Chapter 6

SIX

Bea sat in the medical bay, staring at the strange alien surroundings, waiting for whoever was supposed to come and treat her stupid, smarting ankle.

It had all happened faster than she could blink. The stoic crew member had summoned a hovering transporter thing that had whisked her away, down long, winding, dark corridors to a faraway room.

She was deep in the bowels of the ship, completely cut off from human civilization.

The crew member, whose name she’d finally learned was Ortan , had offered to summon a human to keep her company and offer her support.

Bea had politely declined. She was a big girl. She could manage on her own. Having them call in a perfect stranger to hold her hand while she got treated for a minor injury just seemed silly to her.

She didn’t want her first introduction to the humans of the Kordolian Fleet Station to be this poor woman who broke her shoe’s heel and fell off the damn ramp.

Besides, the chance to get a peek behind the scenes of the most infamous and highly secured space station in the Universe was an opportunity she might never get again.

She wasn’t nervous.

It was all rather exciting.

It was weird. She, who was normally distrustful of everyone and everything until they proved themselves otherwise—a trait from years of working in the corporate world—felt perfectly comfortable here.

Maybe it was because the Kordolians didn’t have any feeling of pretense about them. There was no facade, no falseness.

They were either coolly courteous or brutally blunt, and they weren’t trying to impress anyone.

What you saw was what you got.

It was refreshing, especially after she’d spent so much time working in the corporate world, where everything was smoke and mirrors and disingenuous smiles.

According to Ortan, they could fix her ankle almost instantaneously.

Bea chuckled. She knew Kordolians were technologically advanced, but she’d have to see that one to believe it. She’d suffered a sprained ankle before—from something as stupid as losing her balance while throwing a football—and it had hurt so bad she thought she’d fractured it.

She’d been on crutches for a couple of weeks.

This wasn’t nearly as bad, but she certainly wouldn’t be able to walk normally for a while.

Bea glanced around, taking in the glowing blue holos through which flowed a constant stream of indecipherable data. The Kordolian characters looked like ancient glyphs out of a fantasy realm, strangely at odds with all the high-tech stuff in here.

There were machines of all shapes and sizes. Bea couldn’t even begin to fathom what any of them were for. There were wheel-less trolleys and racks with alien implements.

If she were in a different frame of mind, she might be terrified right now. One could easily suspect these aliens had lured her here to do all kinds of terrible things to her.

But she wasn’t worried at all.

She couldn’t help but think about the very first Kordolian she’d really interacted with.

Mavrel.

Almost instantly, he’d made her feel at ease.

These were his people. This was Kordolian HQ Central. In all likelihood, this was where he worked.

Maybe she would ask about him. She wanted to see him again—maybe over a glass of wine and some canapes.

Did Kordolians serve refreshments at functions?

She had no idea what to expect.

“So, you’ve injured yourself, hm?” A voice drifted into the room. A second later, an alien was standing before her, sizing her up.

Bea looked him up and down, taking in the long silver hair, the elegant features, the flowing black robes, the bare feet, the golden eyes, and the horns.

Holy moly.

In some ways, he seemed similar to Mavrel.

But Mavrel was taller, and his facial features were more angular.

“Are you the medic?” she blurted.

“Ah, yes.” For a moment, his gaze became unfocused, as if he were somewhere else entirely. Then it snapped back to her, brilliant amber and intense as if he could see right through to her soul. Unlike the others, she found him a little unsettling. “I’m Zharek. Resident medic, scientist, and all-round problem- solver. In this case, I’ve been ordered to make sure you’re well enough to attend the Cultural Event. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time. Minor musculoskeletal injuries are the easiest thing to take care of.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Zharek,” Bea said quietly, unsure of what to make of this guy. He had a certain kind of aura: a wild, frenetic energy. “And that’s good news. I’m sorry for the trouble. I didn’t expect a wardrobe malfunction.”

Zharek smiled, revealing gleaming fangs. How was it possible for someone to feel both reassuring and dangerous? “Apologies are unnecessary. It’s a simple fix and an interesting case study.”

