Chapter 7
My soapy balls itched beneath my towel, and though the humid air felt like it was a hundred degrees, icy panic chilled my bones. The only other person alive on this dead planet wanted to walk headfirst into whatever unnatural storm the Fires That Cleanse had brought on to hunt…for me?
I’d given up on rescue long ago, but with D’alton crashing into my life, I had to face some hard truths. Water ran from my tangled hair down my back. Some cowardly truths.
Why didn’t you tell him not to leave? That you don’t want to be alone?
“Sterling Peoples.” C’s voice pierced through the dreadful thoughts about to pull me under. “The substrate line is clogged in the Tig dome, preventing the water from reaching the d’ew. Please attend to this at your earliest convenience.”
Nothing was convenient in this mortuary. I kicked a crate, toppling a pile of rotting vegetables, gagging at their overripe stench. But staying busy might be the only thing that kept my sanity intact today. “On it, C.”
“Excellent, Sterling Peoples.”
First things first. I walked back inside and finished washing the soap off my balls.
The day crept by as I moved from one repair job to the next, distracting myself from thoughts of D’alton dying in progressively worse ways.
It didn’t work. Visions of his body buried in an avalanche of pink sand, eaten by mutated beasts and drowning in lakes turned to acid by the Fires That Cleanse plagued my mind.
The more I thought about him roaming a deserted wasteland, the more useless I felt.
Yeah, meat would be nice, but… I rubbed a finger over my neck where D’alton’s fangs had pierced my skin.
Tingling heat rolled through me as I relived the moment he’d latched on to my neck like a ravenous beast, lighting up my nerves like a meteor shower.
If he turned out to be some underage kid, I was gonna have to lock my ass up in thirty-one and never leave again.
I’d left the Tig dome for last, cursing when I couldn’t find the scented rag I wore over my nose in my pocket.
Picking up the long rake-squeegee thing, I scraped a path between the rows of vegetables dripping sour liquid from their blossoms, trying to make sense of D’alton’s actions, before jerking to a stop.
D’alton had lied.
And like a giant schmuck, I’d fallen for it and treated D’alton like an absolute ass.
Regret tied my stomach in knots. He needed more blood, and I hadn’t offered.
In my defense, he’d been eyeing my wet body as if it were candy, and that had raised my hackles more than anything.
Damn genetics. My looks and ability to breed were all anyone ever saw.
The day had come and gone. My crowning achievement had been completing my laundry and tidying up my small pod. As I hung my clean coveralls on the hooks lining the pod’s curved walls, I pictured the way D’alton had looked this morning wearing the black uniform assigned to the sentries.
Capable and alluring.
Where had he found the clothes? Or the bow and arrow?
The crates, of course. Trapped on level thirty-one for so long, most of my dreams had involved plundering the other floors for resources whenever my imprisonment ended.
Now most of them involved plundering a certain dark-skinned alien who looked at me with hot eyes.
Freedom lay at my fingertips. I could leave this compost heap at any time.
Except I couldn’t force my scared ass past the door most days, despite the wealth of resources the research station housed.
Though the suffocating need to wear the oxy tank didn’t overcome me every time I left my level anymore, the thought of encountering bodies still made me shudder. The only experience I had dodging rotting corpses to gather supplies came from video games. Fuck-load of help that was.
Yet D’alton had been brave enough to go straight back into the storm that had almost taken his life. He’d said “I’ll be back before you know it” as if to reassure me. Like staying behind required bravery.
That meant he was planning on returning today, right?
With a clean room, a full stomach and a respite from C bombarding me with emergencies, my restless foot tapped against the pod’s black floor grates.
I’d just take a quick spin up to level nine and see if he was back. I slung my tool belt around my hips, picked up D’alton’s ruined, but now clean jumpsuit and headed to his quarters.
A wave of heat slammed into me as the hovertube door swished open. Right away, a sense of purpose brought a lightness to my steps. I might not be able to go outside hunting yet or visit a level full of decomposing bodies, but I could fix the busted refrigerant cycler.
The dim floor lights lining the corridor glowed a soft orange as I strode toward D’alton’s room.
But when I knocked on his door, the lack of response had panic’s sticky fingers squeezing my throat in their cruel grip.
My body tensed as I glanced at my wristport.
