Page 19 of Human Required
Before I could scramble to my feet, his strong arms wrapped around my torso from behind, lifting me off the ground. My legs kicked uselessly in the air as he held me against his chest.
“Let me go!” I thrashed wildly, my elbow connecting with his ribs. He barely flinched. “I am not your prisoner!”
“Stop fighting,” he hissed into my ear, his breath warm against my neck. “You’re only making this worse.”
I twisted in his grip, managing to turn just enough to face him. “Making what worse? My illegal detention on an alien planet? How exactly could that get worse?”
His blue eyes darkened with something I couldn’t quite read. “You tried to steal colony property. That’s a serious offense.”
“Offense?” I laughed bitterly, still struggling against his iron grip. “I was trying to go home after being abducted! By you!”
He clenched his jaw. “We need you here.”
“Well, I don’t want to be needed here!” My voice cracked embarrassingly. “I want to go home!”
His grip shifted, and suddenly I was being lifted completely off the ground, one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back. The indignity of being carried like some wayward child only fueled my anger.
“Put me down right now!” I pounded against his chest.
“So you can run again? No.” His pace never faltered as he strode through the colony. People—both human and cyborg—turned to stare as we passed.
“You can’t keep me locked up against my will. It’s inhumane,” I seethed, my face burning with humiliation.
He looked down at me, his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re injured.”
I looked down and noticed the burning sensation on my palm where the electrical spark had hit me. A thin line of blood also trickled down my forearm from where the maintenance hatch had caught me.
“I don’t need your concern,” I muttered but with less heat than before.
When we reached my secured quarters, he set me down but kept a firm grip on my upper arm. I winced as his fingers brushed the cut.
“Sit,” he ordered, gesturing toward the bed.
“I’m not a dog.”
“Please,” he added, the word sounding strange and stiff coming from him.
I reluctantly sat on the edge of the mattress while he retrieved a medical kit from the bathroom. The cut wasn’t deep, but it stung as he cleaned it with an antiseptic that smelled like mint and something alien.
“Your hands are shaking.” His observation wasn’t accusatory, just matter-of-fact.
“Adrenaline,” I replied curtly, refusing to meet his eyes. “Common human response to traumatic situations. Like kidnapping.”
He ignored the barb, gently applying a clear gel to the burn on my palm. “I want you to be comfortable here.”
I snorted. “Comfortable? In my prison?”
“It’s not—” He paused, seemingly struggling with his words. “We don’t want to treat you like a prisoner.”
“Yet here we are.” I pulled my newly bandaged hand away from his touch. “You dragged me back to my locked room after I tried to escape. What would you call it?”
His shoulders tensed. “Necessary caution.”
Looking at him, I could see the conflict written across his features—the rigid set of his shoulders at odds with the gentle way he had tended my injuries. He wasn’t the unfeeling machine I had initially assumed. Something was undeniably human in his expressions, in his touch, and in the way his eyes lingered on me with what seemed like genuine concern.
It was utterly confusing. And infuriating. And... something else I wasn’t ready to name.
“Why do you care if I’m comfortable?” I asked, genuinely curious despite myself.
