Coral

Drasus seemed half asleep when I started giving him a strip wash. He even quirked up a lip as if smiling. I know he's been in this bed for nearly two weeks, and I doubt Drega bothered cleaning him up.

While he smells pretty good, hints of smoke and leather, along with the meat he gobbled up (so much for the whole "I can't feed myself" act which wasn't that convincing in the first place) and a light citrus, he's covered in streaks of old blood where he was punctured, and the plaster over the port in his chest needs changing.

Sarkarnii, in the main, like to keep themselves clean. Drasus is no different, regardless of the amount of paraxio still in his system.

After he growled and snarled his way to the bathroom, I decided I wouldn't even bother asking if he wanted a bed bath, especially when exhaustion overwhelmed him. Shame I forgot how quick he was.

Now my wrist is clasped in his huge hand, and I have a pair of angry eyes staring at me. Although his eyelids still hang heavy, there's no way I'm getting out of his grip.

"Leave me alone," he snaps.

"I can't do that," I reply, evenly. "And the sooner you accept I'm going to be here until you're better, the easier this is going to be for both of us."

His fiery eyes, the slit pupils narrowed, blink hard. I can see he's fighting his natural pride and the fact he needs to sleep, badly.

Not that he's likely to be in any sweeter mood when he wakes.

Smoke curls from his nostrils and it wreathes his handsome face. Cheekbones I could cut myself on, a pair of pillowy lips, the multiple piercings he has in his ears and nose, and the long dark hair which flows over his shoulders, silky soft. His scales, sheened with purple, rise a little, then smooth down in an action I've not seen before.

But then I've not been this up close and personal with a Sarkarnii. Not one who was, mostly, awake.

Drasus snorts out more smoke and a couple of embers as he releases my wrist and shoves it back at me.

"I'm tired," he says with an air of petulance that seems more real than the act he put on earlier.

I'm a doctor. I've seen it all and he didn't fool me for a second. But then, he is very much still under the influence. The drooling was the best indicator of how far gone he was.

"Fine." I put the cloth back into the bowl of warm water. "If you're up to it in a day or so, this place has a small aquium. I can take you there." I reference the vast alien baths, filled with thermal mineral water the Sarkarnii enjoy.

A light fills his eyes at the idea, but it's quickly extinguished.

"I don't need to visit an aquium," Drasus says, but there's no force behind his words.

"You might say that. Others might disagree."

For a brief second, his lip hitches again with a hint of a smile, but it's soon gone.

"Leave me, female," he growls and his eyes close.

"With pleasure," I mutter under my breath, gathering up the bowl and the platter. "And my name is Coral. I'm sure you remember," I say louder.

There's a flicker of an eyelid.

"Coral." He rasps my name and holy hell, the way he says it!

I had no idea it was even possible to feel a word, especially in parts of me which are hitherto unused. Drasus' use of my name has sent my core tingling.

Completely wrong. This big uber-grumpy Sarkarnii is in my charge. I absolutely should not be thinking about him in any other way.

Anyway, in our interactions before he was injured, he was as aloof as all the rest of the Sarkarnii. He has no interest in me. Why would he? I make him do things he doesn't like.

And anyway, he is a complete arse. From playing a terrible game of attempting to be helpless to snarling at me every step to the bathroom. I know he's hurting, and I could forgive him, but all of it seems so personal.

As I clear up the other rooms in the clinic, I can hear his breathing. It's ragged and loud, not how it should be. I check into his room.

Mr. Big is laid on his stomach, tail waving from side to side like an interested cat. He's clearly dreaming, breath huffing, smoke surrounding him. He groans.

Being on his front is not a good position, not when I'm aware of the damage he did to organs Drega calls "flight lungs." He needs to either be sat up or on his back.

"Drasus?" I call out, but the dream which he's in is a strong one, helped no doubt by the drug in his bloodstream, and he doesn't respond.

I cross the room and reach for him, just as he kicks out, hard. It catches me in the stomach, and I'm thrown back, my bum hitting the floor, a shockwave firing through my coccyx. All the breath is bounced out of my body, and before I can do anything, my head slams against the wall, static flying across my vision as the rest of me hits the ground.

"Little flame?" A deep, sinful voice rumbles through my ear. "Little flame? Please wake up."