“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “I’m going to tend to your wounds. Will you let me?”
Amusement washed into his stoic expression. “Are you asking for my permission?”
That voice. It was deep and gravelly. He’d spoken with humor, but there was an underlying sensuality to the tone that simultaneously caressed and alarmed her senses. His tone was soft, but it exuded command. It added not only to his allure, but also to the danger emanating from him.
She swallowed. “I’ll need to touch you.”
“Go ahead.” His lips curved into a slow smile. “I won’t bite.”
She glanced at his wrists. They were secured too high above his head for her to reach. Damn Pete and his agents for not making this easy. She’d have to stand on something. After a quick look around the room, she settled on the portable stretcher. She felt the man’s unsettling eyes on her as she pulled the stretcher closer and climbed on top. She had to stretch out to reach his hand. Pressing her body against his was inevitable to maintain her balance.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, “but it’s difficult to reach. I’ll try to hurry.”
“By all means, take your time.”
With her standing on the stretcher, their eyes were level. As her breasts brushed his chest, the yellow color of his eyes deepened to a golden glow. It was like the rich, dark, liquid gold she’d seen at the mine museum when poured into the form to set. The subtle change had her so mesmerized she forgot what she was doing. Who was this beautiful man? What did she know about him other than he wasn’t a normal human being? She wasn’t a supporter of normalizing or generalizing people. Someone wasn’t abnormal simply because he didn’t resemble the standards of the majority. Each person was unique. Therefore, the term normal seemed redundant, but there was something about this man that shouted danger. Her pulse picked up in response to her thoughts, blood pumping furiously to her frightened heart. She’d be dishonest if she said she wasn’t apprehensive.
His gaze shifted to where she could feel the vein in her neck keep pace with her heart. Slowly, he dragged his eyes back to hers. While the golden color had appeared unearthly before, it now looked like something from a fantasy. They seemed to have ignited, sparks popping in their depths like fireflies. Her lips parted on a soundless gasp, more fear bleeding into her veins.
His voice stroked over her senses again. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Could he sense how afraid she was? She might confess it to herself, but she wasn’t going to make herself that vulnerable by admitting it to him.
She reached for his wrist, focusing all of her attention on fitting the key into the shackle. “I’m supposed to say that.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You already did.”
Ignoring the vibration of that soft, deep laugh she could feel right through her clothes all the way to her bones, she made quick work of unlocking his right wrist. Lowering his arm, he groaned. The return of the circulation would hurt, but at least the position had slowed down the blood loss.
He held open his palm. “Give me the key. It’ll be easier for me to finish.”
With an inward sigh of relief, she handed over the key and climbed to the floor. He unlocked his left wrist and shook his arms. While he worked on the shackles around his ankles, she pulled the stretcher next to the gurney.
A click sounded followed by the chime of a chain, and then he was free. All that stood between them was a flimsy stretcher. He indeed looked like a man with the strength to tear her limbs apart, but the earnest way in which he’d spoken when he’d said he wouldn’t hurt her made her believe him.
She pointed at the stretcher. “Lie down here.”
The sensual curve of his lips tilted up. “Is that an order?”
“Yes,” she replied sternly. “Do you need help or can you walk alone?”
His answer was to approach her so swiftly she took an involuntary step back. The way he moved was smooth. Unnatural. It reminded her of a panther on the prowl, but in fast forward action.
Holding her gaze, he lowered himself onto the stretcher. “What is your designation?”
“My designation?”
“For you to issue the orders.”
She suppressed a smile. “I don’t carry any authority here.”
“What is your status?”
There was the slightest accent to his English. It was exotic, unlike anything she’d heard.
“I don’t understand.”
“Your status in society,” he repeated. “Are you taken?”
“Taken?”
His eyes roamed the ceiling as he seemed to search for a word. “Married.”
“Ah.” The smile almost slipped free. “My marital status is private. It’s not polite to ask.”
