Chapter 5
Flack
I had scared her, kept scaring her, and that knowledge raked like hot knives across my brain.
With my hands shackled, there was so little I could do, and I wanted to do a lot.
The drugs she’d injected last night that kept me from shifting were almost wearing off, but the deep stab wound in my side would continue to keep me from freeing myself.
If I could just have the use of my hands, I could… scare her some more, likely.
She’d frozen in place, staring at the tissue regenerator like it was a puzzle she couldn’t possibly solve.
Something I’d said had made her spiral, and it made me want to break things, necks, preferably.
Dimon and the crew had done such a number on her, and I wanted to make it right, all of it.
What had triggered her to spiral? Suggesting she heal herself first?
Did she think it was a trick? I bit back the swear words that wanted to spew out, because that wasn’t what she needed right now.
Shifting very carefully on the cot, I moved my leg so slowly I hoped she wouldn’t notice.
Not until I could very gently press my thigh against hers, a touch that slowly drew her back to the present.
Keeping my voice firm but kind, I tried first to order, then to cajole, until she met my gaze.
“Heal yourself, Irena. Come on, you can do it, sweetheart. Just raise the regenerator to your cheek and press the button. It won’t hurt, and you’ll feel better. ”
With a trembling hand and eyes as wide as saucers, she raised the brand-new device.
Her thumb shook as she pressed the button, and then a gentle hum and a faint light indicated that the device was working.
She flinched, jerking it away from her face as though she’d been burned.
Fear surged, and guilt. Was the device faulty?
Had it caused her harm? But no, already the inflamed wound looked less red and swollen.
“It’s okay,” I tried again. “It worked. Did it hurt?” I asked.
She shook her head, but she did not raise the device to try again.
“Test it on me. You’ll see it works.” At least that instantly made her move the device to the stab wound in my side.
It was a simple model, this regenerator, meant only for superficial injuries, exactly like the cuts on her face.
For my stab wound, only the surface would heal, but every little bit helped.
It felt warm, just like normal. A little itchy as skin began knitting itself together.
Her eyes seemed to grow a little less panicked when she saw that, enough that I finally managed to convince her to try again on herself.
I really didn’t like how pale she was, or how badly infected the wound looked.
The regenerator would help, but it probably couldn’t heal all of it.
Whoever had done this to her had gone for maximum damage.
Once she lowered the device a few moments later, most of the inflammation had gone down, and the cuts had finally begun to close.
I was relieved to see it, but also aware of how much more attractive she looked with scars rather than an open wound.
Right now, Dimon and the crew thought she was untouchable, but if I did not get both of us free soon, that protection might end. I could not allow that.
“Eat now,” I said to her. “You’ll need the strength.
” I thought she’d protest, but she actually sat down on the cot next to me and drew the tray of food into her lap.
The hated injection that would prevent me from shifting lay next to the plate, and I wondered if I could convince her not to use it on me.
That was probably pushing it, but we were running out of time.
Dimon was not a patient male, and I had a feeling Xathena was itching to see him make a mistake. Xathena in charge would be far worse, because she was rash, impulsive, and mean. Dimon was cool—evil, but cool—just as a Rummicaron was supposed to be.
“You need food too; we’ll share,” she whispered.
Her hand touched the edge of her cheek, not quite on the wound, as if she couldn’t quite believe how different it felt.
“I know you’re not human, but… you can’t tell me you don’t need any food at all.
” She had a point, but she was so skinny, and there was so little I could do for her while shackled to this damn wall.
Going hungry for a couple of days seemed like a small thing I could offer.
When she speared a piece of meat on a fork and brought it to my mouth, I refused.
“You first,” I said, more gruffly than I meant to, so I softened the words by adding, “Ladies always come first.” Her cheeks went a delightful pink when I said that, and my cock ached in response.
She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready for so many things, but blazing stars, how I wanted her.
I wanted her to lift that little skirt, climb into my lap, and sink down onto my leaking cock.
I had to be satisfied with watching her nibble at the meal in small bites.
She was trying not to attack the plate like she had last night, savoring each bite.
One meal was not enough for both of us, but when she offered me another bite, I didn’t refuse this time.
Once my wound was healed… I’d get out of here, whether I could shift or not.
I’d make sure she had all the food she could possibly ever want then. It was a promise.
Once the plate was empty, she wasn’t quite so shaky, and disappointingly efficient at placing a clean bandage on my wound.
Only the barest brush of her fingers sent tingles of pleasure through my skin, all arrowing straight to my groin; I couldn’t help that.
She was simply the most enticing female I’d ever laid eyes on.
I said nothing when she reached for the injector; instead, I nodded when she held it up between us. Almost, I thought, like she was asking my permission to use it on me. Relief flashed over her face when, with much slower motions than last night, she pressed it to my neck.
“Do you like pretty things, Irena?” I asked as she gathered her things and began to retreat.
I was desperate to keep her here a little longer, and I really needed a way to convince her to find the injector with Dravion’s healing stimulant in my pants pocket.
If she gave me that… I knew I could catch Dimon by surprise next time.
I’d be fully healed by tomorrow, instead of this wound taking at least another week.
“Pretty things?” she asked breathlessly.
She had frozen by the door to my cell, her hand on the bars as if she needed to physically haul herself out.
Turning her head slightly, dark hair fell over her shoulder, only her uninjured side facing me.
So blazingly beautiful it took my breath away.
“What use do I have for pretty things?” she asked.
“None,” I agreed readily. “That doesn’t mean there aren’t things we covet…
Everyone covets something. What do you covet, Irena?
” I struck deals wherever I went; I’d always made sure I was the one who came out on top in every situation.
Irena, though, she made me want to give her things, everything, without ever asking anything in return.
Unfortunately, that wouldn’t help me get out of here.
“I just want to go home…” she said, but so softly I could barely hear it.
I thought she’d slip from my grasp then, but with one foot out the door, she remained in place.
Head down, hair shielding her face. When she turned to look at me, it was with a show of bravery I could only admire.
“Can you do that? If I free you? Take me home? Could I trust you to do that?”
Everything in me screamed to say yes, to promise her anything.
Stars, the moon, the bloody Suleantran diamond.
But I never lied, so I didn’t. “I can’t take you home, Irena.
Your home no longer exists. I’m sorry.” It was on my lips to offer her other things—sanctuary, safety—but the resigned expression on her face held my tongue.
She’d already known; it was a test. Had I passed or failed?
“Irena,” I started to say, but a sound made us both turn toward the brig’s entrance.
Someone was approaching. “Hide. They’ll see you if you leave now.
Over there, hide, little one!” I was back to feeling helpless.
I’d never been one to scare easily, but fear for Irena’s safety was real and tangible.
It tasted bitter on my tongue and burned like acid in my veins.
If they tried to hurt her… if they saw her here…
I knew Dimon was too smart not to realize he’d made a mistake in making her my caretaker.
She was quick as a Tikai, shutting my cell door and locking it before darting across the hall and diving behind a stack of crates piled in the cell across from mine.
She disappeared from sight, and she went quiet as a Tikai too, though her scent still lingered in the air.
I did not think that would stand out to Dimon, though, because scents tended to linger in the muggy air of the Vidu.
He was not alone when, moments later, he stepped into the brig.
Xathena was on his heels, her boots thumping against the floor, light and quick while his were heavy and plodding.
Dimon had gotten older in the past five years, wrinkles creasing the corners of his beady black eyes.
He was slower too, and it wouldn’t be long until Xathena had had enough and stabbed him in the back.
Only the flimsiest excuse for loyalty still kept her in check.