4. Reckless Peril
4
Reckless Peril
Ki’REMI
‘ M y father was a healer. My grandfather was a famed physician. His father was a doctor of biological diseases: my ancestors, witchmen.’
The Rider paused momentarily before continuing, ‘So it was natural that everyone thought I’d be a medic. At first, I rejected my calling. War opened my eyes to the suffering and the need to save lives. I took up my purpose, eyes wide open, which led me to join the military as an Eden Guard physician. That same ambition drives me today. My DNA and impetus are undeniable. They give me a reason to get up, be methodical, and push through long, arduous surgeries and shifts. If you desire a career like mine, count the cost and find the drive and aspiration to determine whether this path is for you.’
A round of murmurs, a smattering of applause, and a few stricken faces stared down at the speaker from the gallery as the timbred rasp faded.
Ki’Remi turned away from the tiered observation level and to his patient.
She lay unconscious and under anesthesia in a hover bed at the center of Theater One.
Around her thrummed the murmur of life-support systems, the hiss of oxygen regulators, and the subtle whir of precision robotics in standby mode.
The frail young woman’s skin was almost translucent under the bioluminescent lighting, her vitals steady but precarious.
An advanced bio-stasis gel surrounding her chest sustained her failing ventricular system. Along with an artificial pump fed oxygenated blood through her system, buying time. But not much.
Ki’Remi kept speaking, addressing the throng.
Most were students keen to learn the delicate intricacies of cardiac reconstruction from a famed surgeon who wielded control with an unshakable, uncompromising, and exacting command.
‘This is a class-seven myocardial reconstruction for a young Allorian woman, Miss Zera Okaban,’ he stated. ‘The patient’s heart walls are compromised due to genetic degradation. We’ll be utilizing the P-98 synthesis graft to reinforce ventricular function. Incision and stabilizer activation will commence—’
A metallic hiss of the sterilization door cut through his words.
His spine tightened.
He swiveled his head, his scowl deepening as he spotted who stepped in.
His soul jolted.
Nada. Not her.
He swore the air shifted, and for a millisecond, an arc of bright energy and light raced through the room, disappearing into the ether.
Issa Elaris.
Shida , trouble, a walking menace.
A fokkin ’ disruption.
She strode into the room even as his narrowed eyes tracked her in, her presence a distraction he didn’t need.
Her golden curls bounced beneath the surgical cap, honey-toned skin glowing under the sterile lights.
She moved with grace, hips swinging, as if she were strolling into a casual briefing and not a high-stakes operation.
Fokk . This woman was a swaying msumbufu , a rambling headache.
A jolt hit him right in his plexus and below the belt, sending scorching desire through his traitorous body.
He sensed it every fokkin ’ time they clashed in team meetings, eased around the other in the bar, or brushed past each other in the hallways.
Even last night, in his sleep. Hell.
The bags under his eyes and his restless slumber were due to her insertion into his dreams.
Her eyes, crowned with long dark lashes, fluttered at him.
Her mask crinkled with a damn smile as she snapped on her gloves.
Even the jar-shaped pendant earrings swirled with luminous red, pink, and gold ions she always wore mesmerized the fokk out of him.
Twinkling at him.
Winking as if teasing him.
Ki’Remi exhaled and sucked his teeth, freakin ’ annoyed.
‘What are you doing here?’
His timbre was a growl, rough with restrained disdain.
She glanced at him whilst moving to the opposite sterilization station, scrubbing in as if she belonged. ‘Filling in. Mr. Trevayne had an emergency reassignment.’
His jaw clenched.
Trevayne was his co-surgeon and a steady, logical partner in the theater.
Unlike her.
‘I can manage without you. This procedure doesn’t require two leads,’ he muttered, his aggravation annoying his nerves.
Issa arched a brow as she pulled on her surgical mask, her tone infuriatingly cheerful. ‘Admiral’s orders. Can’t argue with command, can you, Sable?’
His fingers curled into a fist before he forced them to relax.
He was the freakin’ head honcho. Why had no one consulted with him on the reassignment?
He made a note to speak to the Admiral afterward.
She took her place across from him.
Twas still too damn close because even in the sterile environment, he caught a trace of citrus from her skin.
His lips pressed into a hard line.
‘I assume you’re prepared?’
His growl was stern, unrelenting.
