging the delicate tissues of one of his hyots.
Without another word to Richards, she returned to her task, calling out orders and getting the team moving once more. The doc stood there, mouth hanging open and eyes widened in surprise.
Carla wiggled around him, trying to get into the space without dropping her burden and Grace snapped once more. “If you’re not going to help, get out.”
“You can’t—”
“Just did.” She held out her right hand, the left gently exploring the area around the largest wound. “Laser scalpel.”
It appeared. Hell, everything she asked for, appeared: scalpel, sealer, nanopad, and bandaging. She answered questions over one shoulder and then turned and yelled orders over the other.
The second she finished with the teal Preor, she moved to the next and then the next. They all switched gloves and scrubbed between patients, making sure there wasn’t cross-contamination in any way. The Preors didn’t have blood types in the same way that humans did, but there would be biological reactions to introducing incompatible blood. Infusion of incompatible blood could kill a human; it gave Preors a fever.
And when she thought of any harm coming to a Preor—her teal Preor—at her hand… She shuddered. She also decided she wasn’t going to address the “her” part of that thought.
Grace turned from the peach Preor she’d finished working on, the color reminding her of a Tampa sunset. She’d worked through the row in order of severity and he’d be fine. The delicate bones in his wings would have to be set on the Preor ship, but the repair would easily be completed by the ryaapir. Right. The med tables on the ship could repair his wing and that was called a… ryaapir.
When this was over, she really needed to figure this shit out.
For now, she shuffled to the next patient, swaying on her feet. Small, firm hands gripped her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze before directing her to the next curtain. Carla held her upright, but Brooke laid out what she’d need. The others were there, too. Scurrying around, cleaning up after Grace while she did her job. Fuck that, the doctors’ job.
When she finally shuffled to a stop beside the last warrior, she gave him a small smile, meeting his pain-glazed eyes. “I’m sorry I took so long to get to you. Let’s see what’s going on.”
Shouts down the hall reached her, words that were alien, yet not, filling her ears. Dr. Richards’ voice joined in, proclaiming his innocence and blaming everything on Grace.
If any of your people die, it’s not the fault of this hospital.
Pussy bastard son of a whore. No, wait, that was an insult to a whore.
The thud of boots pounding on tile echoed off the hallway’s walls, booming through the space and overriding the monotonous beeps of her machines.
But she had a patient and no matter the identity of the newcomers, she’d do what she could for him. “Tell me where it hurts.”
There was just too much blood smeared on him to tell.
“Nurse Hall!” She ignored Dr. Richards. “I demand you—”
His voice cut off suddenly and she almost thanked whoever silenced the man.
“Healer Hall?” The tone was respectful—strong without being condescending or irritating. Considering other people merely breathing inched into her “fuck off and die” irritation zone, that was saying something.
The patient under her care reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I am well, Healer Hall. Our healers can assist me now.”
She slowly turned, balance a little iffy at that point. She wasn’t sure how long she’d rushed around or how long she’d fought off the speciesist human doctors, but she sure as hell felt the exhaustion dragging at her. A Master Healer stood before her with a few other second and third healers lined up behind them. Yes, they could more than care for her patients.
Of course, instead of thanking them for coming or updating them on the status of each male, she insulted them. “Took you fucking long enough.”
Then she passed out.
3
Kozav’s first thought upon waking was that if it would not cause an intergalactic incident, he would challenge those sons of a katoth to a battle to the death. They’d flown through Preor airspace without care and taken down his warriors. He recalled Detzan colliding with one of the osri—assholes—and the snap of a wing. The rest was lost in the clouds of pain and falling.
He groaned and tested his body, searching for lingering pain. His skin was tight, muscles stiff, and his wings ached, but no worse. The healers had performed their tasks well.
Except, his head. His head pounded in time with his heartbeat. He turned it and grunted with the new rush of throbbing pain. His mind remained clouded, covered in the early mist of morning as if Earth fog filled the area. His vision was blurred and he wondered if he’
d hit his head harder than the healers believed. He should be nearly healed by the ryaapir, but his sight remained elusive.
He shook his head once more, attempting to clear it of the lingering shroud, and grunted louder. What in the skies was wrong with him?
