Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One
Page 22
February 3,390 BCE
Earth: Crash site
Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili
Mikhail
Mikhail held up his cup and repeated the word in Galactic Standard.
“Cupán,” Mikhail said. “Cupán [cup].”
Ninsianna's lush, pink lips curved up into a winsome smile as she lifted up her own cup of water up and, this time, repeated the word without an accent.
"Cupán."
Scrutinizing her body language, he took a long, sweet draught and relished the sensation as the earthy beverage slid down his throat. Perhaps it was his recent brush with death, but when had the simple act of drinking water ever brought him so much pleasure? Perhaps it was because Ninsianna had refused to leave when her father had begged for her to come home? He suspected his savior's refusal had more to do with avoiding her spurned lover rather than any desire to help him, but her excuse for staying, that she must teach him their language, would take his mind off of his injuries while he healed.
"Deoch," he said with an exaggerated sigh. He lifted the cup to his lips to pantomime the act of drinking. "Deoch."
Ninsianna refilled his mug from her water skin and ordered him to drink more using that new word. “You … deoch … drink!”
"No thank you, I've had enough," Mikhail said. He scrutinized the way she unconsciously kept glancing out of the galley towards the crack they were forced to use as a door. He'd been conserving water, wary of sending her out to fetch more until he was strong enough to defend her in case her overbearing fiancé returned.
Ninsianna's lips moved into a stern ‘do as I say or else’ expression as she gestured for him to drink the water and not simply watch her drink it. She bit her lip when he failed to comply, her thick, brown eyebrows coming together in first an expression of bewilderment, and then irritation. For some reason he found her every facial gesture to be fascinating; as if he had never seen such expressiveness before. Whenever she spoke her voice rose and fell with emotion, and the way her entire body moved placed him in an agitated state of excitement. He had no idea why he felt such an overwhelming urge to take to the sky and shout with glee.
You'd think he'd never been attracted to a woman before… Not that he could remember.
“Ith … eat." Ninsianna handed him more dried salty meat and gestured as though she put food into her own mouth.
“Uimh … no." Mikhail shook his head.
“Ith … eat." Anger flashed in her eyes as she pointed first to the food, and then to his belly. "Nasıl sen yemezseniz iyileşmesi gerekiyor?"
Mikhail added 'willful' to his list of descriptors. He took a piece of the salty dried meat and chewed, examining her body language to take his mind off of the pungent, chewy texture. Ninsianna rewarded him with a smile, and then frowned as she noticed his intense gaze.
“Tusa anois … you sleep." Ninsianna gestured to the sleeping chamber using words she had learned only moments before.
“Uimh … no. Níl mé tuirseach [not tired]."
“Tusa anois … you sleep, now,” Ninsianna ordered again. “Ghortaigh tú … you hurt." Taking his hand, she tugged until he stood up.
Mikhail rose to his feet silently, determined not to let her hear him groan as a stab of pain from his shattered chest made the room suddenly seem very far away. He swayed forward until Ninsianna wedged her shoulder beneath his arm to help him keep his balance. A feeling of warmth made him tingle, as though she were charged with a pleasant form of electricity.
He gasped for breath, still unable to take a complete lungful thank to his punctured lung, but when he coughed, there was only a little bit of blood. Ninsianna helped him to the edge of his bunk, waiting patiently while he clumsily rearranged his shattered wing to face outwards in the too-narrow space between the beds. Mikhail glanced at the bunk opposite his and gave a regretful sigh. Ninsianna's father had exacted one promise before he'd left … that he would not defile his daughter! An instinctive voice whispered that his kind took intimate relations very seriously. He grabbed the errant thought and was frustrated when it disappeared.
“You … sleep … now!" Ninsianna pointed at his pillow.
Actually, he was pretty tired.
“Yes,” Mikhail grumbled, “sleep now.”
He crawled wearily onto his one good side and settled his broken wing to cover himself. No matter how he lay, the splints on his wrist and wing hurt, but he didn't dare remove them. Would he ever be able to fly again?
“Go raibh maith agat … thank you." Mikhail looked into her tawny beige eyes. The color darkened to an almost pure gold; a color that seemed … familiar. The urgent sensation he was supposed to report that information to somebody once again clenched at his gut. He had a mission to complete, one he could not remember.
Ninsianna placed her hand upon his cheek. “Tusa anois … you sleep, now."
Mikhail's breath caught in his chest at the unexpected feel of her touch. He didn't think he was used to the casual way her kind touched one another. It did things to him.
He ruffled his feathers to make a warm, downy blanket. Before his head even sank into the pillow, he was out cold.
Chapter 19