by Cynthia Sax
There were other questions she could ask but she wanted him out of the chamber before he resorted to his natural inclination toward violence. “We’ll run some tests. That will take a while. Transport your other brother to his domicile.”
The male narrowed his eyes. “If he dies—”
“I die.” She shook her head. If she had a credit for every male who threatened her, she could afford a larger medic bay. “I received your message. Now, leave and allow me to treat Egor.”
The male glared at her, at her protégé, then stomped away.
As soon as the doors closed behind him, Gisella locked them. She pocketed the gun. “Get the restraints and tie down all of our patient’s hands.”
When he regained consciousness, he would likely be as aggressive as his brother. The girl looked through the compartments hidden in the walls, found the restraints. Gisella helped her bind the male.
“Do you have any injuries?” Her protégé’s health was her next concern.
The girl’s head bowed. “No, but I could have been hurt.”
“Yes, you could have been hurt, perhaps killed.” That would have been partially her fault. Pono was hers to train, hers to protect. “What mistake did you make?”
“I moved too close to a Palavian.” Her protégé recited that rule. “They’re dangerous and should be restrained before they’re treated.”
“Most males and all warriors should be restrained.” They only entered the medic bay when they were seriously injured. Wounded beings often lost the ability to reason.
“The Chamele leader wouldn’t have to be restrained.” Pono’s eyes glowed. “I heard the Ruler. He’s a good male. He tried to save the girl.”
“You will restrain him also if he seeks healing.” Gisella doubted that would happen. The visiting Chamele warriors had instigated numerous fights, causing many other males to visit the medic bay, yet had never entered the structure themselves.
The damn barbarians must not utilize medics. The Chameles were like most warrior species she’d encountered. They exhausted all of their resources on battle, leaving nothing for healing.
Kralj, the Ruler of the Refuge, was a rare exception to that way of thinking. He valued medics, ensured she had the most advanced equipment, a modern, clean structure in which to treat patients.
Her lips flattened. Never again would she be forced to watch helplessly as a baby orphaned and wounded by war slowly died in her arms, his high-pitched cries of agony ringing in her ears, all of the pain inhibitors exhausted by previous patients.
“Tie down all warriors. There are no exceptions.” She didn’t want her protégé to take unnecessary risks. “Clean the patient while I scan him.”
She extracted that device from her jacket pocket. It was a top-of-the-line handheld, could detect illnesses and injuries her eyes couldn’t.
Pono wrinkled her brown-and-green striped nose as she ran cleaning cloths over the patient’s exposed skin. She flicked the fabric squares to refresh them, converting dirt into oxygen.
Gisella scanned the male and looked at the small screen. Her heart squeezed.
She scanned him a second time. The results were the same.
Fuck. The male had a wasting disease similar to the one that had killed her mother. The growth in his stomach was advanced, was reaching upward in his body, creeping toward his heart.
If the black mass encompassed that organ, the male would die.
That wouldn’t happen. She now had the equipment and the skills to eliminate all traces of the disease. The Palavian wouldn’t suffer the same fate as her mother. She would save him.
Gisella displayed a limited number of readings on the wall’s main viewscreen, intent on slowly walking her protégé through interpreting them. “Tell me what you see.”
The girl studied the readings. “The patient has an unusually high blood fermented beverage concentration. He also has low blood albumin levels. Which means…” Her forehead furrowed. “He has been substituting fermented beverage for all other nourishment?”
That was true but it wasn’t the entire diagnosis. “What do you prescribe?”
“Give him nutrients and beverage.” Pono took her bait. “Monitor him until he regains consciousness.”
“And?” Gisella prompted.
The girl winced. “And send him to his domicile to rest?”
“You’d send him to his domicile to die.” She displayed the rest of the scan.
Her protégé sucked in her breath.
“It’s easy to mistake symptoms for causes.” Gisella relayed that important lesson to the girl. “Many patients in the Refuge will try to treat their pain with fermented beverage or other means.” Just as her mother had used pain inhibitors to hide her growth. “It’s your responsibility to look past that. Not investigating would have condemned this patient to an agonizing death.”
She, at least, had spared her mother that fate, administering pain inhibitors in increasingly large dosages, while they waited for help that never arrived.
Bitterness coated her mouth. Her warrior father had ventured through enemy space again and again to reach the frontlines and the fighting. He always seemed capable of doing that. But he had failed to bring Gisella the machinery she required to save his mate’s lifespan.
Because he was a warrior and battle was his priority.
Saving beings was her focus.
“What is the recommended treatment?” She continued to guide her protégé.
“We extract the growth.” The girl nibbled on her bottom lip. “That will stress the patient’s body. The growth is very large.”
It would stress the medic’s body also. Gisella touched her aching wrist. Neither of them was ready for that task. “The patient isn’t able to tolerate that level of stress at the moment.”
“At the moment.” Pono repeated her words. “We’ll give him nutrients and beverage, force him to rest first. Then we’ll extract the growth.”
“That’s very good.” She nodded and the girl beamed. “The only change I’d make to your treatment is we’ll hold him for observation for a couple of planet rotations after the extraction. We want to ensure the growth doesn’t return.”