The sound of someone’s approach echoed through his head and he winced, moaning with each step as they neared. A brisk touch pulled on his eyelids, exposing his eyes to the room’s bright light, and he wrenched away.
Now he exposed himself as the weak dragonlet he was. Kozav’s jerk sent his stomach rising and his body rolling. The momentum combined with his weakness sent him over the edge of the platform and falling to the hard, metal plating beneath. He was not even able to catch himself on his hands and knees and tumbled into a heap.
“Primary Warrior?” One of the first healers, Yeem? Yazen? Yofol? Kozav could not remember. He would simply call the male “healer.” “Would you like assistance?”
Like? No. Was it necessary? It seemed so. But first he would try to rise on his own. Remaining in a sick bed was not a way for a warrior to heal. He pulled one arm close and then the other, getting them beneath him. He pressed up, shuddering when his arms straightened. He worked on his knees next, thankful he was able to stabilize himself.
His next step was to reach for the platform. He managed to get one hand on the edge, clutching the med table and using that grip to pull himself upright.
For a moment.
He stumbled to the left and then slumped to the right, managing to rest his upper body on the platform.
Still Yeem-Yazen-Yofol kept his distance. Smart.
“What,” Kozav rasped, his dry throat scratching when he tried to talk. “Happened? Why…” Did he feel like a dragonlet recovering from a bout of the tantalakian flu?
“You have remained unconscious longer than the others, Primary Warrior. The humans were questioned but the female who treated you was unavailable to speak with us. Can you describe your symptoms?”
Everything is broken did not seem like the response he desired. “Head aches. Body aches. Everything… aches.”
“Her repairs were adequate if crude. We scanned you and found no evidence of continued injury. Is there a specific location that requires attention?” More steps, more pounding in Kozav’s head. “Your blood has been analyzed nine times and we did not find any explanation for your continued unconsciousness. Primary Healer Whelon has ordered a tenth test using one of the backup analyzers in the hold.”
As Taulan would say, he did not give a flying fekh about backup analyzers.
“Since you have awakened, we can discuss your symptoms and discover your illness.” The beep of the healer’s tablet had Kozav wincing.
Yes, he would love to know what was wrong with him. Then they could fix whatever—
Knowing.
Kozav’s stomach heaved, the word coming from a stranger—but not—inside his head.
“Are you feeling cool in a warmed room?”
Could he have experienced the Knowing while unconscious?
“No.”
“Are you feeling warm in a cool room?”
Where did he meet her? When?
“No.”
“Are you feeling sickened by food?”
Had he claimed her? He would have recalled such a thing, surely.
“Primary Warrior?” Yeem-Yazen-Yofol tried for his attention once more but Kozav was still too preoccupied with the Knowing.
The Knowing. The genetic memory of his people. It was too much for a single Preor to shoulder, which was why it didn’t appear until a Preor found his mate. Together, they could handle the full weight of the knowledge imparted.
Kozav’s wings fluttered in agitation, his body urging him to move while his mind attempted to process the thoughts; tried to process the information flooding his head.
The Knowing persisted—and it was the Knowing—leaving him unable to do no more than breathe. This feeling would only get worse with each passing second. The Knowing gave him a list of problems associated with being separated from his mate and a cold sweat broke out over his flesh.
Madness for a Preor, but the last item in the list of consequences gave him the strength to stand upright.
Death.
A non-Preor mate could not survive without the support of a Preor when the Knowing struck.
He swayed slightly on his feet but did not fall. Barely.
“How long have I been on the ship?”
“Approximately ten Earth hours, Primary Warrior.”
“Ten hours since I was injured,” he murmured. Ten Earth hours. Was she still alive? Yes. Yes, she was. The Knowing still flooded him, so she had to still be breathing, her heart beating. But how badly did she suffer? The Knowing answered the question for him—greatly.
“No, Primary Warrior. You were injured sixteen Earth hours ago.”
“I was on the surface—injured—and no one came to me? My warriors?” His warriors. He was so concerned for himself, for his mate, he should have—no. Females came before all else.
“Your injuries were the worst. The others recovered well. You and Warrior Detzan live because of Earth Healer Hall.”
