Page 48 of Xeda

He was led into a medical bay and pulled into a room filled with bright lights and noisy monitors. The staff tried to have him lay on a metal slab, but he refused. His anger overpowered any and all pain, his senses scrambled, his instincts wanting him to shove them out of the way and find a dark place to heal and recover. But they wouldn't let him leave, and he wouldn't let them near. The facility stank of chemicals, and the lights hurt his eyes. He growled and swung his tail at those around him as they tried to calm him. But he couldn't be calmed.

He had almost lost, barely surviving those final moments. Maybe he should be grateful, but he wasn't. He still felt like a failure for letting the fyrien catch him off-guard. For not defeating Kaxek.

"You still have a chance," Kaxek had said to him as Xeda had knelt on the ground. "Join me or die."

He had said nothing, but he wished he had told that bastard warrior to go drown in a boiling sea. Like hell he would let Kaxek have that chance. Next game, he would need to watch his back.

Xeda hissed at one of the staff who held a needled gun in their hand. He growled, irritated that they were frightened enough by him to not come near but not enough to leave the room. He was about to yell at them that he could help himself when the door opened, and Ophilia walked in.

"Everyone out," she said.

The staff grew quiet, stunned by her sudden order.

One of the staff scoffed. "We need to administer a healing agent, or—"

"He doesn't need it. Just leave the tools and go."

The staff looked at each other then, without a word, left. Xeda stared at Ophilia as she stood her ground while they passed. He found he liked this side of her, this intimidating, commanding side. It was then he noticed that, impossible and frustrating as it was, even beyond his injuries, he could still feel that ache throbbing in his insides, growing worse at the sight of her. Even in pain, he couldn't quell the feeling.

As the door shut behind her, Ophilia stepped up and placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back gently. "Sit," she commanded.

He blinked, then slowly lowered himself onto the cold slab. She moved to a nearby table and took a wet cloth, dipped it in some clear salve, then began to wipe the blood from his skin, cleaning his wounds. She was silent as she cleaned him.

He didn't say anything at first either, watching her hand move. He found it interesting that she wouldn’t look up at him.

"You're upset," he said, learning that silence and avoidance from a human meant something was wrong.

She paused and glanced up at him. "Not at you."

He grunted, understanding. "The damn fyriens. If I had seen them coming sooner..."

"It's all right. You made it, and that’s all that matters.” She cleaned the last of the blood off, then took up one of the mending tools she'd used on him before. She hesitated before turning it on. "The blade wounds are deep. If anything is ruptured, I'll need to bring in staff right away."

He touched at one of the wounds on his side. "No need. From what I can feel, none of my internal organs are hit. The blade didn't puncture through all the way, tough skin and all. Only this one"—he pointed to the wound on his throat—"would be of slight concern if it had not hit one of my vents." He showed her the narrow holes along his neck and shoulders just under a set of scales. "It will be damaged slightly but nothing more."

She sighed with relief. "Good." She turned on the tool and began to seal the wound on his side first. She carefully trailed her fingers along his skin to make sure it was fully mended, and the touch made him shiver each time. The ache in his belly was in full swing again, only having dulled out in the games. He rested his hand over his center in hopes she couldn't see the bulge rising in his pants as his cock slid out slightly from its sheath. Now that the first game was over, he had to worry about this again, why his body was reacting this way. He thought of the dream again and quickly shoved it away, afraid that might push him over the edge.

Trying to regain his focus, he said, "I wouldn't have let them take me out. They got lucky with their attack, but I'd be damned if I let an otherkin defeat me. One is gone now, and I'm not worried about the other now that I know what to expect. The next game will be different."

She didn't say anything as she fixed the last wound on his back. When she was finished, she set the tool down and came around his front where they locked eyes.

"I'm just glad you're all right," she said softly. She brought up her hands and placed one on each side of his face, as if holding him. He blinked at her, shocked. The gesture was intimate, but he didn't pull away. "What you did out there was amazing, Xeda. You survived something few could. You are the bravest, toughest person I've ever known. You truly are amazing."

He stared back at her in stunned silence. The ache in his belly grew painful while his heart beat a little faster.

She let him go and pulled away, and he found he wanted to pull her closer. To embrace her. He wanted to embrace a human, to feel her. And it went against all his conviction, all his anger. He didn't see a human anymore, he saw something much more. And that realization both scared and amazed him.

Before he could decide what to do, she stepped toward the door. "Let's get you better cleaned up. And have a big feast. I'm starving," she said, smiling. "You deserve it."

He sat there for a moment, finding it hard to move, watching her as if it was the first time he was truly seeing her. Then, carefully, he rose and followed her out of the room.

* * *

He let the water rush over him, cascading over his back and neck as he rested his forehead against one wall. The shower was nice, reminding him of the many waterfalls from home. He’d noticed it in Ophilia's room and asked to use it instead of the bath, liking the idea of the water flowing over him. She had happily let him, saying she was going to order the food while he washed himself, washed off the remaining blood and muck from the arena.

He should be thinking about what he had just gone through. Or about the next fight. Strategizing the others’ fighting styles, thinking of ways to train and prepare himself, how to best beat Kaxek. But every time he tried to focus on any of those things, his mind would wander to Ophilia. How her hands felt against him, how her soft body might meld to his own, how her scent intoxicated him. And then of course there was always the dream.

Every little betraying thought made the pain between his legs worse. Soon, if he didn't relieve himself, he might grow mindless with the need for release.

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