Page 23 of Sheltered in the Storm

He’d called me his mate. And now I might have been a stranger.

Which is what I am, I reminded myself before my emotions got carried away. We’d spent a few days under the same roof, but only spoken for a few hours. Yes, he’d cared for me and our first and only conversation had become emotionally intimate in some ways, but I’d made it clear I couldn’t stay here with him. So maybe he’d come accept that, or maybe he’d realized his feelings were attraction rather than a physiological imperative.

Either way, it was a relief. Itwas, I told myself sternly, even if some bruised corner of my heart hadn’t quite gotten the message yet.

I tried to keep my thoughts off my face and gave him the kind of smile I would have given him if none of that earlier conversation had happened. “Thank you. It smells delicious.”

If he could tell that was a bit of a fib, he didn’t let on. “If you want more soup, just let Poe know. There is a pot on the stove. She will provide as much water as you need.”

I wanted to know if he’d sit with me while I ate, but I figured if he wanted to, he would have offered rather than suggest I speak to Poe if I needed anything.

He turned on his heel and went into the living area, out of my sight.

Well, okay then. Maybe he just didn’t want to be in the same room as me unless he had to.

It was for the best. I wasn’t leaving anytime soon. We’d find a way to be at least friendly. I’d seen how warm and caring he really was under that hard mask. Things were just…very complicated right now.

At least thinking through all that distracted from how much my body hurt, but my tummy growled again to remind me to pick up my spoon and sample reptile and vegetable soup and then take a bite of fresh-baked bread.

Both were delicious, but my stomach didn’t stop hurting even when I was full. I recalled that lengthy list of injuries on the scanner. I’d be hurting for a long time. I’d been wounded enough times to know the road to recovery often presented as much if not more pain than the initial injury. So I had that to look forward to. Another reason to hope Vos and I could forge some kind of friendship.

I could probably face the coming weeks and months alone if I had to, but I didn’t really want to.

Nothing had to be figured out today but the necessities and what I could do to start my recovery within the limitations of my body. I had a mission, and the first phase of my mission was to get myself strong and healed enough to get up out of this bed on my own.

In the meantime…

“Poe, can you ask Vos to help me to the bathroom?” I asked the Anomuran as she picked up my tray.

“Poe,” she said, then paused and leaned closer. Two of her eyestalks swivled toward the other room, while one stayed focused on me. “Poe,” she murmured, conspiratorially and—I might be losing my mind here—almost suggestively.

I cursed that my translator had gone to the bottom of the ocean when Vos blew up what was left of my fighter, because Ireallywanted to know what Poe had just said.

“Are you trying to play matchmaker?” I whispered.

“Poe,” she whispered back, her eyestalks bobbing.

I’d been around the galaxy and had some wild adventures, but I’d never had a giant alien hermit crab try to fix me up with a broody cephalopod man.

I chuckled—and immediately regretted it when pain lanced through my abdomen. My hands flew to press against my stomach and I couldn’t muffle my gasp.

Once again, Vos appeared in the bedroom doorway as if by magic. His expression remained clinical, but I caught a flash of worry and anger in his eyes. “Calla? Have you hurt yourself?”

My name didn’t sound like a coo when he said it, but neither was it as impersonal as when he’d talked about the food.

“No, I just moved in a way I shouldn’t have.” I grimaced and rubbed my stomach gingerly. “But since you’re here, mind taking me to the bathroom?”

Maybe Poe could have managed it…somehow…but Vos’s tentacles looked ever so much more comfortable than her thin arms and those pinchers.

I looked forward to the day I could takemyselfto the bathroom on my own two legs. Until then, I had to rely on help, and I had to be objective and logical—as logical as Vos was being. Nothing personal about it.

Nothing personal about it, I repeated in my head as he approached and ever-so-gently scooped me and my blanket up with his tentacles.Nothing at all.

CHAPTER 8

VOS

I had madea wager with myself over how long Calla would wait to actively begin her recovery. I had bet it would take one week.

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