“Healers on Earth are called doctors. Dr. Hall assisted us?”
Yeem-Yazen-Yofol frowned and flicked through his datapad, finger scraping on the surface and sending a bolt of agony through Kozav’s mind. The longer he remained awake—and separated from his mate—the worse his symptoms would become. He prayed to the skies he got to his mate before she was damaged beyond healing.
“Records indicate her Earth title to be Nurse, but she performed a surgery on Warrior Detzan that impressed even Master Hea—”
He did not care. Nurse or doctor, the male would answer his questions. He would tell Kozav of every person who came near while he remained dead to the world around him.
Kozav would find his mate. And this Hall would assist him.
4
Kozav would destroy the building itself if someone did not answer his questions. His head pounded in time with his rising heart rate and the urge to unsheathe his blades and run them through one of these humans grew with every breath.
“Where. Is. Hall?” One more denial and blood would be spilled. His fingers tingled with the urge to bare his claws, to show these healers who—what—they faced.
Preors did not do well without their mates. Considering he’d never expected to find one, deserve one after what he’d done in his past, he would not lose her now.
“I don’t know who you think you are—” A short, hairless man stepped forward, his round belly leading the way, and he looked to be no more than forty Earth years. To be so weak at such a young age… lazy. Purely lazy. It disgusted Kozav to speak with someone so weak. He had three hundred ninety-four years beneath his wings and still trained heavily.
When his skull did not feel as if it would split in two.
“I am Kozav sen Aghin.” He stepped forward and towered over the human. “Primary Warrior of the Third Preor Fleet, second only to War Master Taulan joi Lana Coburn and you will answer my questions.”
He widened his stance, spreading his wings while he crossed his arms. The man would see who he denied, would see the danger he faced. While Kozav did not slide his blades free, his long-time friend, Detzan, did. The gleaming metal came into sight from Kozav’s right side and then another’s—Choler, the ship’s Negotiate Master—appeared on his left. It surprised him that the normally cool-headed male interceded, but it should not. A mate for a Preor was a treasured gift. Denying a male that joy would not be tolerated.
Even a Negotiate Master could lose his head. Now utter silence reigned.
This Hall doctor repaired Choler’s injuries as well, managing to save his damaged ewae.
The quick clip of solid shoes on the smooth flooring broke through the unending quiet, a new man approaching from behind the lazy one in front of him. He dressed in what humans called a soo-t. A form of dress that usually meant he felt himself to be im
portant.
Kozav would wait and see.
When the newcomer finally stopped, he turned a smile on Kozav. He hated the man already. The expression was fake and dripped with gorsch. He could not think of the human word, only that it was disgusting and smelled horrible. “I understand we have a problem. Perhaps you gentlemen—”
“We are Preor,” Detzan snapped out the words.
“And we do not have a problem. Bring us Dr. Hall or we will locate him ourselves.” Kozav would destroy the building in the process.
The man’s expression did not waver. “We don’t have a Dr. Hall on staff. It’s possible you have the wrong hosp—”
“I think he’s talking about Grace.” A woman stepped out of a nearby room, easing from the shadows. “The doctors wouldn’t treat you guys and she’s the only one who took care of you all.“
“You won’t say another word, Nurse Butler. You will not open up this hospital to—”
Kozav stopped listening to the man and turned to the female. “Nurse Butler…”
“Carla,” she corrected him.
He rolled her name on his tongue, determined to remember it when he made his report and recommended her a commendation. She stood tall against the men, beneath their anger. Despite her trembling, she was a strong human female.
“Carla, tell me of Grace. Grace Hall?”
And he listened to the female’s hesitant words, watched as she cringed away from the suited man and round one. He did not think when he acted, merely responded to her distress. He shifted his stance, widening his wings as he stepped between the two men and her trembling body. When he got close, her scent infused him, but he smelled something else as well. An aroma that called to him and resonated with his soul. The Knowing surged, as if the blood memory wished to embrace the flavors. This human had been near his mate.
He lost track of her words, focusing only on that scent. “Where have you been recently?” he interrupted her. Carla jerked and he softened his voice. He’d forgotten what it was like to be around females. “Who have you touched recently?”