Page 12 of Sheltered in the Storm

Wrapped inmultiple setsof strong arms. What the hells?

When I inhaled sharply, all the arms tightened around me. “Be still,” a man’s voice said quietly in Alliance Standard, his mouth near my ear. “You were concussed and your injuries have not yet fully healed.”

His words took a while to process, so a concussion was a definite possibility. I remembered my ship falling toward the surface of an inhabited moon, but not the impact itself or much of what happened after.

My instincts told me to fight to free myself. And I damn sure tried to get away, but I couldn’t move at all, much less escape the grip of his arms—any of them. Was I weakened by blood loss or was he simply that much stronger than me? Or both?

“Who are you?” My voice sounded hoarse, as if I’d been unconscious for a very long time.

“My name is Vos Turek.” He said it very formally, as if giving me his name held some special significance to him. That was definitely possible. I didn’t know what species he was. Some cultures held the sharing of names, especially full names, as highly meaningful. For a few, it was as intimate as copulation—though hopefully that wasn’t the case here.

“I’m Calla Wren,” I said, in case his people interpreted a refusal to give my name as an insult. I was in no shape to defend myself if this man got angry. “Lieutenant Calla Wren of the Alliance Defense.”

“I am most pleased to hear your name,” he said, his voice warm. So maybe I was right that his people considered names important.

With introductions over, I asked the obvious question: “Where am I?”

“My home. Your ship crashed. Do you remember?”

His words brought back more fragments of memories of anaccident in space and plunging through a moon’s atmosphere and a raging thunderstorm toward dark water.

I recalled being carried in someone’s arms as they ran very fast through trees in the rain, and then lying on a hard surface, and something sweet on my lips, and lots and lots of pain. But I could not remember this man’s face—only a shadowy figure and a pair of silvery eyes.

More vague memories surfaced then: a group of men laughing at me and some kind of violent struggle. But here in this soft bed, those scenes seemed as distant as if they’d taken place in another lifetime.

My recollections might be hazy and my thoughts sluggish, but I had the impression this man—Vos—had cradled and cared for me very tenderly, which was odd because we were strangers to each other.

Despite my aches and pains, I should be far more injured than I felt. I recalled broken bones and internal injuries. I doubted a sparsely inhabited moon of an outer rim planet had an Alliance-standard hospital, and Vos’s home—or what I could see of it from the bed—appeared humble.

The bedroom wasn’t large, but it seemed comfortable, especially compared to my tiny shared quarters on Outpost 60. The large bed was a vast improvement on my narrow bunk, for sure. Heavy rain thrummed on the roof and what sounded like a window behind me. That was lovely. I hadn’t heard rain for years.

Through the open doorway, I caught sight of a simple kitchen, dining table, and part of living area with a chair and sofa and a nest made of branches. Several large medical kits were stacked on the table. Lanterns provided light throughout the house.

Very belatedly, I realized he’d wrapped me in numerous blankets, but I was naked beneath them.

Now that I’d taken stock of my surroundings and gotten mybearings, I asked, “What’s the name of this moon? How long have I been here?And where the hells are my clothes?”

“This is Iosa, the fourth moon of Jakora,” Vos said. The sets of arms around my body loosened and seemed to caress me before growing still once more. “You have been unconscious for three days. I am sorry that your uniform is no longer able to be worn. I had to remove it to treat your injuries, and it was badly torn to begin with.”

I’d never heard of Iosa. And I certainlyfeltlike I’d been unconscious for days. He could have said a month and I might have believed him.

As for my lack of clothes…

“Even if my uniform is ruined, you didn’t have anything else to put me in?” I scoffed.

He didn’t reply at first. “My own clothes would not fit you,” he said finally. “I am much larger. My body is not like yours.”

That admission cleared my brain as if someone had used their hand to sweep away the fog. “Whatare you?”

When he didn’t reply immediately, my stomach knotted. Who or what the hells was I in bed with?

“Let me look at you,” I demanded.

“I do not advise?—”

“Isaid, let me see you.” Now angry as well as uneasy, I pulled against his grip, though trying to get away sent a bolt of pain through my abdomen. “Let go.”

If he’d wanted to kill me, he would have already done so. And he certainly wouldn’t have invested his time and resources to save my life or warned me not to re-injure myself. But now more fragments of memories were surfacing of what had happened after I’d crashed…and they featured a monstrous sea creature and a bloodbath.

---