The Arrogant Genius (The Lost Planet Series Book 8)

by K Webster

  “What is this?” she demands.

  Us. Us. Us.

  Mine.

  “This is understanding why your pulse quickens and your lips part when you see me.” I look over my shoulder and smirk. “And how your eyes track my every move. It’s interesting.” And how my cock hasn’t gone completely soft since I’ve stepped into the Medical Bay with her.

  “It is not interesting,” she growls, but she’s lost some of her fire.

  “Hmm.”

  “I swear to fuck, if you say that one more time…”

  “Enough of the mindless chatter, stormy one,” I bark out. “We’ll analyze this later. It’s time to work.”

  If looks could kill, I’d be happily skipping to The Eternals right now.

  I suppose there are worse ways to go.

  1

  Zoe

  Interesting, my ass.

  There’s nothing interesting about him. Infuriating, maybe, but not interesting. Dr. Avrell Dracarion.

  He thinks he’s the most brilliant man on Mortuus, but he couldn’t be more wrong. Full of himself is what he is. Arrogant to the core.

  While he’s been sitting on his ass impregnating people without their consent—the bastard—I’ve been in the trenches tending the sick. Pronouncing the dead. It’s been me who’s done all the hard work. There hasn’t been a choice. There is no one else with remotely any nursing skills.

  I thought being in prison on an alien planet was the worst thing that could happen to me. The guards who sexually assaulted and beat us. A government who sentenced us to a place that meant certain death. Those were horrors worse than anything I’d ever imagined.

  But neither the guards nor the government come close to the atrocities of illness.

  Looking away from the computer where I’m running countless streams of data, my eyes begin to water. I’m tired, that’s all. I haven’t stopped moving, haven’t stopped working since the first person fell sick. Weakness isn’t something I can afford. Not until everyone else is safe.

  I rub a hand over my strained eyes. An ache throbs at the center of my skull. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night. There’s always another patient getting sick, another complication. Some of them, I’m able to help, but others…the others will haunt me for the rest of my days.

  The good doctor may think poorly of everything I’ve done up until now, but I’ve saved lives here. Made a difference.

  What has he done?

  Him with his stupid lists and his stupid muscles. Why does a doctor have to be so ripped anyway? Weren’t they supposed to be soft and, I don’t know, nerdy looking? He’s a little less wild than the other morts, with his blunted teeth and cropped hair. But that doesn’t make him any less intimidating.

  Not that I find him intimidating.

  Infuriating, more like.

  Standing at nearly seven feet with corded muscle, broad shoulders underneath pale, white skin, he should look like a hairless demon rat with his black eyes and pointed ears. It would be so much easier if he did. The morts themselves weren’t terrifying like I thought they’d be when Hadrian and Theron first pulled up in their ship. There are so many more things to be afraid of in this world, some germophobic aliens don’t even top my list.

  I chew on the computer stylus, wishing it were Avrell’s stupid face. I was perfectly fine here until he’d been thrown into the mix. He could contract The Rades, but even I wouldn’t be so heartless as to wish that upon him. But maybe he could trip over his own massive feet and smash his face up a little.

  Or better yet, he could trip and fall face first into my…

  I cough and shake my head. Wrong, that’s wrong, Zoe.

  “Who is stupid, hon?”

  I hadn’t even heard Lyric walk into the infirmary. “No one,” I answer and toss the stylus onto the table with an indignant huff. “No one of any importance, anyway.”

  Lyric lifts a brow. “Riiight. So that’s why you want him to catch The Rades?”

  “I said that out loud?”

  “More like yelled it.”

  Pushing myself up from the seat, I begin to pace. “He’s just so—so infuriating! And bossy. I’ve never met anyone like him.”

  Lyric leans against the control panel and pastes a patient smile on her face. “Maybe you two...conflict so much because you’re both incredibly alike?” she suggests.

  My mouth drops open. “Me? Like him?”