“He’ll be our patient for a while.” Pono didn’t appear happy with that prospect.
Gisella wasn’t happy with it either. “What does that mean?”
“We should remove his garments and clean him.” The girl recited that rule. Cleaning longer-term patients reduced the risk of disease spreading.
While Pono tended to the Palavian, Gisella filled out their patient’s information, entering the little they knew into the databases.
Her wrist continued to throb. She’d need a fermented beverage herself after this shift, something to take the edge off her own pain, allow her to sleep.
“Lead Medic?” Pono asked. “If we can’t save this patient’s life—”
“We’ll save his life.” She had the equipment necessary to do that. “We never tell the family that because there’s uncertainty with any treatment and we don’t want to make promises we can’t keep. But this patient will live.”
The girl plucked at her jacket, her expression doubtful. “In my culture, white is the color of death.”
“We’ve talked about this.” The medics Gisella trained came from a wide variety of backgrounds. Many of them had beliefs about death. “Healing is science, not superstition, and the science states we will save this male’s life.”
“But if we can’t save his life.” Pono persisted. “Do you think his brother will kill you?”
“He’ll try.” She didn’t doubt that. Grief pushed beings to extremes and Palavians already lived on the edge of violence.
“Stars.” The girl muttered her words. “Being a medic is dangerous.”
The role was dangerous but it was needed. And Gisella was damn good at it, had always had an interest in healing, a natural ability to mend others. It was her calling in this universe, like designing ships had been her mother’s c
alling.
Unlike her mother, she wouldn’t allow anyone to interfere with it. Ever.
Chapter Two
Oghul was a skilled warrior.
Since reaching maturity he’d been fighting in the succession wars, defending the planet he loved, advancing in the ranks until he became his Warlord’s second-in-command. Other beings respected him.
His word was his bond. He prided himself on his honor, protected the beings depending on him, did everything a Chamele male should do.
If there was any fairness in the universe, he should have found his gerel first.
Instead, his younger brother, Hulagu, a warrior in the early stages of training, untried and untested, had located his genetic match while Oghul remained alone.
He curved his hands around a container of fermented beverage. His happiness for Hulagu was tempered by his loneliness, by the dull ache in his soul, his lack of companionship.
He wasn’t alone. His males, brothers of his heart, rowdily drank and communicated and made wagers around him. Every one of those males would die for him as he would die for them.
They were joined by many of the modified humanoids, the warriors who kept the peace inside the Refuge. The celebration of another planet rotation of living was amplified by the knowledge Oghul and his team would soon be returning home to Chamele 2.
They’d be departing without Hulagu. His brother would remain in the settlement with his gerel, where she felt safe. That was the right decision, a choice Oghul would have made.
If he had been presented with that opportunity.
Silent despair wrapped tighter around him. Was he destined to be one of the Chameles who never found his fated mate? Would he be forced to watch as, one by one, his males were paired up?
He preferred death in battle to that destiny.
The doors to the main beverage outlet opened. Two Palavian males entered, one of them limping. They surveyed the space, turned around, and immediately walked out of the structure.
The Refuge hosted the worst beings on Carinae E, the outcasts, the undesirables, the unwanted, yet even they were scared of Chameles.
Oghul’s chest expanded with pride, his mood lightening. His warriors had earned that formidable reputation.
“Where’s your brother, Second?” Ariq, his most skilled male, claimed the empty seat beside him. He plunked his container of beverage on the horizontal support. Liquid splashed onto the surface.
“Hulagu is with his gerel.” Oghul took a swig of his beverage and smothered a grimace, the liquid burning his throat as he swallowed. “He’s not returning to Chamele.”
“That might be partially my fault.” His friend wrinkled his nose. “His gerel is scared of me.”
“She’s scared of me too.” He stared into his beverage. The female hid behind his brother whenever he approached. That bothered him. “Humans frighten easily.”
That conclusion was drawn from limited experience. His kind didn’t have much exposure to humans. Other species left the Chamele sector and the beings within it alone.
“I once faced a human in battle.” Ariq nodded. “I extended my claws. His face turned pale and he ran in the opposite direction.” He chuckled.
Oghul grinned.
“What are you smiling about, Chamele?” Libor, a genetically enhanced Silan, sat on the other side of him. “Do you know about a battle the rest of us don’t?”
“We were discussing humans and how fragile they are,” Ariq answered for him.
“I hear they have their uses.” Oghul added that out of loyalty to his brother’s gerel. He didn’t know what those uses were but he was certain they had some. “I—”
The doors opened again. A being walked into the beverage outlet and he lost his grip on his thoughts.
The female was short even for a human. Her pristine white jacket concealed most of her form but she appeared to be solidly built. That appealed to him. Greatly. He was a big male, didn’t want to be with a being he might break.
The female’s brown hair was streaked with blond and coiled into a ruthlessly tight circle at the back of her head. Not one strand was loose. Her skin was pale, her cheeks full, and her nose adorably scrunched.
She glared at the chamber filled with battle-hardened warriors, her tiny boot-clad feet braced apart, like she was daring them to refute her entry. Her stance was defiant and strong.