“You mean it’s impolite to ask a lady if she’s attached before you make a…” he squinted, apparently searching for another word, “a move?”
Where was he from? His naivety was kind of cute. As for the rest of him, cute wasn’t a word she’d use. Hazardously male would be closer to the truth.
“It’s inappropriate in our situation,” she explained.
“Why?”
She waved between them. “This is professional. Now be quiet. I have to examine you.”
Pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, she inspected his shoulder before turning her attention to his side. “No organs seemed to have been damaged, but I would’ve preferred a scan to be sure.”
She shone a light into his eyes. His pupils contracted normally. Some of the veins on the outer extremities had burst. Outrage and compassion filled her anew.
She lowered her voice. “They tortured you, didn’t they?”
He didn’t reply.
“It’s illegal, you know,” she said. “You can lay charges.”
Wait. That sounded obscure. He was detained in a dungeon, chained, and tortured by the SS, no less. What hope did a prisoner in such circumstances have of exercising his legal rights? None. Whatever dangerous picture the agents had painted, he seemed calm and kind as he lay there, submitting to her probing and prodding which had to hurt like hell.
She straightened with a soft sigh. “Let’s get you cleaned up as best as we can.”
At the basin, she poured water into a dish and squirted anti-septic soap on the sponge. Being as gentle as she could, she started giving him a sponge bath. As her fingers skimmed over his abdomen, his cock twitched. The reaction was slight, but not so slight that she could miss it. His gaze moved to where his flesh was starting to stiffen before he fixed those eerie golden eyes on her face, again.
She cleared her throat. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a natural reaction.”
“I’m not worried about it. On the contrary.”
At her chastising look, his lips parted in a smile. He was perfection, but when he smiled he was pure seduction.
“Do you get that a lot?” he asked.
“It happens in my profession.”
“What profession is that?”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“You can’t tell from the uniform?”
He eyed her wet tunic. “No.”
He definitely wasn’t from this planet. “I’m a nurse.” With his erection growing between them, she needed to take a distance. She pressed a sterile gauze to his shoulder. Miraculously, it wasn’t bleeding as much as a wound of that depth should’ve.
“Turn around,” she said in her best professional voice. “If you can’t lie down on your stomach, you can sit. Here, let me help you.”
Lying on his stomach, he looked like one of Michael Angelo’s marble statues. Maybe David with his perfectly defined back muscles, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. It was best not to go into a detailed description of his ass.
She changed the water several times, until he was as clean as he was going to get with a sponge bath.
“You can turn back now,” she said when she was done.
She gathered the disinfectant an
d sterile gauzes. “Ready?”
He grinned. “Seeing that you’re my best shot, yes.”
Eyeing the gaping wound on his shoulder, she caught her lip between her teeth. It was going to hurt like a bitch. A hiss escaped his lips when she poured disinfectant over the wound.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why? You didn’t cause the wounds.”
“I’m sorry that it hurts. I’m sorry I can’t give you something for the pain.”
Something shifted in his eyes. “The guard who attacked me, how is he doing?”
“I don’t know.” She glanced at the mirror. “They didn’t tell me anything.”
“You didn’t lie when you said you don’t have authority here. You’re not part of this organization.”
“I work at a hospital. They only brought me in to take care of your injuries.”
Donning a new pair of gloves, she threaded the needle with the surgical thread. Staples would’ve been easier, but the cut was deep. Good, old-fashioned thread would be more effective. She hated that she had to hurt him more.
“It won’t be worse than what I’ve already suffered,” he said as if he could read her thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, she inserted the needle into his skin at the top of the cut, pulling the thread through as carefully as she could. Aside from the occasional grunt, he said nothing as she first stitched up his shoulder and then the long cut on his shin. He didn’t need stitches in his side. A skin adhesive was sufficient.
When she’d applied an antibacterial ointment and bandages to the cuts, she stepped back to examine her work. He needed antibiotics and a tetanus shot. He needed to be in a hospital bed under observation. It went against every grain of her humanity to leave him like this.