  No way in hell. If I’d come into this situation, I would have been grateful for any and all help provided. I wouldn’t list all the things people had done wrong or condescend to them about how to do it better. Most of all, I wouldn’t insinuate there was some sort of attraction between us.

  Because there isn’t.

  At all.

  “You’re both very dedicated and direct. It’s no wonder you clash. I can only hope you’ll be able to put aside those conflicts and work together for the sake of everyone.”

  “You don’t need to give me the pep talk, Lady Commander.” I manage not to roll my eyes at the title Hadrian gave her. He’s an all right mort, I guess, but the sweet, cutesy stuff isn’t for me. I never understood the whole romance shtick, and the thought of some alien making moon eyes at me makes my skin crawl.

  Thankfully the only other mort available here at the prison is one I can barely stand to look at.

  “When it comes to him, I do. You two are like bickering children ninety percent of the time.”

  “I guess that makes you our mother, huh?”

  “Sometimes, that’s how it feels herding everyone around.”

  I glance up from the figures I’m running on the computer screen and notice for the first time the dark purple shadows under Lyric’s normally bright eyes. I’m not the only one struggling. Chagrined, my shoulders slump. I bite back the retort that comes to my lips about Avrell’s superiority complex and instead say, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let him get under my skin so much. Finding the cure is more important.”

  Her eyes crinkle as she grins. “See? That pep talk worked, didn’t it? Lady Commander for the win, bitch!”

  Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the now maniacal gleam in her eyes, but I can’t stop the laughter from bubbling over. Slumping over the desk, I gasp for breath and clutch at my waist as my muscles burn for relief. It’s been so long since I laughed. Too long.

  I wipe tears from my eyes once I’m able to catch my breath again and sit up, coming face-to-face with Avrell, who is decidedly not smiling from behind his protective mask. His muscled forearms are straining at the immaculate white lab coat he scrounged from god-only-knows-where and crossed over his chest. He looks every bit like the disappointed father. If he’d been my father, maybe I would have been a more obedient girl. Who am I kidding? Authoritative types make me want to ruffle their feathers a bit. I can’t help it.

  I clear my throat and Lyric, sensing the change in the air, whirls around and puts a hand to her chest. “Sorry, Av. We didn’t hear you come in.”

  His expression doesn’t change and I wonder if he ever shows any emotion other than disdain. Probably isn’t programmed for it. I cover my snigger behind my hand. Maybe I did need that pep talk from Lyric. Now is not the time to tease Avrell. We need to work together. When we’re done, I’ll antagonize him all I want.

  “Obviously,” he drones.

  “I’ll leave you two to work,” Lyric says and ignores my beseeching look. Traitor. She could at least supervise and make sure we don’t kill each other. So much for Lady Commander. “Be nice,” she mouths before the elevator doors close behind her.

  Easy for her to say. She doesn’t have to spend the foreseeable future locked in close quarters with a man who makes her want to commit a homicide. Maybe I could inject him with a rogue vial of The Rades. It would be a total accident.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Avrell asks.

  I bring my gaze back to him, ignoring how he adjusts his mask, which causes his tight alien-materi
al shirt to slither across his skin like butter. I liked him better in the bulky outerwear gear he first arrived in. “Like what?”

  “Like I’m a specimen beneath your magnascope. Except I can’t decide if you want to kill me or mate with me. Hmm...”

  “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want to mate with you for you to get it through your thick skull? Are you aliens super dense or something?”

  “I possess above average intelligence for a mort.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “I can show you my aptitude tests, if you like.” I’ll bet he can. He and his big...brains. I bet he shows them to everyone.

  “Okay, Mr. Know-It-All. No one cares. Let’s just get to work.”

  He nods with his stupid head. “I’ve been ready. First I want to reassess the patients you have.”

  You know, if it weren’t for the condescension in his tone, I wouldn’t have snapped back. “By all means. Let’s redo all my work. I won’t take it personally.”

