by Presley Hall
I would love her like no one else could. I could make her happy and keep her safe as my mate. I know it.
But she doesn’t want me.
That knowledge is a crushing weight on my chest that will put me in the ground if I let it. But I can’t allow it to drag me down. If nothing else, I have to recover and serve my prince. I have to protect my mate even if she doesn’t want me by her side.
I grit my teeth and open my eyes, forcing myself upright. Pain wraps itself around my chest and tries to break my ribs, sinks its teeth into my stomach and the back of my skull and seeps through my veins like poison, but I force myself to push past it. I can’t just wallow here and do nothing. It’s not in my nature.
I get up, the room spinning as I stumble a step and catch myself with a hand on the wall. I breathe in, and out, and frown when I smell something sharp. I can’t tell what it is, but it’s coming from outside. It smells sour and like the inside of someone’s stomach. I’ve cut open enough of them to tell.
I step outside and see that puddle of vomit in the grass is the source of the scent. Strange. Hopefully no one is getting sick.
I think of Elizabeth, and of her dizzy spell a while ago. She seems fine now. I hope she isn’t getting sick again. Or maybe it was one of my Voxeran brothers who vomited. Sometimes the high of battle fever and the crash afterward makes the youngbloods react poorly. Or perhaps one of the women isn’t used to the sight of so much bloodshed.
I shake my head and straighten, the sharp smell allowing me to clear my mind somewhat. Wincing at the pain, I step away from my hut.
As I make my way across the village, the scent of old blood, burning wood, and upturned dirt greets me. Kaide stands by one of the collapsed buildings, gathering up the rubble so that it’s not spread out everywhere. I walk over to him and bend down to lift a large section of wall, adding it to the pile.
He eyes me, looking both relieved to see me up and about and concerned by the state of my injuries.
“It’s good to see you, Axen.” He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head. “But shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I’m fine,” I say confidently, masking the pain with a shake of my head. I have always pushed past injury and discomfort to protect those that I care about, and I’m not about to stop doing that. Cleanup and rebuilding gives me something to focus on aside from my fractured heart and drowning soul.
Kaide doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t protest any further. We work in silence, clearing the area until Strome and Rath show up to help move everything out of the settlement, to a place where we can burn it. Most of the pieces of debris are no longer salvageable, and it will be easier to repurpose them as firewood for the meals. Strome and Rath give me the same assessing look Kaide did, but they don’t insist I go back to rest.
The work is good and distracting, even though by the end of clearing the first building, I’m sweating and can barely see through the pain. I’m very aware of the absence of the women, and I hope that Elizabeth is all right.
If nothing else, I want her to be happy, even though it kills me that I won’t be the one to make that happen.
9
Elizabeth
I leave Zayre’s cabin, glad that he’s doing much better since I last visited him. He sustained a mild concussion during the fight and some superficial cuts that didn’t even need epoxy to heal up—which I’m glad for, since we have basically none left.
My footsteps slow once I’m outside. The Voxerans have spent the day cleaning up after the fight, and while there are some big chunks missing from some of the buildings and the wall, the debris is cleared up and the ground is clear.
I hesitate, unsure of what else to do or where to go next. I don’t really want to go back to the women’s lodgings or back to my bed. I’m shell-shocked and overwhelmed by the events of the day, but I still have things I need to do. I need to help, I want to help, in any way I can.
The fact of the matter is that, of all the injured Voxerans who I’ve been tending to, all of them are basically out of the woods at this point. The only person who might actually still need medical assistance is Axen, and I’ve been… avoiding his cabin. Like a fucking coward.
I have no idea what to do about him. I’m a total mess, completely freaked out about the mate bond and the whirlwind of emotions that surround it. Figuring out I’m pregnant and then having an alien basically say I’m his one true love while stranded on a dangerous prison planet isn’t something I ever thought I would have to deal with, and I am not prepared to handle it.
The mate bond fascinates me, but only as something to be studied and analyzed from afar, not something to be experienced and dealt with in real time.
But it’s happening. It’s real, and I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do about it, especially once my pregnancy comes to light. I can’t hide it forever.
Unfortunately, I also can’t hide from Axen forever. We live in the same settlement, after all, and he’s injured. He still needs medical attention. Those stitches should hold, but they’ll need to be taken out eventually. His bandages will need to be changed, he’ll need help keeping the wound clean, and I have to make sure it doesn’t get infected. I need to be a doctor.
I have a duty to my patient, and even though my head is basically a kicked hornet’s nest at the moment, I’m not going to let that mess everything up and compromise my integrity.
I just… need a few minutes. To work up my nerve.
Taking my time, I wander around the perimeter, heading toward the destroyed part of the village. There are a few buildings that were practically burned to the ground, and others that have large chunks of them taken out from where the fire caught them but ultimately didn’t get the chance to devour them all. Thankfully, none of the living quarters or the supply huts were damaged. We don’t need to worry about starving to death or what’s left of our pitiful medical supplies being destroyed.
As I approach the area where several Voxerans are hauling rubble into a pile, I immediately spot Axen. My eyes widen at the sight of him hefting a heavy piece of broken wall and adding it to the pile. He’s grimacing and covered in sweat, obviously in pain, and there’s a huge stain of fresh blue blood leaking down his side.
