8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Nikolai

I saunter down Supernova’s corridors, whistling to myself. Astra walks by, cocking her brow with a look that suggests she thinks I’m crazy. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just happy.

Judging by the shocked expression in our mysterious stowaway’s eyes, she hasn’t smiled in a very long time. I made her smile, and fuck if it doesn’t feel like the greatest accomplishment of my life!

What does that say about my life? It sucks. But at least I made someone happy, which is all I’ve ever wanted.

This time, she didn’t run. It was probably more because of her exhaustion and thirst than her trust in me.Yet, by the time she’d finished her food, I think I’d made it past some of her defenses.

She promised to come back and that makes me happier than it should, because I’m starting to like her more than a wannabe doctor/therapist should like their patient. She’s so broken and yet so brave, so resilient. I wish I knew her name so I could stop calling her “she” or “the stowaway” in my mind.

I think she tried to tell me. At first, I thought she physically couldn’t speak, either due to the slave collar she wears, or because of an older injury. Now I think it’s more of a mental block that prevents her from saying anything, even if it’s just her name. Someone has brutally conditioned her to always remain silent. The thought that someone would do that to another living being makes my blood boil.

I’ve never been a violent person. I grew up surrounded by violence and rather than embracing it, like my father would have wanted, I detested it. Still, watching this beautiful, broken female makes me want to hurt anyone who has ever touched her. Badly hurt them in a way that involves lots of screaming, blood, body parts…fuck! My father would be so proud of me right now. I’m nauseous at the realization.

I’m literally shaking my head as if shaking alone could rid me of these poisonous thoughts of mutilation and revenge, but they stick to me like tar. Adding to the black marks that already taint my soul.

The shower has unusually low pressure today but I barely pay it any mind, closing my eyes as small streams of water cover my face. All I see is the female’s smile. I want to make her smile. To erase that haunted look from her beautiful purple eyes and make her truly feel safe. Because I’m a doctor and my goal in life is to help people. That’s the reason, I tell myself. Not because I can’t stop thinking about the mysterious female. Not because I think that underneath all of that dirt and grime, she’s beautiful. Not because I want to keep making her smile every single day for the rest of my life.

Sighing, I rest my head against the cool tiles just as the showerhead sputters again. What is it with the water today? It’s been like this all day—losing pressure, sometimes stopping completely.

The showerhead sputters a few times before it goes back to spraying my body with warm streams of water and my thoughts return to the stowaway. I’m in so much trouble. I know that and yet, I’m powerless to sever this strange hold she has over my heart and soul. And, embarrassingly enough, on my cock.

I glare at the stupid appendage, willing it to go down. I even go as far as switching the water to cold, staying under the spray until my teeth chatter. Even when my body feels like it’s about to turn into an icicle, my cock stays standing up, fully erect.

It’s all kinds of inappropriate and quite frankly, disturbing. Countless males and females must have taken advantage of the stowaway in the past. I wouldn’t be surprised if she never wanted to be touched by anyone ever again. And I’m supposed to be her fucking doctor. A professional. Not a creep who jerks off to the memory of her smile. Yet, it seems that’s what I’m about to do.

Squeezing the shaft aggressively, I pump my fist up and down, my anger and self-loathing causing my motions to be erratic and more forceful than normal. I’m trying to think of something else, anything other than those large purple eyes and that breathtaking smile, but my determined brain keeps circling back to her.

It doesn’t take long before everything tightens. My balls draw up as I shoot my shameful load down the drain, my dignity carried along with it by the once again sputtering shower. The physical relief I feel is overshadowed by disgust.

I am a despicable human being.

I’ve had women before but I’ve never felt this drawn to one like I am now. Sure, they were usually attracted by my family’s wealth, rather than me. If it ever was about me, it was my status as heir to my father’s kingdom that drew them to me, not me as a person.

