Page 90 of Master
I’d almost prefer to know the cat aliens sold my friends as sex slaves rather than guinea pigs. I, at least, had enough experience to gauge my fate. I would end up on an autopsy table at some point, and oddly, the ideawas comforting.
I opened and closed the fist of my right hand, feeling the faint resistance in the joints. Just like before. Except this time, I knew the stiffness and soreness weren’t because I overused my hands training to be a surgeon. At least this time, the gray alienswould spare me from the slow progression of a disease that left my life in shambles. At least no one would have to watch me digress into a bed-bound blob of pain-wracked jerking limbs, drooling mindlessness.
The aliens might think they won when they finally killed me. Jokes on them.
Alien bastards... all of them.
Except him. My angel.
The figment of my imagination who came to me during the dark of night, tending my wounds and whispering words of strength with the promise of rescue.
A gorgeous Brad Pitt of an alien with beautiful golden eyes that my fractured mind conjured to help me deal with the stress.
“We could amputate her leg. I bet that would make her scream.”
My eyes popped open at that comment, but I schooled my features enough to glare at the creature, making the ghoulish comment. He was smaller than the others, closer to seven feet tall than eight. The quintessential alien, with a rounded triangular-shaped head and large black almond eyes that slanted upwards. He jerked when he met my gaze as though the proof I might be a sentient being something he hadn’t considered.
“Don’t be idiotic.” The alien with the wrinkled skin spoke with a deep frown. “You cannot weaken it with an amputation. “As it is, we will need to allow it a day of recuperation to ensure the results of further testing are not skewed."
Did that fucker just call me an it?
“Let me go, you bastards!” I screamed, rather enjoying the way the aliens jumped and skittled.
Kicking against the restraints around my ankles made the metal table on which I lay creak and groan. I didn’t dare move my lacerated arm. Even with a cursory glance, I could tell the cut went deep and bled profusely.
“Quickly!” The older-looking alien grabbed what looked like a long button-ended syringe and tossed it to his comrade, who stood near my head.
Seconds later, I felt the sting of cold metal against the curve of my neck and consciousness drained out of me in the time it took to sigh.
My body came screaming awake, heart pounding in my chest, lungs craving air. I still lay on the table, although realizing I was no longer bound. Someone had put away most of the day's medical paraphernalia except for the small table beside my metal bed. The faint smell of ammonia and alien alcohol didn't hang air as strongly as usual.
Jerking into a sitting position, my head swam as my brain tried to catch up with the sudden alertness of my body.
What the hell?
On the small table, the only piece of equipment remaining was a syringe. Benzedrine perhaps? No, my body’s reaction seemed more on par with a shot of straight adrenaline.
Even discombobulated, my training kicked in and I snatched a roll of gauzy material from a nearby tray, intent on bandaging the cut on my forearm.
What the hell?
Only a faint red welt survived from the gash. I flexed my arm at the elbow painlessly.
How long had I been unconscious? It would take at least a month for a wound of that nature to heal so completely.
I gave slight consideration to the idea that I might, in fact, be dead, but my heart hammered too voraciously against my ribs for that thought to linger.
The room was dark, the stark overhead lights completely dimmed, making the assortment of metallic fixtures glow eerily white. A small yellow bulb near what I hoped might be an exit burned bright.
Shit. Could I really escape?
I hopped off the table, the overabundance of epinephrine in my system causing my knees to buckle dizzily. A warm bar snaked around my waist, holding me upright.
“Easy.”
The voice was deep and male. The words tickled as he said them close to my ear, his warm breath brushing my cheek.
What?” I turned, getting a look at either my savior or captor.
