Chapter 4
Chapter Four
When next Frey managed to open his eyes, he once more saw light. This, though, was more muted. The voices he heard were muffled as well. No more growls or grunts or screams or screeches.
“The healing compound I adhered should finish its job by the time you next wake. I assume it sleeps when you do, and while I don’t know anything about this species, the scans indicate many similarities with our biology. I believe that the medicinals I’ve administered will work well.”
“He’s not in any pain still, is he?” That was a familiar voice, low and harsh enough to raise goosebumps on Frey’s skin.
“He?”
“My pet.” Now the tone came close to a growl.
“Oh, of course. No, I don’t believe he is. Here are more medicinals to take with you to administer, if necessary.”
Frey moved his head carefully, not sure how much of him was injured and not wanting to put those pain meds he’d heard about to the test, trying to see who spoke.
While he’d had virtually no experience with Travian females, he thought it was one speaking.
The timbre of the voice was a little higher than he was used to hearing.
He couldn’t see her, however, or who she spoke to, although he knew it was Rone.
But Preen squatted on what served as Frey’s sick bed, and that’s who Frey focused his blurry vision on.
A smile broke out on the creature’s face, and Frey returned the expression.
“I’m glad you’re all right.” It was probably the most openly authentic thing he’d said or even felt since his capture. The idea that the small creature might have risked its life to help Frey only to be killed in the effort made Frey’s heart ache.
“You’re awake.” A large, pale face with endless shiny black where eyes should have been loomed into sight and peered down at Frey.
For the second time in the space of a few seconds, Frey felt relieved.
Even though he already knew that Rone lived, he could tell now that the Travian had survived the ambush relatively unscathed.
While his tunic was a little worse for the wear, no cuts or bruises marred his skin.
He seemed perfectly fine. In an unguarded moment born from the lingering intensity of the attack and perhaps the narcotic coursing through his veins, Frey smiled up at his master.
“I’m glad you’re all right, too.” Something inside him told him he should clamp his mouth shut, turn away and pretend he hadn’t just blurted out that inconvenient truth. Instead, he held Rone’s gaze.
The alien returned the attention, lowering his face closer to Frey. “You may have saved my life, pet. But for your warning, that syk might have ended up buried between my shoulder blades.”
Oh, right. Frey replayed that moment in his mind.
Shouting out the warning had been automatic, so had calling Rone by his name.
Not master or even “Hey, you.” Rone. Frey liked the sound of it, and saying it out loud for the first time, even in the heat of the moment, had seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
The more practical part of his brain chalked it up to a simple survival instinct.
After what must have been months of abuse at the hands of Arpell, the relative kindness of Rone had gained Frey’s loyalty, if not affection.
Arpell!
Fear spike through him enough that he actually started to jackknife up to a sitting position. His broken arm was wrapped tight against his chest in a soft sling contraption. It hampered his movement, as did Rone. The Travian placed his large palm against Frey’s chest and gently kept him down.
“Easy, pet. You are in no condition to go running around.”
With a hard swallow, Frey choked out the one word scaring the crap out of him. “Arpell.”
Rone bared his teeth and curled his fingers a bit before relaxing them and his face again. “No need to worry, pet. That male will never hurt you again.”
Beyond Rone, Preen remained perched on the bed.
The creature let out a barking sound, clasped its tiny hands around its own throat and made a harsh sound in the back of its throat.
Well, no translator needed to unlock the pet’s meaning.
Rone had wrung Arpell’s neck. Frey could only feel glad at the news.
With the abuse he’d suffered at the alien’s hands, not to mention the murder of the crew he’d served with—people who’d been his friends—he was glad the guy was dead.
He only wished he could have seen it for himself.
Frey wet his lips. “Thank you, master.” Maybe in the heat of battle, Frey could get away with calling the male by name, but he doubted such latitude would be acceptable now. Besides, his gratitude made showing the respect easy enough.
Rone stood silent for a moment, then ran his fingers down the side of Frey’s head. “Thanks is not what I deserve. I should have done a better job of anticipating that Arpell would come after you—and personally.”