  “Good,” he says. “We have a lot to get done. We’re wasting time.”

  He turns his back on me and I consider stabbing him in the jugular with my stylus. It’d be a somewhat painful death, but no less than he deserves. The prick.

  I should probably stop fantasizing about ways to kill him.

  Even I know we need him. Maybe after he makes a cure for this damn disease no one will notice if I sneak him away and feed him to one of those Big Birds up on the mountain. Except it would probably give them a stomachache.

  “Are you listening?”

  “Were you saying something important?”

  “Everything I say is important.”

  He makes it too easy. I know I have to focus, though, so I let the opportunity to insult him pass. There will be many more, I’m sure. “What were you saying?”

  “I’d like to reevaluate all your patients for the progression of the disease. If we can map its life cycle, maybe we can target a weakness for the vaccine. I have equipment to synthesize potential treatments, but it’ll take some time.”

  “I’ve sent you my notes⁠—”

  “I’d like to see them in person.”

  I grind my teeth together. “Fine. There are ten still in the Med-Bay isolation units. We can start there.”

  It’d be easier if I didn’t like his demanding nature as much as I hated it. I’ve always been in conflict with authority figures. It’s what got me into so much trouble on Earth II. He orders me around the Med-Bay from patient to patient, shoving a tablet at me to take notes on his observations like I’m some sort of fucking secretary.

  But if I were being honest with myself…

  Maybe I like it a little bit.

  Like the way his lips press together when he’s thinking too hard or when he rolls up the sleeves on his lab coat, showing off his forearms that are encased in his tight, protective suit that reveals every curve and vein. I never thought I had a forearm fetish, but Avrell’s make my mouth water.

  If only the body weren’t attached to the brain, I wouldn’t be so against “mating” with him. I could use a bout of stress relief after all the shit I’ve been through.

  “You know I could design a device for you.”

  I pull myself back to reality. “A device?” I ask. Had I said that out loud? My cheeks burn. God, I hope not.

  “For your concentration problems. Maybe a collar that sends out a jolt of electricity. That way, when you get distracted, it’ll provide sufficient inducement to stay on topic.”

  “You want me to wear a shock collar?”

  “Perhaps it would help keep your mind from wandering.”

  “Why don’t we shove it up your ass instead? It must be better than the stick you already have up there.”

  His brow furrows and his lips press together. Then he waves a hand. “As I was saying, this patient shows a much better resistance to the virus. Take a blood sample so we can analyze it.”

  “Yes, sir.” I give a mock salute.

  At my words, his shoulders stiffen, then he stalks off to his make-shift desk. Was it the salute, or did he like hearing me call him sir? If I can’t kill him, maybe I can tease him to death until he comes up with a cure. If I don’t, I may go a little mad from having to put up with him.

  It’s going to be a long race to the cure.

  2

  Avrell

  Six Solars Until Kevins Arrive…

  I’ve wasted too much time. Testing and retesting. Nothing makes sense. Hadrian’s and Theron’s blood seems no different than my own. They appear to be immune, though I can’t know if that applies to me too. And while many of the females contracted The Rades and have been terribly ill, and in some cases perished, some like Zoe also seem immune.

  There is nothing under the magnascope that shows any correlation.

  Exposure seems important, though. As though some beings—both mort and human—have immunities that quickly defend The Rades. I’m missing something and it’s driving me rekking mad.

  It’s been at least eight solars since I traveled to Exilium with the purpose of discovering a cure. I’ve been nothing but a failure. More questions than answers.

  My mask is suffocating me. I wear it at all times, protecting myself from the unknown. With each solar that passes, I grow more agitated at having to wear it. What would happen if I just ripped it off and shared the air with the ill? Would I fall victim to the disease or would my body fight like so many others have?

  Time is moving by all too quickly.