“ Case study?”

“We repair things at the cellular level now. Even the most minor injuries.”

“Uh, all right. What do you want me to do, then?”

“Nothing. Just wait here while I—” Suddenly, Zharek froze, like a cat detecting a sudden change in the scent of the wind. “I’ll be back.”

He abruptly disappeared into the adjoining room, an antechamber-type space of shadows and curving walls.

Then, Bea heard voices.

Zharek’s—indignant and defensive.

And another.

She recognized that voice.

It was him.

Mavrel.

She couldn’t understand a thing—they were speaking rapidly in Kordolian—but he was clearly angry.

His voice was getting softer. It was low and cold and dangerous—a tone she’d never expected from him.

Seriously, what’s all this commotion about?

It probably wasn’t a good idea for her to get between two Kordolian males having a dispute, but Bea couldn’t stand the idea of a conflict erupting, especially if it involved him.

What had happened to that cool, chivalrous guy from before?

Was this something to do with her?

Had she caused all of this?

Before she could think it through, she was up out of the chair, hobbling across the floor on bare feet, ignoring the pain shooting through her ankle.

Her heart was pounding.

She reached the doorway and peered through into the abyss beyond, leaning against the frame and putting her weight onto her good foot.

She saw the two of them—embraced by shadow, caught in some inexplicable dance.

Mavrel’s hand was around Zharek’s throat.

Zharek’s expression was a mixture of alarm, smugness, and indignance—a face that would have been impossible for a human to make.

“Ahem…” She cleared her throat, wondering if she should just slowly back away and leave them to it.

Mavrel dropped Zharek like a hot potato. The medic quickly ducked out of reach, gracefully stepping away.

“Uh… I did not realize…” Mavrel blinked several times, looking at Bea in confusion. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

He seemed surprised to see her.

He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. A great shudder passed through him, and he closed his eyes briefly.

He seemed uncomfortable.

She decided to help him out of whatever was causing him so much misery.

“Hello,” she said softly.

“Uh, hello.” Mavrel’s entire demeanor changed, reminding Bea of a fierce hound that had suddenly encountered a being it was fond of.

“Um, is it a Kordolian thing to resolve your differences like this? Should I come back later?”

Zharek looked a little too pleased with himself. Bea had a suspicion he’d provoked Mavrel.

“N-no.” Mavrel’s gaze dropped to her injured leg. Bea’s foot was off the floor. “You’re hurt. You shouldn’t even be standing.”

He shot Zharek the meanest glare Bea had ever seen and rushed to her side.

Before she could make sense of what was happening, she was whisked off her feet.

He lifted her into his arms as if she were as light as a leaf.

“Hey,” Bea squeaked, too shocked to summon the requisite outrage. “Y-you don’t have to—” I mean, it’s just a sprained ankle. It isn’t as if I’m mortally wounded.

“I do. My lack of control interrupted and delayed your treatment.” He held her close for a moment, and Bea became acutely aware of how strong and hard his body felt.

His lean, graceful appearance was deceiving.

Mavrel set her down in the chair and abruptly put distance between them—as if he’d been burned by touching her. When he spoke, his voice was soft—so different from the way he’d growled at the medic, but he’d always been this way with her. “Zharek will heal your injury. I’ll fix your shoe. Don’t worry. It won’t take long. You’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the Cultural Event yet.”

He turned and glared at Zharek, who was hanging back in the doorway, quietly observing them.

Mavrel said something to the medic in harsh, rapid-fire Kordolian.

Bea almost felt sorry for Zharek. She considered telling Mavrel to go easy on him, but then again, she didn’t really know what had transpired between these two, so she decided to keep her mouth shut as it was really none of her business.

Mavrel was looking at her funny again—as if her presence caused him pain.

What the hell?

“I’m not usually prone to violence,” he admitted. “It’s just that he has a tendency to interfere in the most infuriating way while knowing exactly what he’s doing. I’m… sorry you had to witness that.”

Before Bea had a chance to respond, Mavrel disappeared, leaving her utterly confused and strangely exhilarated.