She couldn’t help herself from reaching out with a soothing touch, laying her hand on his forehead. “How are you doing?”
He sat up slowly, turning sideways on the stretcher so she was standing between his legs.
Giving her a beseeching look, he said, “You’ve been very kind, but if I don’t get back to my pod, I’ll be dead in a few days.”
“Your pod?” This situation was getting more bizarre by the second. Her voice came out as a whisper. “What happened to you?”
“My plane crashed.” He uttered plane carefully, as if it was a new word to him.
“What?” she shrieked. “You survived a plane crash?”
A voice boomed through the space, making her jump. “Secure the prisoner.”
There had to be a microphone hidden in the room. She had no doubt the agents were listening in on their conversation.
The prisoner wrapped his big hand around her wrist, gently holding her in place. “Tell me your name.”
The touch came as a surprise. Already on edge, it made her jump.
“Tell me,” he urged.
She wet her dry lips. “Ilse.”
“Ilse.” He said her name slowly and meticulously, as if he was not only testing the sound on his tongue, but also committing it to memory.
Questions flooded her mind. “Who are you?”
“Secure the prisoner. Now.”
He growled at the mirror, his expression so fierce it sent ripples of shivers over her skin, but when he looked back at her, his gaze turned soft again. Intense. Like his touch. Under the circle of his fingers her skin burned.
“Who are you?” she asked again, more urgently.
Before he could utter another word, the door flew open, and several guards armed with automatic rifles stormed inside. In a flash, much faster than humanly possible, the prisoner was on his feet. He yanked her behind him, placing his body in front of hers and snarling like a wild animal at the men.
Pete entered the room, pushing the men aside. “Inject him.”
“Wait!” Ilse stepped around the prisoner, his fingers still like a steel vice on her wrist. “He needs to lie down. Maybe you don’t understand the severity of his injuries, but––”
“The prisoner will be secured,” Pete interjected, “or we will sedate him to do so.”
She gasped. “Sedate him? I thought you said you didn’t have anesthetic.”
“It’s not the same,” Pete said. “This substance won’t be kind on his nervous system.” He gave the prisoner a pointed look. “It’s time for Nurse Gouws to leave. Let her go.”
Frik cracked the knuckles of his good hand. “Give me the needle. This time, asshole,” he said to the prisoner, “try not to choke in your vomit when you wake.”
“I’ll secure him,” Ilse said quickly, “if he’ll let me.” She looked at her patient with a pleading look.
The loathing disappeared from his face as he turned it from Frik to her.
“Please,” she begged. “I don’t want them to hurt you. It won’t help your healing.”
In wordless agreement, he loosened his fingers from her wrist.
“Get up against that wall,” Frik shouted.
“Take it easy,” Ilse chided. “He understood you.”
The prisoner backed up to the wall, his eerie eyes on Frik. What she saw in those depths made her tremble. The man spread his legs and lifted his arms in silent surrender. It crushed her heart to see him like that. Whatever his crimes, she didn’t believe he was the monster Pete and Frik had claimed. Underneath the stoic veneer, there was humor and kindness. Her gut trusted him. Not Frik. Definitely not after the injuries she’d witnessed. The cuts could be contributed to a crash, but not the bruises on his ribs and over his kidneys.
“Do it, nurse,” Frik said.
She advanced slowly, drawing out the inevitable with seconds. Staring into his eyes, she mouthed, “I’m sorry,” before closing the shackle around one ankle and then the other. Seeing that his wrists were too high for her to reach, Pete finished the job.
“Take her back to the parking,” Pete said to Frik. Then to her, “Agent Pillay will take you home.”
“I’ll have to come back to dress the wounds,” she said.
“That won’t be––” Frik started, but Pete cut him short.
“We’ll see. If needed, we know where to find you.” With a curt nod, he dismissed her.
She was about to walk through the door when the prisoner’s voice stopped her.
“Drako.”
“What?” She turned back to him.
“My name is Drako.”