  The Kevins will be here before we know it. Oz has been working diligently on the weapon that I am certain he’ll perfect soon. It’s my hope that he’ll kill them, and it’ll no longer be of our concern.

  Our concern is life.

  The continuation of our species and the hybrids so many are giving birth to. Molly just had not one, but two, mortlings yesterday. Lyric and Willow are pregnant now too. Our future is precious and delicate, barely balanced on a mountain of what-ifs and a whole rekking lot of hope.

  We need certainty.

  We need a cure.

  We need our population to grow and thrive and once again overtake this planet that rightfully belongs to us.

  Think, Avrell. Think.

  Perspiration rolls down my temple, tickling my flesh. I need to breathe and think. My stomach grumbles. And eat.

  “Here,” Zoe snaps, dropping a plate of seared meat on my desk, though I don’t know from which beast it comes from. “Compliments of Hadrian’s recent hunt. Take a break in your room so you can unmask and eat.”

  Normally, I have words for her. Lots of them. This solar, I am weary.

  “Many thanks, stormy one.”

  She flinches like I’ve struck her. Immediately, concern washes over me.

  “What is it?” I ask, cocking my nog to the side to assess her for signs of illness. “Are you feeling unwell?”

  Her gray eyes are blazing with intensity as she narrows them at me. “I was thinking you were the unwell one.”

  I rise from my seat and take a step toward her, making a mental list of all that seems to be wrong with her.

  Hunching shoulders.

  Almost sad frown.

  Dark rings around her eyes.

  Defeat in her gray eyes that have lost their fire from moments before.

  “I’m on the cusp,” I murmur as I step closer, wishing I could scent her without the mask between us. “I can feel it. I just…I need to think. Time is slipping away and it’s rekking distracting.”

  Her features soften, making her seem so delicate. I have the urge to peel away my glove and touch her skin to see how it feels. Would she feel softer than the other females I’ve come in contact with?

  “I…” she trails off. “I need to go check on Julie.”

  As soon as she scurries off, I frown in confusion. Did we…Did we just converse without arguing? We must both truly be losing ourselves to the madness of this disease we can’t seem to figure out.

  I
sit back down, staring at the meat on my plate that is blackened much like how we cook our sabrevipe meat. I didn’t know sabrevipes migrated out this way. For eight solars I’ve taken each meal alone, in the safety of my room here at Exilium. The thought of having to do it again seems…tiring.

  I could eat here.

  Take my mask off.

  Breathe in her lingering scent.

  My mind recoils at the thought because I’ve spent my entire lifetime protecting myself from harmful diseases and pathogens and radiation. Taking off my mask in an office just a few steps away from the Medical Bay full of extremely ill patients is the absolute definition of madness.

  I might as well inject the disease right into my vein.

  Time pauses.

  Zoe did it. In some misguided effort to learn how The Rades attacks, and to cure it. She was lucky because it didn’t affect her in the least. But it makes me wonder. When I’d taken a look at her blood samples, nothing looked amiss aside from the fact her blood cells were redder and more plentiful. There isn’t a way to add more blood cells into a human or mort, giving them cells like hers. She just is.

  Think, Avrell.

  There are answers and you’re close.

  Before I can stop myself, I yank at the latch on my mask. I pull it away from my face and drop it onto the desk beside the scattered papers where I’ve scrawled out many notes. The air smells…fresh and sweet. Like something I’ve never scented before. Unique. Mine.

  Blood rushes to my cock as realization washes over me. The scent belongs to Zoe. I know it with every fiber of my being. It’s quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever smelled. It overpowers the overcooked sabrevipe, traveling into my lungs and lingering there.

  If I die from exposure, at least I got to smell her.

  I rip off my gloves, stretching out my fingers and letting the cool air kiss them. After being trapped in my gear most of each solar, I’m nearly giddy to be freed.

  Quickly, I chew down the meat. It’s charred beyond belief. It’s our way. To cook out any possible radiation or disease.