Chapter 9 #2
“Seventy-three percent in laboratory conditions.” Rivaan’s smile widened. “The clearance works. The problem is what comes after. The regrowth doesn’t hold… the body rejects the new tissue before it integrates. We can tear down the wall, but we can’t get anything to grow where it stood.”
And there it was. The other half.
Kellat kept his expression pleasant and neutral while his mind slotted the pieces against Charlotte’s file.
The warlady could regenerate but not clear, and not in Latharian tissue.
Rivaan could clear but not regenerate. And sitting in his own encrypted queue was proof that a Lathar-descended brain could do both on its own because one small human female had rewritten her own brain while he watched her sleep.
His human female.
“Your paper proves the target is reachable,” Rivaan went on, his gaze sliding past Kellat’s shoulder toward the east wall and the buffet. “The pathway exists, which is why I’d like access to the full set of scans. Not just what you published.”
The full set? That was far more than any proof of concept needed. But before he could reply, Rivaan was already heading toward the buffet and Delilah. Kellat went after him, because the alternative was letting him reach her first.
Delilah looked up as they closed in, pastry halfway to her mouth. Her gaze flicked from Kellat to Rivaan and back, and narrowed. Pride filled Kellat. His female read a room faster than half the warriors he’d served with.
“Delilah Sawyer,” he said, before Rivaan could open his mouth. “Of Earth. My companion.”
“Of Earth.” Rivaan looked her over the way a healer looked at a scan result. “I’ve never met a human. My research station is on the far side of the empire… we don’t see your kind out there. You’re smaller than I expected. More…” He tilted his head. “Delicate.”
Delilah’s chin snapped up, her eyes flashing.
“Yeah… Delicate enough to survive a flyer crash and a coma,” she said. “But sure. Let’s go with delicate.”
Rivaan blinked. Then he barked a laugh. “How charming. You’ve found yourself a spirited one, Lead Healer.”
Found yourself. Like she was a specimen he’d found and netted first. Kellat’s hand found the small of Delilah’s back and stayed there before he could punch Rivaan in the face.
“The scans,” he said. “I’ll consider it.”
Something flickered behind Rivaan’s eyes, and then the polished smile slid back into place.
“Perhaps I could join you both for dinner,” Rivaan said. “I would be interested to hear more about Earth. And your recovery, Delilah. There are so few records from an actual survivor of neural remapping.”
Delilah’s smile went stiff.
Kellat’s jaw tightened. “That will not be possible.”
Rivaan blinked. “No?”
“No,” Kellat repeated, realizing that Rivaan wasn’t used to hearing the word ‘no’. Which was tough; he’d just have to deal with hearing it now. “We have plans.”
“Another time, then.”
“There will not be another time.”
For a moment, Rivaan simply looked at him. Then his lips stretched into that polished smile again.
“Of course. Lead Healer. Delilah Sawyer of Earth.”
He made his farewells to a point somewhere between the two of them, then turned and let the crowd swallow him.
Delilah let out a breath. “I don’t like him.”
“He’s a researcher. His entire career—“
“He gives me the creeps.” She was still watching the spot where Rivaan had disappeared. “He looked at me like I was a lab rat he couldn’t wait to get on a table.”
“He was born into a world without females, Delilah. His interest is clinical, not personal.”
It was reasonable, probably even true. She stepped out of reach, looking up at him with a smile that got nowhere near her eyes.
“Sure,” she said. “You’d know.”
Two words. She said them lightly, already turning toward the dessert end of the table, chattering something about alien custard he didn’t hear a word of, but by the lady, they hit their mark.
“Delilah.”
“Go do your doctor thing.” She waved the pastry without turning around. “You’ve got people to talk to. I’m fine here.”
She wasn’t fine, though. The smile and too-bright tone were all wrong, and he had no clue what to do about it.
Laarn would call the day a success. Two techniques, two willing trades, both halves of Charlotte’s cure closer than ever before. By every measure he’d been sent here to meet, he’d done exactly what he came to do.
But as he watched Delilah work her way down the buffet, bright and brittle and not looking at him, he felt like an utter failure.
Later. He’d find her later and fix it.
He just wished he believed it.
She was dressed for the occasion, thanks to Kellat, who had provided another beautiful gown, but she’d never felt so out of place in all her life.
Delilah sat at one of the long banquet tables at the evening reception, her back straight and her smile fixed in place, watching the room around her. Delegates in robes and leathers and sashes moved between the tables, their voices a low hum.
She’d been seated near the head table but not at it.
Close enough to see everything, far enough to matter not at all.
She snorted… it was the adult version of the kiddies table.
Kellat was three tables away, deep in conversation with a cluster of healers, and the Vorrtan warlady was draped over the chair beside him like she’d been poured there.
Her hand was on his forearm, her clawed, elegant fingers red against the dark leather of his sleeve.
Delilah’s jaw tightened. Kellat wasn’t moving away.
She took a sip of her wine and looked away.
She was fine. This was fine. Utterly fine.
Why wouldn’t it be? She was at a fancy party in a giant crystal space-station thingie wearing the most beautiful dress in the galaxy.
She’d had mind-blowing sex with the most beautiful man in the galaxy just this morning.
Utterly fine.
The woman to her left had tried to make conversation earlier, but it had veered into tissue-regeneration protocols inside two minutes, so Delilah had smiled and nodded until the healer turned to someone else.
Which left her sitting there with a full plate she couldn’t imagine eating and a front-row view of the alien warlady flirting with Kellat.
But she didn’t have a claim on him. They’d spent a night together. One night, one morning, some very enthusiastic shower time, but that didn’t mean anything. Latharian men claimed their mates and got those mark things around their wrists. Everyone knew that.
Her throat tightened, and she took another sip of wine. A bigger one this time. If Kellat wanted her, if he wanted to claim her and get those marks… some kind of tattoo or something, she was sure… then he would have let her know by now, surely?
She turned her head and caught the guy next to her looking at her.
He was handsome, his dark hair swept back from a broad forehead, with features that were almost Latharian but not quite, the cheekbones sharper, the jaw harder. He wore a suit in deep browns and golds, his eyes and skin were the same as the warlady’s.
Vorrtan. He was Vorrtan.
“I’m sorry,” she said, heat burning across her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to stare.”
His lips curved. “You weren’t staring. You were looking somewhere else, and I was in the way.”
She gave him a small, uncertain smile. “That’s a very generous interpretation.”
“I’m a very generous person.” He inclined his head, formal but not stiff. “I’m Rhav. You’re the human. Delilah, yes?”
Surprise washed through her. “You know my name?”
“My lady mentioned you. The healer’s guest.”
The healer’s ‘guest’. Yeah, that stung.
“Yeah. That’s me. The healer’s guest.” She tried the wine again, then set the glass down before she finished it.
“You’re part of the warlady’s… delegation?” she asked carefully.
“Delegation? Polite way of putting it. Yeah, I suppose I am.” He reached for his glass and smiled at her over the rim. “For once anyway.”
Delilah frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She has… favorites.” His lips quirked, and he took a drink. “I’m often not one of them.”
Oh.
“Her loss,” she said.