I smirk as I think back to the throngs of women who thought that bedding of the fucking Bratva prince would make them the next queen. They were all wrong. Not only had I never planned to take my father’s place as the head of the mafia but even if I had, I was already spoken for. My queen selected for me from an allied family when I was but a child.

My future wife was twelve years younger than me. The one time I saw her, she was cradling a barbie doll to her chest. By now, she’s probably turned into a beautiful teenager, but still. No, thank you.

I know most people would consider being kidnapped from Earth the worst thing that could ever happen to them but for me, it was more of a blessing because it took me away from a life I hated.

Of course, I only consider it a blessing because I never actually became a slave. I only had to endure a few days in a cage and several embarrassing medical examinations. Thankfully, the Nova squad rescued me before anything worse could happen. Had I ended up like my precious stowaway, I’d probably miss my shitty life back on Earth.

I feel like I’ve violated her trust somehow just by jerking off to memories of her like some sick fuck. Attempting to ease my conscience, I program the cooking machine to prepare an assorted tasting menu with a small portion of every popular dish from all over the galaxy. If I knew what species my stowaway was, I’d bring her some specialty from her home planet, but I wasn’t able to figure it out since I don’t have much to go on.

I’ve only seen her face, and that was smeared with grime, even under the scarf she wore over her mouth. Her eyes, the large purple orbs without any sclera, aren’t enough to identify what she is or where she comes from since many species across the galaxy have similar eyes.

I haven’t seen her hair or skin. The only thing I can say for sure is that she has white, healthy teeth similar to mine. They look sharp, but aren’t pointed like Zarkan’s. Her tongue seems similar to mine, too. Not that I was “actively” watching her tongue as she ate. That would be creepy.

She’s not in the storage room when I return, but I didn’t expect her to be. She looked exhausted, so my guess is she crawled into a dark corner deep in the ship’s underbelly and fell asleep.

I don’t mind. I’m a patient man. If my stowaway said she will come back, she will come back.

I realize I’ve been calling her “my stowaway” in my mind for a while and if that’s not creepy, then I don’t know what is. Chto za khuynya? (What the fuck?) What the hell is wrong with me?!

Shaking away my possessive thoughts, I settle down on the floor a safe distance away from the hatch then pull out my datapad. For the next few hours, I find myself lost in Quintran biology. The database entry is extensively dedicated to treating wing injuries so I read through it diligently, trying to memorize as much as I can. Omni seems like the kind of guy who likes to show off and I bet his wings are in a lot of danger when he’s out on a mission. I want to be prepared in case he ever gets hurt.

I feel her presence even though she doesn’t make a sound. Raising my eyes from the datapad, I welcome my stowaway with a smile. She’s not wearing the scarf over her mouth today but her skin is covered in a fresh layer of grime, as if she’s hellbent on not showing even an inch of bare skin. Which is probably wise, considering what a despicable creep I am.

“Hello,” I greet her. “It’s good to see you again.” Having depleted my Omnispeak vocabulary, I switch on the interpreting program on my datapad and continue in Russian. “Did you sleep well? You look much better today.” Just as I say it, I want to smack myself for how stupid it sounds. Not only is it an inappropriate thing to say, but it also suggests that she looked bad before. That’s a terrible thing to say to any woman. Even I know that.

She nods in response, giving me a bashful smile. Then she slides a piece of paper in my direction. I recognize it. It’s the note I left for her on the inside of the hatch. She watches me cautiously as I pick it up. I’m so distracted by her gaze that at first, I don’t notice the symbols on the back side of the note.

They’re in Omnispeak, fingerpainted with the same black sludge that’s covering the stowaway’s skin. Just two symbols, a single word I struggle to interpret.

“I’m sorry, just give me a second,” I apologize, hastily opening up the symbol database to identify the syllables. “Okay, Z,” I mutter to myself. “Z…ree? Z’Ree?” My tongue twists around the unfamiliar word. “It says Z’Ree.” The word means nothing to me, except… “Is that you? Your name is Z’Ree?”

