Page 13 of Elas

Unable to help myself, my eyes skim down his body. August is slightly above average height for a human, though he’s still an entire head shorter than me. The time spent in the cells has affected his condition, but his shouldersand chest are broad while his biceps are nicely defined.

“I think you’d be just fine in leather, doc.” I toss him a wink as I hand over the stack of clothes, and I’mthrilledwhen a faint blush colors his cheeks. He accepts the clothes with a low murmur of thanks.

“Those will be big on you,” I say, still grinning, “but they’ll be a hell of a lot better than what you’re wearing right now. Go ahead and get cleaned up. Take your time. When you’re done, we’ll go over to the clinic.”

August is quiet for so long, I’m afraid I’ve said something to upset him. When he finally meets my eyes again, he’s wearing a sad smile. “Thank you, Elas. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for your kindness.”

Something inside my core rumbles at his words, like my soul is purring in response. “What did I tell you about indebting yourself?”

“That rule doesn’t apply to you. You won’t take advantage of me.”

“If I did, I’d make sure you enjoyed it.” My eyes flicker down his frame, and his blush burns all the way down his neck.

“Troublemaker,” he mutters, and the smile he gives me is more relaxed than I’ve ever seen.

“Always,” I agree, nodding towards the bathroom. “Now get a hot shower. Soap and shampoo are in there, and I grabbed you a toothbrush.” His eyes soften again, and he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but shuts it without a word. With a small shake of his head, he gives me one final sweet smile before he disappears behind the door.

August

Polishedconcretefloorsandstainless steel tables greet us inside the clinic, significantly more modern than anything I’ve ever seen. The entire building smells faintly of bleach, and there’s not a speck of dirt to be found. Individual patient rooms line the tiled walls, loaded with sterile equipment and mechanical beds.

It’s a far cry from what I’d grown accustomed to at the camp. There, a repurposed twin sized bed served as my workstation, and fire-boiled pots of water were my only means to sanitize my tools. Thread and dental floss were used for stitches, because medical grade supplies were out of the question. Even if a trader came by with those luxuries in stock, they cost more than we could afford to spend. Other needs had to be filled first.

It’s an unfortunate truth of life outside the cities. Preventative medicine is almost non-existent, and healing takes a back seat to not starving. Give leaders a choiceof putting food in bellies or preparing for an injury, and they’ll pick feeding their people every time.

Survival of the fittest is a real, rabid reality in this world.

And then there are the times that someone is teetering on that line of too far gone. When youcouldsave them—when there’s at least a chance, but leadership doesn’t believe it’s worth the risk. Perfectly good supplies shouldn’t be wasted on a patient who may not recover, after all.

Those are the times they ask you to stop.

The times you’re physically pulled from their side by too-rough hands, kicking and screaming andbeggingfor just a few more minutes. The times you watch their life fade, knowing you could’ve done more if this world wasn’t so cruel.

An office door clicks open to my right, and a gray-skinned female walks in our direction with a scathing glance up and down my body. Elas’s clothes are enormous on me. The shirt hangs halfway to my knees while the pants are rolled up and knotted just to stay over my hips. They’re endlessly better than the filthy clothes I was wearing, though, so I try not to let it bother me.

She stares again for a long second before tutting and turning to address Elas. “Officer, welcome. I’m assuming this is the…medicwe spoke about?”

Elas’s thick brows bunch, but he doesn’t mention the skeptical annoyance in her tone. “Yes, this is August.”

I nod and give her a smile. “August Beckett. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Despite her imposing presence, she’s actually quite small. Barely over five feet and wiry, with that pale gray skin that almost shimmers in the fluorescent overhead lights. Two horns curl from her forehead to lay flat against her head. Wispy lavender hair billows out from underneath them, and sharp, almost electric orange eyes assess me. I clasp my hands behind my back, waiting for her appraisal to finish.

“Not many humans use surnames anymore,” she finally says.

“You’re right. My parents were traditional, I suppose. Stuck in the old ways.”

She nods and claps her hands together impatiently. “My name is Chief Medical Officer Aeliphis, but you may address me as Chief or Ma’am.”

“Yes ma’am,” I mirror, keeping my hands to myself, despite my instinct to reach out and shake hers. Her body language tells me she wouldn’t welcome the touch. Those unusual bright eyes study me, but eventually, she seems satisfied.

“I want to make a few things very clear, Mr. Beckett. I don’t want you here.” My eyes go wide, but I don’t interrupt. “The only reason I’ve agreed to give you a shot is because of my respect for Officer Elas. He claims you have a good attitude, even if he can’t assure me of your ability. You are capable, I presume?”

“I’ve been the primary medic for two large camps, ma’am, and have travelled to neighboring communities to help in cases of emergency.”

“Rebelcamps?” she sneers, tilting her nose up as she arches a frosty brow. “Tell me, Mr. Beckett, how doessomeone get involved with these groups in the first place? I’ve always wanted to know how the scum find one another.”

I ignore the intentional dig. “My parents lived in the wilds their entire lives. I was born outside the cities, so it was a natural way of life for me.”

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