Frey didn’t know how to respond to that statement, so he said nothing. He dropped his gaze to look at his arm. It felt strange, as if things were moving around inside it. Kind of an itchy feeling. When he lifted his other hand to scratch at the outside, Rone stilled the movement with a gentle hold.
“Leave it be, pet. It’s healing.” Rone turned away. “May I take him now?”
“Yes, of course.” Another Travian came into view, and given the softer angles of the face, Frey figured that it was a female.
She was dressed very simply in an all-black skintight kind of uniform.
She stared at Frey as if he were a bug in a jar.
Christ. If she was what passed for a doctor around there, she obviously didn’t think of Frey as being much of a patient.
It was probably the equivalent of bringing a dog to a human doctor. Frey scowled and looked away.
“Good,” Rone said, slipping his free hand under Frey’s body.
Before Frey realized what was happening, his master had lifted him up. “Hey, wait. I can walk.” His protest sounded feeble, even to his own ears, and Rone ignored him anyway.
Holding Frey in the safety of his large, strong arms, Rone strode out of what had to be a medical bay.
Although he felt kind of stupid and like a little kid again, Frey nevertheless gave up any effort to free himself and instead snuggled within Rone’s embrace.
He closed his eyes, in part so that he didn’t have to meet the smirks of anyone they might encounter.
It seemed awfully quiet, though, well into the Travian sleep cycle.
And, with Rone’s long strides, it didn’t take them long to return to their quarters.
Frey opened his eyes when Rone placed him on the bed.
Preen came scampering in behind them, holding its own leash.
Yeah, no way the small creature was an actual pet.
Frey sank into the soft bedding and expected his master to join him.
He also figured that, broken arm or not, Rone would fuck him before going to sleep.
The alien didn’t. Instead, he pulled a cover from an invisible recessed hole in the wall and draped it over Frey.
Then he turned away but turned back again and tucked the sides beneath Frey’s pliant body, ensuring he was truly warm. Rone looked down and nodded.
“Get some sleep, pet. Watch over him, Preen.” And with that final order tossed over his shoulder, he was gone.
With a sigh, Frey eyed Preen, who squatted on the floor by the bed, its arms crossed over its chest. Frey yawned. “I don’t need babysitting.” Preen just hissed back at him and stayed put. Giving up and with his eyelids drooping, Frey allowed himself to slip into true sleep.
Rone let his fury show as he pounded his way through the station.
Most of the inhabitants were asleep, but those he did encounter gave him a wide berth.
He deliberately hadn’t changed his clothing, leaving all the knife slashes, bits of blood and gore showing where they’d dried on his tunic and trousers.
The ambush and its outcome were probably well-known by now, as rumors flew around stations like meteor storms. Well, he’d wanted to flush out Arpell and cement his own fierce reputation for anyone caring to pay attention.
That had been the plan all along, so he should be pleased with where his mission stood at the moment.
Instead, he was angry at himself and itching for more necks to wring.
The obvious source of his heightened emotions lay, hopefully asleep, healing under Preen’s watchful eye.
It shouldn’t matter to Rone that Frey had ended up in the middle of the fight, yet it did.
Even with his eyes wide open, he could still see the delicate human struggling within Arpell’s grasp, choking and desperate to take a breath.
He could hear the snap of bone and the scream of agony.
His fingers curled with the memory of wrapping his hands around Arpell’s thick neck and cutting off the male’s own supply of air until his body stopped flopping about and his eyes went dull and sightless.
If Rone could, he would kill the asshole all over again and drag the carcass from one end of the station to the other as a warning.
No one fucked with what belonged to Rone.
That was what he told himself. His murderous fury had to do with safeguarding his carefully crafted persona, not about the boy’s actual wellbeing.
Yeah, right. That’s why Rone had knelt beside the human, cradled him with the care he’d show an infant, then brought him to the medical bay at a run.
He’d also nearly done the unforgiveable and lashed out at the female medico when she’d initially balked at treating the pet.
He’d told her she needed to treat Frey because he was a valuable asset, and Rone had paid dearly for the female’s time and skill.
And, of course, it was all about the mission driving him to seek out his quarry at this time.