Beside her, Frik uttered an ugly laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like what we needed all along wasn’t torture, but a pretty nurse.”
Pete slapped the back of his head. “Get out of my sight before I fire your ass.”
“What?” Frik huffed.
“He made a joke,” Pete said to Ilse, “albeit not a very good one.”
It was better not to reply. With a last look at the prisoner, who now had a name, she left the building with Frik.
Drako.
She repeated the name in her mind. What kind of a name was that? What was going on here? What were the agents hiding? Would she ever see Drako again?
4
The heavy chains on Drako’s legs drew tight as he shuffled down the corridor. They were short, allowing him only small, uncomfortable steps. Attached to each shackle was another short chain with a heavy weight he dragged behind him. Frik shoved the barrel of his rifle between his shoulder blades, making him stumble. He flung his head around with a snarl, which only incited a laugh from the agent. Since waking up in chains, Frik had beaten him and given him countless electric shocks. Revenge for the guard’s broken wrist, he assumed. There was also a spark of perverse excitement in the Earthling’s eyes whenever he doled out the torture. No doubt, he took pleasure from it. A defective psychological trait. He could easily strangle the pitiful man with the chains that bound his wrists, but they were taking him to his pod––at last––and he needed to know where it was too badly to evoke the humans’ anger right now.
His mission had been to conduct reconnaissance on Earth. His planet, Krina, was dying, and the Krinar needed a n
ew, habitable home. Life on Earth had been instigated by his compatriots, and although he was too young to have taken part in the experiment, he’d learned all about it before setting off on his mission. His feedback was not concerning the nature of food sources or other physical means of survival––he was not a biologist, and there were other Krinar for that––but to report on human behavior. He was to gather first-hand knowledge of their comportment so that the Elders could access how easy, or difficult, integration would be. Another shove from Frik and he was starting to think humans didn’t deserve the planet they inhabited. If the SS were to be ambassadors of their kind, he’d put a recommendation forward that the species be extinguished, as cohabitation with such a cruel and underdeveloped race seemed highly improbable, if not dysfunctional. So far, they’d given him no reason to plead for their lives—except for one.
The female they’d brought to tend to his wounds. Ilse. He rolled the name around in his mind, as he did in all the hours they kept him chained in their prison. It kept him sane. She was different. She was kind and gentle. Soft. In body and soul. He’d smelled her distress at causing him pain. It had a fragrance of burnt sugar. He could smell her fear, too, but she was brave, brave enough to defend him against her own kind. There were other smells far more intoxicating than her care and bravery. Her womanly essence had drifted to him the minute she’d entered his cell, sweet and seductive, unlike anything he’d experienced. The perfume of her skin was like the petals of a rose, a bloom unique to Earth. Beneath that, there was the promise of her blood that drew him like a deranged vampire. He’d drunk the occasional synthetic blood at the Krina bars and enjoyed it as much as any other Krinar, but he’d been told nothing compared to the real thing. It would seem the hearsay wasn’t unfounded, because he’d never been more tempted to taste anything in his life. He’d filled the long hours with no distinction between day or night with images of the impossibly small, curvy woman, imagining what it would be like to touch her everywhere, to kiss the fragrant skin of her neck, to run his tongue over her most sensitive parts, and to sink his teeth into the delicate vein in her neck. Just a taste. He’d meant it when he’d said he didn’t want to hurt her. If the rumors were anything to go by, biting her would bring her pleasure if they were coupling during the act. The thought alone had him go hard. It took extreme concentration to force down his dick. The guards who escorted him to the station where they kept his pod weren’t the audience he wanted for his hardening dick. It was an exotic creature with cloudy blue eyes, golden hair, generous hips, perfectly rounded breasts, and the softest hands he’d ever felt. She was nothing like the tall, lean, and toned Krinar females he’d coupled with. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to settle between her legs and take her deep with everything he had––fingers, tongue, teeth, and cock.
The Krinar Experiment Page 3