She grinned. ‘Wouldn’t have scrubbed in if I wasn’t. Thoughtful speech, by the way. Very rousing for the interns and junior doctors.’
Ki’Remi inhaled, turning his face toward the fan so the aseptic air cooled his heated vexation.
Issa was everything he couldn’t stand in a surgeon.
Too lighthearted.
Too impulsive.
Too freakin’ untamed in theater.
He glanced at the holo-screens where physicians from all over Pegasi observed via Sysnet, then up to the gallery where his students sat, waiting for him to begin.
Fokk. Fine.
There was nothing to be done now about her presence.
At least she was competent enough for him to trust her to make the right calls most of the time.
A holo scalpel materialized in his gloved hand, presented by the surgical drone.
‘Let’s get this over with.’
Issa, damn her, just winked at him.
Fervor came over him, and he canted his eyes away from her, loathing how she got under his dusky skin.
Detesting that she was here, he took a deep breath to regulate his lust.
Because despite his absolute control over this operating room, she was the only variable he might never reasonably predict.
ISSA
She wondered for the umpteenth time why the fokk she was still hanging in there, doing this shit, beaming smiles, and spreading sprinkles of sunshine?
When, on most days, veiled by her cheerful mask, she was dead to the world, at least on the inside.
For a power far beyond anything Pegasi had ever seen or imagined had its talons buried deep.
It was sucking the essence of life and clawing into a soul she adored so much that it might as well have been her agony.
It would not let go, and she had no answers to get it off their back.
‘Cept to buy time until she came up with an answer, the way forward.
Which meant that what she was about to do was inevitable.
There was no other way.
However, today, of all days, he was the freakin’ lead surgeon .
There was no pulling the wool over his eyes.
She was well aware of how much he was observing her, waiting for a misstep.
Still, Issa was no grunt. This was one of hundreds of surgeries she’d either led herself or assisted.
She was a damn fine specialist, one of the best, and she knew it.
Hell, she had operated on powerful, supernal immortals, for Devansi’s sake.
Yet now she quaked on the inside because working with him left her ragged.
Heck, he strained her nerves and drove her soul wild.
Commander Ki’Remi Sable.
A full-fledged meta in his enigmatic, untamed supremacy and sheer beauty.
Also, a sawbones with the bedside manner of a malfunctioning war mech.
The one senior medic with the attention to detail she didn’t need in her face today.
Mr. Precision.
Dr. Brooding.
Blazin’ Spicy McSpicy.
Twas what the entire nurse contingent and a considerable percentage of the doctors onboard called him.
They sighed when he strode past, eyes limp, mouths salivating at his drop-dead gorgeousness.
‘Who is having that demi-god’s baby?’ one whispered earlier that shift to Issa at the nurses’ station. ‘Because I fokkin ’ volunteer.’
Now, Issa exhaled as she stood across from him in profound irritation, masking her trepidation with a faux smile.
Her eyes were on him as he adjusted the laser scalpel with an obsessive meticulousness.
Despite his savage-handsome magnificence, Ki’Remi Sable always managed to appear perfect and freakin’ neat.
He was like a dark god of logic and control, yet with an undercurrent of wild abandon.
He loomed tall and imposing, with sculpted angles and smooth, honey-gold skin.
A mane of inky locks crowned his head, hidden under his surgical head scarf.
He wore them in a bun or tight cords when not in the surgical suite.
However, he let them fall loose off shift, trailing lush and glossy down past his shoulders. Today, a braid trailed down his back. It was shot with gilded highlights and almost compelled her to run her fingers over it.
Stroke-fokkin-worthy.
Matching iridescent silver, gold, and metallic hues flashed on his beard, squared jaw, and mustache.
She raked her eyes over him.
Imagining what lay under his scrubs.
Fokk , the man had muscles for days.
He didn’t just have them; he wielded them. His entirety of him appeared sculpted for precision, just like his annoyingly meticulous surgeries.
His hands hinted at the patterns of his meta-infused, stunning, abstract, and gleaming tattoos, which were in the shape of evocative astral constellations.
She imagined them weaving and encircling his body like a map to the stars.
However, she didn’t need her mind’s eye to appreciate his facial features.
His lips were full, his cheekbones high, and his nose prominent and flaring as he glared at her.
His forehead was a fortress, his brows dense and unyielding, but it was his eyes that snatched her breath and stilled all movement around her.