Two moons. The sun had set two hours before.
Damn it! Where is he?
I forced myself to take a deep breath. He hadn’t said exactly when he’d return. Relax already. He could’ve been planning an overnight exploration.
After placing D’alton’s clothes in front of his door and taking another calming breath, I headed for the utility closet.
The circuitry checked out. Nothing wrong there.
Which meant I had a bigger problem on my hands if I wanted the temperature regulated on this floor.
I rubbed my gloved hands together, eager to tackle the puzzle.
When C chimed in with an elaborate checklist to troubleshoot the cooling system, I tuned her out, preferring to trust my instincts.
I lifted the center corridor floor grate and traced the thin refrigerant tubing with the thermal probe, testing for leaks.
After replacing that grate, I crawled to the next.
Hours later, knees aching and soaked in sweat, I located the cracked line.
I made quick work of repairing the leak—crimping the tube, wrapping it with a freeze-resistant plasmasteel coupler and expanding it with a magnet blaster.
Job done, I sat on my ass, shoulders slumped against the curved wall, and rubbed out the grate marks etched into my knees.
When I tapped my wristport, the screen showed eleven moons.
Dawn neared, and the fear I’d buffered against with busywork seeped back into my bones, icier than the cold air trickling through the vents.
I couldn’t be alone again.
Haunted by the thought, I forced myself to stand and staggered like a drunken sailor toward D’alton’s room, desperately hoping he’d been asleep when I knocked the first time.
My knuckles rattled on the hard plasmasteel door—nothing. Unnerved, I lifted my gaze from the folded clothes still stacked outside the door where I’d left them.
Two weeks ago, when C had deemed the air free of spores and said I could finally leave level thirty-one, she’d also given me universal clearance.
It was impossible to repair things in places I didn’t have access to.
Not that I’d ventured far. She’d been overly optimistic.
Though it was bad form to enter someone else’s room, I raised my palm to the scanner.
It was either that or spiral further into panic.
At the door’s swoosh, my breathing grew shallow and my heart rate kicked up a gear. Eyes darting everywhere and finding nothing, I rushed to the washroom. “D’alton?” The desperation in my voice echoed in the empty chamber. “Fuck.”
It had only been a day and a night, I rationalized as I sat on the corner of his bed. The thought of D’alton being snatched from the sky by an enormous winged lizard flashed through my mind. Goddamn my overactive imagination. I dropped my head into my hands and massaged my aching temples.
The crash site would have taken at least half a day to get to.
I jumped up and paced the length of his room, working out the timeline.
Then he would have had to look for a communicator, likely buried under three feet of frozen fucking sand.
I moved to the small sink and splashed cold water on my face.
He probably wouldn’t have had time to hunt for anything yet.
Not that he’d be able to see a damned thing out there, anyway.
“Jesus Christ.” I needed an alien with a hero complex about as badly as I needed a hole in the head. This mission crossed the line from brave into dumbass territory. Why hadn’t I tried to stop him?
I scrubbed my tired eyes with a bright white towel hanging from the bedpost. At this point, the towel I’d been using for months resembled a rag.
This one smelled delicious—a shocking contrast between musky and fresh, like watermelon and something else I couldn’t quite pin down, but that stirred a desire deep in my guts.
Exhausted, I plunked down on D’alton’s bed, unlaced my boots and slipped them off, along with my tool belt, determined to wait.
My head sank into D’alton’s pillow, and I adjusted my body from its cramped seated position to lying out, legs stretched. Shivering in the cooler air, I dragged his blanket over me and tucked it under my chin. Moments later, I drifted off, buried in his musky scent.
D’alton, plump black lips parted and purple tongue skating over them, crouched on the balls of his feet in front of me, like a predator about to attack.
His long tongue snaked over one fang, and my body lit up as if I’d touched a zing ring without gloves.
Stock-still, except for his flashing eyes and gliding tongue, he watched me.
“Are you afraid?”
His voice, deeper than usual, sent sparks of heat down my spine.
“Of what?” I asked, though fear was the furthest from my mind.
“Of a male who wants your blood.”
“Is that all you want?” Memories of his tongue lapping at my skin, the touch of his lips on my neck and the pull—straight to my balls—of D’alton drawing my blood had my heart racing.