She nods and the pure happiness in her eyes at something so simple as hearing her name makes me want to murder every bastard who ever hurt her. I control my facial expressions, careful not to let any of the rage boiling inside of me show and scare my little stowaway. “Z’Ree,” I repeat, smiling brightly. “Thank you for sharing your name with me.”

Z’Ree lowers her head as if embarrassed, but she’s still smiling. I want to put a finger under her chin to make her look at me again, but I refrain, knowing it wouldn’t go over well.

“I hope you’re hungry,” I say instead, pointing at the covered tray. “I brought all kinds of food, so just eat what you like and leave the rest.”

She opens her mouth, presumably to thank me, but no sound comes out. She tries again, her body trembling, tears glistening in her eyes, but only manages a hoarse groan. Her tears fall, clinking as they hit the floor.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to speak now. It will come back to you when you’re ready.”

A defeated sigh rushes out of her as she moves closer to the food. She’s still keeping her distance, staying at least six feet away from me at all times, but we’re making progress.

“Do you want me to taste it in front of you again?” I offer.

She seems to be considering it before shaking her head.

“Good choice. It smells so good I would have probably eaten most of it myself,” I joke. “You are wise to keep me away from it.”

Her shoulders twitch as she chuckles, the quiet sound causing butterflies to flutter around my chest cavity. She picks up a plate with what I think is grilled fish and some dark brown alien potatoes, and takes a cautious bite. Her expression of absolute bliss has my stupid cock hardening again.

I shift on the floor to hide it from her. She stiffens at the sound of my movement but quickly relaxes when it becomes obvious I’m not about to jump her.

I don’t want to stare as she eats, so I look for something to distract me. Actually, scratch that. I do want to stare at her, I just don’t want to creep her out. My eyes find tiny, clear crystals on the floor that surely weren’t there before. Her tears, I realize, fascinated.

I pick up one of the tears that had landed beside me to study it more closely. It’s not as solid as the tinkling sound suggested. It’s more like silica gel, those tiny transparent beads manufacturers on Earth use to absorb moisture in packages.

The tear is neither solid nor liquid in its texture. It doesn’t leave any residue on my fingers and after a minute or two of examination, it completely vanishes, evaporating instead of melting into liquid like an ice shard would. Incredible.

As I raise my eyes from my now empty hand, I see Z’Ree’s large purple ones, widened in fear. She’s tensed up and looks ready to bolt. Just because I examined her tear? No. She must be worried that the tear could help me identify what race she is and she’s all but determined to hide it.

“I’m sorry, I was just curious,” I apologize, carefully choosing my words. “Are you worried I will find out where you come from? Would that be bad?”

She nods, retreating a little, squeezing the spoon in her hand so hard I’m worried it will crack and cut her.

“Are your people disliked?” That’s the only reason I can come up with. “Do you come from a planet of evil pariahs and think I’d dislike you if I found out? Because I don’t care. I don’t know anything about galaxy gossip and even if I did, I don’t believe in collective responsibility.”

I’m clearly nowhere close to the right answer because Z’Ree just mutely shakes her head. I don’t even know which part of my speech she is saying no to. With a sigh, I give up. “It doesn’t matter, Z’Ree. I will always be here for you, no matter where you come from or what you are. I will always protect you.”

She watches me, her body slowly relaxing. I still have her trust, what little there is.

“Is there something else I can do for you?” I ask, needing to change the subject. “Do you want me to bring you something? Like…shoes?” Her bare feet are caked with filth that probably provides some protection against the cold seeping through the metal floor, but it still can’t be comfortable.

She pauses, chewing on her lower lip. The sight does terrible things to my cock. I pull my knee to my chest to hide it from Z’Ree.

After a moment, she points to my datapad. I hand it over to her without hesitation. D’Aakh has a ton of these things lying around. If she wants it, it’s hers. “It’s not equipped for interstellar calls,” I warn her as she taps on the screen. “If you want to contact someone, I can arrange it, but not from this device. Do you have someone you want to contact?”