Dammit. He’s torn his stitches.
Horror and worry rise up in me at the sight, and I can’t breathe. I can’t think about anything but how much pain he must be in and how he’s risking himself unnecessarily. My jaw tightens, my lips pressing into a thin line as I march toward him. When he sets the piece of rubble down, I grab his wrist in a fierce hold.
He freezes, blinking at me in surprise. His amber eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide—probably from pain.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand.
Without waiting for an answer, I drag him away from the cleanup crew, back toward his cabin. To my surprise, he doesn’t resist at all, following me willingly.
His steps are heavy and halting, feet dragging by the time we get to the small hut. It’s like my touch and presence, and the lack of immediate work to do, is a shot of sedative to him. His eyelids are drooping, and he can barely stay on his feet, finally letting his exhaustion show. His breathing is labored as I lead him into his dwelling.
Blood leaks down his side in thick trails. His bandages are completely soaked, and so is the side and front of his loincloth from so much twisting and bending. He’s been pushing himself too hard, clearly, and while Voxerans don’t exactly go pale like humans do, he looks sallow and unsteady. He stumbles a little, and I catch him, wrapping an arm carefully around his waist as I get him the final few feet to his bed.
As I deposit him on the mattress, I catch sight of his blood staining my bare arm. The sight of it makes my heart stutter, my stomach flipping over like a wet pancake. I stare at the blue blood, and then at Axen as he grimaces and touches his side. His breathing is labored, and sweat shines on his brow, making his dark hair look almost black. My fingers shake, and I curl them to hide it.
>
Seeing his blood on me and looking at him now, it hits me all over again how close I was to losing him. Mate bond or no, the fact that he was in danger, that he was so grievously wounded and risked his life to save me—that he almost died—and the fact that he’s still in danger and risking his health because he can’t just fucking keep still hits me like a ton of bricks.
A torrent of emotions wells up in me like a wave, and I hiss at him, “What the fuck, Axen?”
He meets my gaze, his pupils so wide he looks drugged. He’s probably in a lot of pain. Maybe he’s too delirious to even understand me, but I don’t care. I’ve opened the floodgates, and there’s no stopping myself now. The pain, the fear, the exhaustion—it’s all bubbling on the tip of my tongue and just waiting to be let free.
“I can’t believe you!” I practically shout. “You almost died last night, and now you’re out there acting like nothing happened? I can’t believe you’re risking yourself like this!”
He frowns and wets his lips. “Elizabeth—”
“No! Don’t you ‘Elizabeth’ me.” I square my shoulders, holding out my hand to show him the blue blood that slicks my skin. “You see that? You popped your stitches and probably set back your healing by weeks. I don’t have any more of that epoxy stuff for wounds, and there are barely any bandages! You could get an infection. You could fucking die, and there’s nothing I could do about it!”
My throat is tight, making it almost painful to speak. Tears are welling up, blurring my vision. Axen is quiet, and I hate his silence. I want him to say something, to do something, even though I don’t want his apologies, and have no idea what he could say or do to make it better.
“I don’t have the equipment here to save you if you get sick, do you understand me?” I snap. I feel like I’m caught between screaming and sobbing, so my voice is coming out harsh and raspy, like I have a punctured lung.
But that’s what this ache in my chest feels like. It feels like my lungs are no longer capable of drawing in air.
Axen is being stupid, and he could still fucking die, and I would lose him.
I could lose him.
The backs of my eyes sting, emotion clogging my throat and making my chest heave. I can’t get any more words out.
So I just burst into tears instead.
10
Axen
Seeing Elizabeth in pain breaks me in a way nothing else ever has.
Droplets of water spill from her eyes and down her cheeks. She’s crying. I’ve seen the other Terran women do this when they are upset, but the sight has never cracked my heart open the way it does now.
The instinct to soothe my mate is too powerful to resist. I try to stand up, try to reach for her, but she lets out another wounded sound and stares at me like I’ve just lost my mind, and I sit down again. But I still have to touch her. I have to calm her down.
I’m here. I’m right here, my kira. I’m right here…
Taking her hand, I pull her down to the bed beside me. Water continues to spill over her eyelids, trailing down her flushed cheeks. She’s gasping as if she can’t get enough air, and I can see tension in every line of her body.
I tuck her against my good side, trying not to get any more blood on her since it clearly causes her so much distress. I cup her cheek and bring her to rest against my chest so she can feel my heartbeat. So she can feel that it is still strong, still steady. That I’m alive. I am breathing and warm, and I can be strong for her.
She sags against me, tilting her head so her cheek rests against my chest. Her shoulders stop shaking eventually, as she arches closer under my arm. I stroke her hair and rest my chin on top of her head, rumbling quietly in an effort to soothe.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “I won’t do it again.” She lets out another quiet sound that breaks my heart. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to help. I’m not…” I grunt quietly. “I’m not used to feeling useless. I don’t like it. I needed to help my brothers in rebuilding and keeping everyone safe.”
