Page 4 of Captured
I pause just outside the pod. I can smell the human trapped in there, blood and sweat, the acrid stench of fear overpowering the other smells. A long crack runs the length of the side of the egg-shaped pod. It takes a surprising amount of force to pry it open, the human technology more resilient than it looks.
Finally, I tear a long gash in the black surface of the pod and discard the useless shard to the ground, then look inside. The human is hunched over, his face concealed by his posture, his body covered in a metallic fabric.
Blood trickles in a steady flow from his side, where a shard of polymeric glass is embedded, deep. I can hear the faint sound of the pilot’s breathing, its ragged, uneven rhythm. I hesitate, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to leave him to his fate. I wanted to kill him anyway, so why not let him die?
I won’t, though. I need to know how he found me. This is too much to be a coincidence. Someone betrayed us. Someone who needs to pay. And this human pilot is my only link to the traitor.
I pull the human from where he lies, curled up against the broken wall of the pod. He’s surprisingly light, his limbs long and fine-boned under his uniform. I’m careful not to remove the long shard of glass from his side, knowing it could trigger a hemorrhage that I would be powerless to stop so far from my ship and its medical equipment.
As I lay the human down on the damp ground, I pull the hood of his uniform away. I want to see his face, the face of the one person who almost bested me.
And stare in shock.
The pilot’s face tilts toward me, the delicate, dainty features on skin of light brown, glistening under the faint light. My eyes land on a mouth round and full, with lips so plump and ethereal they seem made of flower petals and not flesh. High cheekbones frame large eyes lined with heavy lashes on a face so perfectly oval it seems carved by an artist.
This human pilot, this great shot with nerves of steel is no male. This is a human female.
My body responds to the screaming beauty of her face. My stomach tightens into a painful knot as my fingers spread, kneading the soft, light flesh of her body. I pull on her hood, revealing a heavy, fragrant cover of hair that cascades down her back to her shoulders. I stare at her face, the face of my enemy, for long seconds, like under a trance. The emotions I so deftly shoved under the cold veil of battle emerge with a vindictive fervor as I take in the pallor of her sumptuous brown skin, the way her plump lips are devoid of any color.
She’s a wonder, but she’s a wounded wonder. She won’t make it long unless I bring her back to my ship to heal her.
My entire body moves with a single-minded urgency. Never before, not even in the midst of the bloodiest battle have I felt such an urge to save a life. This human, this female who should be my enemy.
I will save her life at all costs. This is the only thought that drives me as I run like the monster that I am through the dense forest of the uncharted planet.
She is my enemy. She is mine. She will live.