The sorrow in her eyes makes me regret asking the question. I don’t need her head shake to know she’s all alone.

Well, not anymore. She has me now. I’m not sure if it’s a win but I hope it beats being alone.

She opens a text editor, her dirty fingers hovering over the virtual keyboard before she starts typing.

I feel like an idiot. How did I not come up with this idea? She may not be able to speak, but that doesn’t mean she can’t read or write. I should have offered the datapad to her earlier, not waited for her to gather up the courage to ask for it.

When she hands the device back, I stare at the symbols, wishing the stupid translator nodes would work on written words as well. Since they don’t, I have the device translate Z’Ree’s words for me, hoping it won’t change the meaning too much.

“I would like to understand you,” she wrote. I scrunch my brows, not understanding her request until I move to the next sentence. “I hate the voice coming from this thing. It doesn’t sound like yours. Could you please update my nodes?”

My lower jaw hovers somewhere over my sternum as I raise my head to look at Z’Ree. Of all the things in the world she could ask for, she wants her translator nodes updated? Because she likes my voice? That’s…flattering?

I’m not sure about her motivation, something tells me she sees me as a potential master she needs to placate, but I won’t deny her the first request she’s made. “O-okay,” I say, clearing my throat. “That can be done. I don’t suppose you want to come with me to the infirmary?”

Z’Ree is quick to shake her head, fear creeping back into her expression.

“Alright, that’s no problem. I’ll set up the device and bring it back here. Will you wait for me here?” I wouldn’t put it past her to lose her nerve and flee the moment I leave. Not that I’d blame her.

However, Z’Ree gives me a shaky nod. What a brave female.

“Great. I’ll be right back. Eat something, please. Your body needs fuel.” I don’t know what her fucking owners were feeding her, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was just some alien version of a stale bread and water prison diet.

I search the ship, checking the crew quarters and the bridge, but D’Aakh is nowhere to be found. Feeling brave, I set up the portable node updater myself with Cai’s assistance. It’s probably for the better. The quirky AI is happy to help and she doesn’t ask nagging questions like, who do I need the update for when everyone on board the Supernova already has it installed? She probably already knows about Z’Ree, since a major part of her programming is to constantly survey the ship, but Zarkan must have ordered her not to mention our stowaway.

I literally run back to the storage room, eager to see Z’Ree again after being away from her for a whole fifteen minutes. I’m in so much trouble, I think, when I feel my heart somersaulting at just the thought of being in her presence again. I should be ashamed of this growing obsession but I can’t find it in me to care.

In my rush to get back to Z’Ree, I trip over my own feet, landing painfully on my elbow. Groaning and laughing at my own stupidity, I pick myself off the floor and try straightening my arm. It hurts like a motherfucker but I can still move it and there are no sharp spikes of pain, which probably means that nothing is broken. I’m just going to have a nice bruise to remind me that I can’t run to save my life.

Thank god my erection has deflated somewhat because with my luck, I would have hit my cock as well and that would have definitely resulted in more than just a painful groan from me.

Holding my breath, I reenter the storage room and look around. Z’Ree is nowhere to be found. I sigh resignedly. I understand her fear, even if I am a little disappointed she’s not here.

To my surprise, the hatch on the wall inches open and she peeks out from behind it, her face peering at me with a cautious smile. The relief is instant as I realize she didn’t run away. She was just waiting for me in a place she perceives to be safe. “Brave girl,” I mumble, wincing when I hear the stupid datapad I left on the floor translate my words. God, I’m an idiot.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound condescending,” I say. “I really do think you’re brave, though.”

Z’Ree scoffs and shakes her head.

“No? Z’Ree, you’re a badass. To be as frightened as you are and still take a risk on me…that’s the highest level of bravery. Now, will you let me use this on you,” I hold up the node updater device, “so that we can turn the damned datapad off? Because, truth be told, it’s grating on my nerves too.”