9. Bambi
BAMBI
The itching feeling that something’s wrong has been bothering me for the last hour, and being unable to fall asleep is pushing me from annoyed to mad the longer I lie here.
I’m not hungry, thirsty, or overly anxious, but something is just off.
Huffing in frustration, I fling the covers off and slip out of bed before pulling on the clothes I left lying out.
Maybe a glass of something warm from the dining hall will help?
Quietly exiting my room, I try to remember where Heather said the communal areas are.
Hoping I’m going the right way, I tiptoe down the hall.
Oddly though, the sense of disquiet gets worse the farther I go.
By the time I reach the door at the end of the corridor, my heart is pounding in my chest, and something is telling me to hurry. That there isn’t much time left.
Time left for what, though?
Without conscious thought, I swipe my hand across the access panel to the helm room… and the unconscious body of Bikar slumped in the pilot’s seat.
My first instinct is to turn around and run right back out the door, but this weird feeling in my chest holds me immobile despite my fear of men…
and Bikar in particular. I’m in no way equipped to deal with this, but that sense of wrongness propels me slowly into the room towards him.
Taking a few hesitant steps closer, the door slides shut behind me with a definitive click, making me flinch.
Squinting, I realize that dark blood is steadily flowing out of both Bikar’s nostrils, ears, and eyes.
I’m not a doctor, but even I know bleeding like that is bad.
Bikar is unconscious, which, given his current condition, is probably a blessing.
But what’s even more disturbing is the fact that his hand appears to be fused into that damn data block, and he’s got some sort of cords plugged into his back!
This is so far outside my comfort zone it’s not even funny.
Whatever this idiot has done, it’s clearly killing him. His body is jerking erratically every few seconds, and the color is leeching from his vibrant turquoise skin. Bikar is a moron, but there are people who love him dearly and would miss him if he were to die.
Not that I’m one of them.
Definitely not…
Right?
Taking the last step forward, I’m right beside him and can see he’s in worse shape than I initially thought.
The wounds from the beating he took from Murgul—Vrog—haven’t healed, and now his life force seems to be rapidly draining out in front of me.
The tics and muscle spasms are getting worse, almost like he’s on the verge of a seizure.
“Right. Well, I can’t say that technology was ever my thing, but I’ve always heard folks say, ‘Have you tried turning it off and back on again,’ which normally involved unplugging the machine. So… let’s try that.”
Great, now I’m talking to myself again.
Moving around his chair, I carefully avoid the sharp spikes that cover his entire back, give the slits that hide his wings a curious glance, and tentatively wrap both hands around two of the cords plugged into his back via some sort of port-looking things.
The only thing I can compare them to is a cell phone charger.
Gently, I pull them from his back and only gag a little at the squelching sound they make when they release.
Seconds later, I have all six of them out, and I can see that his large body has stopped twitching, but the blood is still flowing from the various places on his face. “Okay, well, at least you’re not jerking around like a marionette anymore.”
My eyes fall next to the data block in his hand. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but the little brick-looking thing is inside his hand. Like his body partially absorbed it. “How the hell am I supposed to get that out of you?”
Glaring at his stupid, unconscious, handsome face, I try to suss out how to help. “Fuck it. This will either work or it won’t.”
Taking a deep breath, I reach out and grab the tangible edge of the data block and sigh in relief when it slips out of his hand, becoming fully corporeal the second it loses contact with his skin. To my relief, his color instantly starts improving.
Holding it up between my index finger and thumb, I look at it warily before carefully laying it down on the console in front of us. Wiping my hand on my pants, I shudder. “Nasty thing. Odd that something so small could cause so many problems.”
Turning back, I take a moment to really look at Bikar. His personality is… overwhelming to say the least when he’s conscious, so now that he’s not actively dying, I decide to take my time checking out the alien that’s allegedly meant to be my one true love.
His face is… interesting.
A full black beard hides small horns along his jaw and matches the waist-length hair he keeps tied up in a topknot, similar to photos of samurai warriors I saw in history books from the local library back home.
Small braids with beads and ornaments are also scattered throughout his tresses.
Peering closer, I see that the tip of his left tusk is gone, and his nose has a distinct break in the middle, creating a definitive crook in the once clean line.
Snickering at the damage Einar clearly refused to heal, I resume my perusal.
Dual curved, two-point horns emerge from a thick, armored brow that protrudes slightly over his eyes, creating a bit of a recess to protect them from potential damage.
Looking at his horns, I have to admit they’re fascinating.
Einar, Murgul, and Bikar are the only three of the brothers who have them, but they’re all different from one another.
Einar’s are massive, Murgul’s deadly, and Bikar’s…
well, they’re almost pretty. As if they’re more ornamental instead of utilitarian.
Running my gaze down his arms, I’m surprised to see the backs of his hands are covered in scales the same color as his skin but are edged in a pretty shimmering gold.
The ends of his fingers have barely noticeable slits in them, and I realize he’s got claws just like Murgul does.
His pants-covered lower limbs are shaped like mine instead of the ankle joint bending backwards like Murgul’s, and his feet are covered in a massive pair of combat boots.
Raising my gaze back up, my eyes land on the pitch-black mating collar that I’ve been studiously avoiding.
The bold, flowing black lines disappear beneath the waistline of his pants, and I fight off a blush at the thought that it might go lower.
I’ve never seen a naked human man, and my mind can’t comprehend what Bikar might look like without clothes.
Tracing the marks back up his torso, I see there isn’t much of his chest, abdomen, and neck that isn’t covered with curving symbols.
Leaning closer, I realize that the thick band around his neck extends up into his dark beard and disappears over his shoulders to his back.
“See something that you like, little Starshine?”
The sardonic question in his roughly quiet voice makes me freeze in place, and apprehension surges through me when I realize he’s awake. Raising nothing but my eyes, I see two slits of blazing gold staring at me contemplatively.