She was the most enchanting creature he’d ever seen.
“Who is she?” He followed her progress through the chamber, willing her to approach him.
Libor glanced in her direction. “Medic.” The huge Silan warrior winced. “Don’t mess with her.”
She passed their horizontal support. The most delectable scent filled Oghul’s nostrils.
He breathed deeply and his cock hardened, pressing against his leather ass coverings. “I’m messing with her.”
He’d finally found his gerel, his light. She would be his and he was already hers.
He moved his chair, watching her as she sat at the long horizontal support in the center of the chamber. The male working behind it grabbed a container, his hands shaking slightly. He hastily served the female—the Medic, as Libor called her—a beverage.
She sipped it, her back to most of the warriors. The communication was clear—she didn’t fear anyone in the chamber.
Oghul’s mouth dried. His need for her expanded.
“Tell me everything you know about her.” He would research his gerel before laying siege to her.
“She arrived five solar cycles ago, looking exactly as you see her now, not a speck of dirt on her.” Libor lowered his voice as though he was afraid she’d hear him. “Kralj met her at the gates.”
Kralj was the Ruler of the Refuge. The modified humanoid controlled everything and every being within the settlement’s walls, had powers unequalled by anyone in the universe and an insatiable taste for blood.
He was the scariest being Oghul had ever met.
“He gave her complete control of the medic bay, told all of us she wasn’t a being anyone wanted to disrespect.” The Silan shifted in his chair. “A huge Ungarian didn’t heed Kralj’s warning. He was a bastard, extremely violent, especially toward females and offspring. No one liked him.”
That male had targeted the Medic, Oghul’s mate. His stomach clenched around nothing. He could have lost her before he had found her.
“She clearly didn’t like him either. At sunrise, the Ungarian’s screams could be heard throughout the settlement.” Libor took another swig of his beverage. “He was found curled up on a pathway, crying like an offspring, his big body vibrating with pain.”
Son of a Gechii. His gerel was fierce.
Oghul loved her already.
“If the Ungarian had died, Kralj would have had to kill the Medic.” The Silan explained unnecessarily. The Ruler had relayed the no-killing rule to Oghul and the other Chameles upon their arrival. “He didn’t die, but whatever she did or said to him scared the shit out of him. As soon as he regained use of his arms and legs, he ran out of the Refuge like a missile had targeted his ass. He hasn’t been seen since that planet rotation.”
She had terrified a grown male into leaving the settlement. Oghul gazed at her with open admiration.
“Qulpa is approaching her.” Ariq nudged him.
Oghul straightened. No other male should pursue her. She was his.
“I bet a dagger he doesn’t last long enough to be served a beverage.” Libor plunked one of his weapons on the surface of the horizontal support.
“I’ll take that bet.” Ariq did the same. “You’ll lose. Qulpa is the eldest warrior on our team. This isn’t his first encounter with a female.”
The male exuded quiet confidence, the gray strands interspersed with his otherwise black hair attesting to his experience. Nothing disturbed him. He’d seen it all.
Some females were attracted to that assurance. Oghul’s claws pricked his skin, the urge to go to his gerel, to block Qulpa’s advance, intense.
The warrior lowered onto one of the empty seats beside her. His lips moved.
The Medic’s scowl deepened. Lines etched between her eyebrows. She turned her head, met the male’s gaze directly, and spoke.
Oghul couldn’t hear her words. Her message was clear.
Go away.
Qulpa nodded curtly, slipped off the chair and walked away. He didn’t look back.
“That was an easy win,” Libor crowed, grasping both daggers.
The Medic surveyed the chamber slowly. Her gaze drifted over the other warriors, locked with Oghul’s, held for one, two, three heartbeats.
She knew he was her mate. His chest warmed.
He grinned at her. Her eyes brightened. Her lips lifted slightly.
Then they flattened. Severely. She looked away, returning her gaze to her beverage.
“Yesun is trying his luck.” Libor announced that new development. “I’ll give you better odds – the two daggers I won against one of yours.”
“I’ll take that wager.” Ariq placed another dagger on the surface of the horizontal support.
Yesun was the youngest being on their team. He had three older sisters, was skilled in chattering, knowledgeable about females. Many beings found his unblemished face appealing.
Oghul traced the deep groove on his right cheek with his fingertips. He had never been a pretty male, his countenance primitive and stark. War had carved its marks on him, leaving him more worn and battered.
Genetics would ensure his female desired him. That wasn’t a concern. He wanted her to be proud to claim him, to like looking at his face, choose to be with him.
Yesun sat in the seat Qulpa had relinquished. His mouth moved. He smiled.
The Medic acted as though she was unaware of his presence. She gazed down at her beverage, her expression bleak.
The warrior chattered more, didn’t get a reaction. He nudged her arm.
Oghul growled softly, his muscles flexing. No one should be touching his female.
The Medic looked at Yesun. Fury darkened her beautiful face. Without issuing another word, she extracted a tiny gun from a pocket of her jacket, pressed it to the warrior’s bare knee, and tapped the trigger.