Holy Sivania , she thought every time their eyes locked, and her entire freakin’ soul fell into pools of molten silver flecked with flashes of even more gold.
Each spark in his deep-set eyes appeared charged with a wild star-like band.
They pulsed with electrified centers that graduated in color and frequency, glowing as they seemed to flow from his corneas toward her.
His life force was potent and irradiated from him in waves.
Twas unfair. No man was allowed to be that gorgeous and equally insufferable because his surgical approach, one of cold, demanding scientific rigor, grated on her.
To her, practicing medicine was part art, part instinct. It was about knowing when to push, pause, and trust beyond numbers and brutal, rigid facts.
With Ki’Remi Sable, everything had to be measured, calculated, and surgically exact, and he was a pain in the ass about it.
An over-analytical, micromanaging, control-obsessed ice block.
A walking complication with a superiority complex.
The most unbearable, boorish man in the entire accursed fleet.
A scalpel-wielding black hole where bedside manner went to die.
Yet now, here she was, stuck with him for this surgery.
It’d taken some maneuvering, but earlier, she scored the spot with effort, only to find Commander Sable was the lead after the fact.
The universe freakin’ hated her.
‘Don’t screw this up,’ he muttered.
Issa rolled her eyes, ignoring how her pulse spiked at the sound of his bass timbre.
‘Charming as always, Sable. Ever consider leading with encouragement instead of condescension?’
Ki’Remi didn’t even glance at her. ‘Encouragement is for people who need it.’
She huffed. ‘Right, and you emerged from the womb knowing everything.’
‘Close enough.’
His rasp was flat, his focus all on the Allorian woman lying unconscious before them.
Issa gritted her teeth.
Prick.
‘Scalpel,’ he rumbled, extending his hand towards her.
She jolted and glared at him. ‘The autobot -.’
‘Scalpel,’ he restated, his palm extended.
His sleeve slipped, and she glimpsed his skin in the gap.
Those mesmerizing, shifting inked tatts shifted over his honey-gold skin, emphasizing his impossibly muscled and rippling forearms.
‘Scalpel,’ he murmured, and she jerked her eyes up from his hand to his silver aureate eyes.
His timbre now held a touch of amusement and tolerance, calm and controlled like he’d give her until the end of time to react.
While enjoying the flush that she sensed blooming over her cheeks.
His eyes flicked over her, and his brow arched, waiting for her to get with the program.
‘ Fokk ,’ she whispered under her breath.
‘Language, Elaris, we’re beaming across Pegasi.’
She sucked her teeth and turned to hand him the implement from the waiting trolley.
She mused that if she had the choice, she would not be trapped with an arrogant bastard of an Edenite who taunted her in limited, growled, token phrases.
While the man was fine as they got, his freakin’ disposition required an upgrade.
They worked in tense silence, interrupted only by the rhythmic pinging of the monitors and the murmur of the surgical drones standing by.
The procedure was straightforward until it wasn’t.
Halfway through the reconstruction, the patient’s vitals plummeted.
The beeping turned frantic.
Ki’Remi barked out orders. ‘She’s in ventricular arrest. Adrenal shot, now.’
The autobot responded.
Still nada .
‘Auto defibrillation,’ the Sableman growled.
The med bot went to work, unleashing a pair of sterilized paddles that glided around the heart to deliver an electrical shock to the dying muscle.
Once twice, still nothing.
‘Let me,’ Issa called out.
Before Ki’Remi had the chance to object, she inserted her hands into the chest wall. She went for old-fashioned resuscitation, palming and massaging the pulmonary tissue inside the patient’s chest.
Nada.
The Allorian woman’s skin turned an unnatural yellowed pallor.
‘Still nada ,’ the Rider snapped, scanning the biometrics. ‘Damn it.’
Issa swore under her breath.
Allorians had notoriously fragile myocardial structures.
Their hearts functioned with an intricate lattice of bio-conductive fibers that self-regulated electrical impulses.
If one barrier failed, the entire system might crash.
Just then, her chrono buzzed on her wrist.
She glanced at it and perceived the inner panic she’d been hiding this long bubble to the surface.
72.07.
The numerals ticking faster upward with every second teased her.
She peeked at the handsome surgeon across the table and, with a sigh, sent a quick logic nudge through her empathic node.
Fokk , she had no other play left but this.