Raising his prosthetic hand, he formed the hardlight claw at the tip of his forefinger—a hooked blade that looked like translucent red crystal—and lowered it to the skin over the tracker. He slid one foot forward, bracing a leg between hers and pinning her against the wall with his hip.
She tensed. “What the fu—ah!”
Drakkal slid the claw over her skin.
The terran’s hiss became a low, pained hum as she slapped her hand against the wall. Blood welled along the incision and trickled down the back of her neck. Drakkal’s stomach churned; for a moment, he felt as though he were about to retch.
Blood had never bothered him before, not once in his entire life. Why now? Why did the sight of her blood—and the knowledge that he’d spilled it—make him sick to his stomach?
Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to work. He dismissed the hardlight claw and pinched the incision from its ends, opening it like a tiny, bloody mouth—a resemblance that caused a resurgence of his nausea, but he wouldn’t let himself vomit.
Stop acting like a fuckingzhe’gaashand do what needs to be done!
The tiny, crimson-coated tristeel orb was barely visibleamidst the glistening blood. He shifted his right hand, curled his fingers to extend his natural claws, and pinched the orb between them. He drew it out slowly, revealing the hair-thin wires attached to it a millimeter at a time.
“Hurry the fuck up,” she snapped. Her hands were curled into fists against the wall, and her entire body was rigid and trembling.
Drakkal clenched his jaw. He’d hurt her already, but he knew this was the worst part, and despite everything he’d seen and done in his life, he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to cause her more pain.
But this was the path he’d decided to walk. The time to choose had passed.
He pulled on the orb. The wires went taut, clinging to their anchor points somewhere deep in the terran’s flesh. Drakkal gave the orb another sharp tug, and the wires broke free.
A high-pitched cry burst from the terran’s throat, and she went slack. Drakkal hurriedly tossed aside the tracker, looped his prosthetic arm around her middle, and lifted his knee to take her weight onto his leg and keep her upright.
She inhaled deeplyand flattened her palms against the wall, running them up and down slowly. Her exhalation was soft and slow as she released the breath, only to suck in another, as though breathing through her pain.
Drakkal’s insides twisted and flipped. He’d spent years physically harming people in arena bouts and had never felt remorse over it. But hurting her, hurting hismate…it was too much. He dropped his right hand to his belt and felt along it until his bloody fingers touched his small first-aid pouch. After a few moments of fumbling, he tugged a bandage out of its little dispenser and raised it to her neck.
“We’re done.” He pressed the bandage over the wound. The bandage activated immediately and faded into her skin, sealing the cut as it vanished.
Slowly, he removed his leg from between hers, allowing her to support her own weight a little at a time.
She was still for a little while before she hesitantly eased away from the wall and turned to face him. She swayed unsteadily, and her body sagged toward him. Drakkal’s heart leapt. He caught her upper arms, stopping her before she fell. Had he done too much damage, pushed her too hard, inflicted too much pain? His familiarity with terran anatomy was relatively shallow; he wasn’t sure how much punishment they could endure.
He needed to bring her home to the compound. Urgand had been studying terran medicine for the last year—ever since Arcanthus took Samantha as his mate—and would be far better equipped than Drakkal to examine and treat this terran.
Her palm settled on his thigh. For an instant, Drakkal’s blood reheated with desire, and conscious thought ceased. She slid her hand slowly up toward his waist. Her touch, even through his pants, sparked an electric current across his skin that made his tail twitch and his fur stand on end. He craved more of it—now—despite their situation.
“No,” she said, stepping back to press herself against the wall, “we’re not done.”
Drakkal’s brows and ears fell; her tone, now firm and confident, snapped him back to reality. He glanced down to see the blaster he’d taken from Nostrus—the blaster he’d dropped into the empty holster on his belt—in the terran’s hand, its barrel pointed at his chest.
Whatever he might’ve expected from a female in her condition, especially given what she’d been through, it wasn’t this.And her hand was absolutely steady—not even the faintest tremor moved the blaster.
Well, Drakkal, you did it. You were stupid. Again.
“Step back,” she commanded.
Drakkal took a large step back and lifted his eyes to her face. The rage and hatred he’d seen in her eyes when she’d looked at Murgen and Nostrus was back, but it was controlled, it wascold.
He slowly raised his hands, displaying his empty palms. “I’m not going to hurt you, terran.”
“You already did.”
“That was necessary.”
“I know. That’s the only reason I let you do it. Now shut the fuck up and take off your belt.”