185. Machta
185
Machta
M aya
I stand perfectly still as I consider his words. I must admit, there’s definitely something wrong with him. He’s panting and so weak he’s sagged against the door.
Maybe if he had more energy, he’d be harming me right now, but that seems the farthest thing from his mind. If he’s not a threat, he could help me live through this game. I need to find out about my friends, but perhaps more importantly, I need to understand what’s going on.
“Tell me about machta .” I say, hoping he can understand what I’m asking. “ Machta ,” I repeat.
“You’re covered in blood,” he rasps between pants.
Perhaps because of the caustic roach spit and being snatched up and carried over A’Dar’s shoulder, I’d completely forgotten my near-death experience in the kitchen
“You’ve discovered the cleansing unit. Put your clothing into the bin beside the door and it will be clean when you are done.”
His last words were barely louder than a whisper. He’s getting weaker by the minute. I’ll hurry.
I worried I’d be baffled by the bathroom tech, but I have to do little more than strip and step into what is clearly a shower. I try not to pay attention as a living being’s blood washes down the drain, reminding myself I had no choice but to kill the female who was hell-bent on killing me.
After stepping out, a pleasant blast of warm air dries me in 30 seconds flat. As promised, my underwear, clothes, and the extra-large coveralls are clean and dry—bloodstains magically gone.
It’s only now I see my right palm is bleeding. Profusely. I thought all the blood was the blue bitch’s. My adrenaline, the cockroaches, the near-death experiences, this alien, have all combined to make me so focused on survival I didn’t realize how badly I was injured. Maybe the warm water started the bleeding again.
Shit.
Using my teeth, I tear off the bottom of my now-clean t-shirt and try to tie it around my palm. Too bad I don’t have another hand.
I quickly pull on my human clothes and return to the cabin.
Holding up my hand, I ask, “Got a first aid kit?” hoping he’ll understand me.
“Come here,” he beckons.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I mutter.
Dear God, the male is so big. Sick or not, the thought of going closer is terrifying.
“I’m in machta with you. From what I’ve read, my saliva will heal your wound.”
This all sounds like a double helping of bullshit to me, but I need medical treatment. Now that I know I’m bleeding, and I see my blood already seeping through the makeshift bandage, I’m feeling weak.
“I won’t hurt you. I swear to Alamon-Dah.”
I don’t know who Alamon-Dah is, but I’m going to take A’Dar at his word.
He’s beckoning me with one hand. The way he winces when he motions, speaks to how sick he is.
I ease toward him, never taking my gaze from him, but he just pats the floor next to him, then shuts his eyes and pants through his mouth.
I ease next to him and lift my hand.
“It needs stitches,” I say, even though I know he can’t understand me.
His touch is surprisingly gentle as he unwraps the t-shirt fabric. Because it was black, it was hard to see, but it’s already sopping with my blood.
He slowly lifts my hand to that tusky mouth of his. I whimper as I wonder what I was thinking, trusting a beast like this. But really, what choice do I have?
“I’m going to lick your wound if that’s okay,” he says, then waits.
“Yes.” I nod to ensure he understands me.
His tongue snakes out and just the tip slides along the cut. It travels from one side of my palm to the other. I don’t know how I didn’t even feel it when I was sliced. My hand must have slipped in the chaos and I accidentally cut myself with my own knife.
As he delicately licks, his eyes shutter and he moans. Now he’s lapping with the broad flat of his tongue. I watch as the gap in the skin closes right in front of my eyes. After a minute more, the flesh seems to knit together, healing completely in just this short time.
“How did you do that?” I ask when he releases me. I hold my hand in front of my face, unable to see there had ever been an injury.
“I’m in machta , Maya. With you.”