She doesn’t answer, merely sighs against my chest. But the water has stopped spilling from her eyes. Now she only hiccups soft breaths as I continue to stroke her hair.
I want to pull her close and put her beneath me, to cover her with my body so she can feel how strong I still am, how I can still protect her if she needs me to. She doesn’t deserve a weak mate. She is so strong and fierce—she needs someone worthy of her. Someone who can protect her. Someone she would be proud to have by her side, to sire her children, to protect our family.
My other hand rests on her jaw. I touch her cheek so I can make sure there are no fresh droplets and close my eyes, bowing down to nuzzle her soft hair, so thick and dark and covered in her scent.
“I don’t want to cause you pain,” I whisper to her. “I never want to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
She swallows audibly, releasing a shuddery breath, but she doesn’t seem quite as distraught as before. I gently pet her hair, tucking the soft strands behind her ear and running my fingertips lightly over her pulse in her neck as she calms herself down and gets her emotions back under control.
My beautiful, strong mate. It hurts me so much to see her in pain and makes me so proud to see her master it. She’s like me. She is strong, and she can fight through everything, even her fear.
She stiffens a moment later when I nuzzle her again, causing me to go tense.
Of course.
She doesn’t actually want me. She only clung to me just now because she needed someone to soothe her pain.
I let her go and pull away, giving her the chance to escape. I would never forgive myself if I hurt her or made her feel obligated to accept me as her mate.
Elizabeth sits up, wiping at her eyes, which are red-rimmed and shining. She takes several long breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. I do my best not to watch her, not to notice the rise of her breasts as she breathes in, how the stain of my blood on her cheek makes her gray eyes shine more brightly, how she smells like life and home, and how badly I ache for her.
She looks at me through her long lashes as she rises to her feet.
“I need to fix your stitches.” Her voice has regained some of its strength, and I can hear the vein of stubbornness in it that I’m coming to know well. “Lie on your side.”
I obey, watching her as she rises and fetches the medical supply kit that she left behind since she was in such a hurry to run away from me last time. The reminder makes me grimace, and I school my expression by the time she turns back around and kneels by my bed.
She takes out a small pair of scissors and cuts the soiled bandages free, peeling them off with a grimace as they flop wetly to the floor. I press my lips together, tensing at the feel of dried blood and cloth sticking together as they’re pulled apart. It is more like a little bite than the radiating pain everywhere else, but it hurts nonetheless.
A lot of the stitches are torn, and my mate glowers in displeasure. The expression both amuses and upsets me. I don’t like her being worried for me or unhappy with me, but it’s entrancing to watch her mutter to herself as she tugs the broken pieces of thread free and gets back to work restitching my wound.
It hurts, and I grimace as I try to hide the pain as best I can. I watch her work, trying to focus on anything but the feeling of my skin being tugged back together and sewn shut. The look of concentration on her face, the crease in her brow and the downward tilt of the corners of her mouth, reminds me of my own. It’s how I look when I’m fighting, so fiercely focused on my ultimate goal: the defeat of my enemy.
My wounds are her enemy, and she will not rest until they are destroyed.
I force myself to relax as she works, concentrating on keeping my cock from stiffening. The feel of her touch is so good that it nearly overrides the discomfort of the needle piercing my skin.
She’s so capable, so competent. Her movements are quick and efficient. Her hands don’t shake even as they get coated in my blood, the slipperiness of it not halting her
for even a moment. Her need to help me mirrors my own desire to care for and protect her.
If she would just let me, I could show her how I understand, how alike we are in our overwhelming need to help, to be useful, to fight.
At last, she ties off the thread with an expert knot. Her expression looks much calmer now that I’m no longer actively bleeding. She takes some water from the side of the bed and washes her hands, before dousing a cloth and wiping my side clean.
When she finishes, she leans back, biting her lower lip and nodding to herself. Then she looks up at my face. Our gazes meet, and it’s like time slows to nothing. I don’t dare blink. I want to sit up and reach for her again, but she was so distressed by my attempts at it last time that I force myself to be still.
“Axen,” she whispers. “Did you really mean it? Are you really my mate?”
“Yes,” I say. There’s no hesitation, just as I wouldn’t hesitate to leap into a battle to defend my own. “I knew it even before I woke.”
Her eyes widen slightly. Perhaps I shouldn’t say more, but my desire to be honest and open with her, to share every piece of myself with my mate, overrides my hesitation.
“Even before that, when I was still unconscious, it was like I could feel you tending to me,” I admit. “Part of me, I think, felt the connection even then. I dreamt of you. In my dream, you were mine.”
She swallows, an expression that I can’t quite decipher passing over her face. I’m so aware of her—of her warmth, her scent, her every movement—that it takes hold of me like a wave of water and threatens to drown me. I want to reach for her so badly. Without conscious command, my hand skates to the edge of my bed.
Her gaze drops to look at it, and her breath catches as she sways toward me. Unconsciously, I mirror her movement, erasing some of the space between us. Her fingers graze the back of my hand, and I turn it so I can wrap my fingers around her wrist. I want to pull her close to me, to touch every inch of our skin together. I want it so badly I can’t breathe.
