4. Tan

4

Tan

I stride through the corridors leading to my quarters, inclining my head toward passing officers and crew. I walk like an Asheraah poised to inflict violence at the least provocation. I am of the Warrior class, that special group that has proven themselves the elite through training and action. My gold toned skin is a badge of honor and a telegraph of horrible outcomes for those who oppose me.

But now, I control that rage.

I am in a good mood, heading to my quarters to meet my bounty, and hopefully one day, my mate.

If I can win her .

When I win her.

Though she is not Asheraah, our spirits are harmonious. She is my bokdazi, my destined one. In time, we will bond by heart, scale, and soul.

I arrive at my quarters just as the sistan is exiting. They see me and bow. "Is the female alright?" I ask.

"She is well, Raiva. Bathed, fed and relatively relaxed." The word ‘relatively,' bothers me, but I choose not to pursue it. "She has a strange greeting." They demonstrate the crouching, snarling movement for me. "It's her way of saying hello. I returned the gesture, and that appeared to satisfy her."

"Thank you," I reply. They bow again, leaving me to face the bulkhead door and what lies beyond.

I push on the door, and it opens, my eyes adjusting to the lower level of light within than the corridors. Curled up on the couch, the female seems to be asleep. I approach, lean over and brush an errant hair from her eyes.

Skylar opens her eyes, drowsily looking at me, and as awareness dawns, her gaze goes from relaxed to confused to terror. She scrambles away from me, eyes wide, a mewling sound coming from her mouth. I mimic the crouching, snarling, teeth-bared gesture shown to me by her sistan, and hope that the familiarity of the gesture will calm her.

I am wrong.

"No," she cries. "Don't—" By this point she is standing, and I back up a couple feet to give her space. I try the greeting again.

"You are my bounty. No harm—" I begin, but I don't get to finish. She takes another frantic step backward, then slips, tipping into the low table at the side of the reclining plank. Atop it is a vase with flowers and a small, decorative sculpture. Jarred, the sculpture slides and falls, hitting her squarely on the top of her head.

"Huh?" Skylar picks it up, squints at it, squints at me, and falls sideways in an unconscious heap.

So much for having a quiet conversation with my future mate.

I run to her, scoop her up—my word she is light— take her into the guest room and lay her on the bed. Then I go to the intercom system and call for a healer.

Ehan Healer Dah'rausen arrives in less than five minutes. He must have run all the way or flown, although flying is forbidden outside of the fitness areas. He is a small, stout Asheraah, scales dyed green like all of his profession, the hair of his head gray-black.

"Are you injured, Raiva?" His eyes glitter and the air tastes of fear as he approaches, his green skin gleaming in the light.

I lead him to the guest room. "I am well, but the female we captured, my bounty, my prize, she—"

"You have injured her already?"

Rage spikes through me, and my claws scrape against each other as my hands clench. Yes, I have my father's battle lust, but after years serving under me, how could any on this ship think me capable or inclined to harm a female?

Despite my best attempt at control, something of my fury must show on my face because the healer takes a step back and then kneels, head bowed. "I did not mean you had intended to in—injure her, Raiva," he sputters out. "These humans are fragile, that is all."

"She tripped," I explain, though I owe no explanation. "And this sculpture landed on her head. She is unconscious." I point at the sculpture on the floor.

"I see," the Healer says, running a scanner over her head. "Your female has a minor fracture in her skull, and most likely a minor concussion. I will give her something to help the pain, but you must wake her up frequently to make sure it does not worsen."

"What about the fracture?"

"It is slight. In an Asheraah, it wouldn't have mattered at all. However, her skull isn't as thick as ours."

I am not sure whether to be grateful or insulted by the statement. I decide on the former.

"It should not need surgery," the Healer is saying. "But you must wake her every hourmark and make sure she is still capable of thought and speaking. From there, rest and painkillers and in three to five days—" he looks at me "—maybe two weeks, I expect a full recovery. She should rest for the next couple of day cycles. No strenuous activity."

"Two cycles?" I want to be sure.

"From the files, that seems to be the case." He is hedging, and I taste the fear on him. Fear for her or fear of me, I am not certain.

"You've read about humans?"

"Yes. I just started since we now have one onboard, and you have claimed her. It's a good thing I started my research with the head." The Healer turns to leave, handing me a vial of liquid. "This painkiller works best in a hot beverage, but a cold one will work, too. I will be back tomorrow morning to check on her. She will sleep all night except for when you wake her up to check on her. Tomorrow you will not need to wake her as often."

"Thank you. I will see that it is done."

"Have a good evening." The Healer departs, and I look at the slight form in my very large guest bed, which is half the size of my personal bed .

I would need to draw a map to find her in my bedroom. I stop thinking along those lines. Simply tripping imperiled her life. I will take more care. I must.