Page 48 of Shielded Heart 1
“There!” came the shout from behind. Plasma bolts struck the back of Arc’s armor and the vehicle around him.
Arcanthus dove into the hovercar. Sekk’thi slammed the door shut behind him as the vehicle accelerated.
Urgand was already kneeling beside Samantha, his medical kit open. Despite the size of his hand, his fingers were gentle as he parted her hair to check the wound on her head. In this crowded cab, around these aliens, she looked so small and frail.
Arcanthus fell to his knees next to the vorgal. His chest was tight, his body numb, and a dull ringing still undercut the thumping of his own heart in his ears. He took Samantha’s hand in his own and squeezed it. She didn’t respond to his touch.
“Swing around back so we can pick up the cren.” Arcanthus’s voice sounded distant and echoey, like a fading memory. “How bad is it, Urgand?”
The vorgal frowned. “Hard to say. Never treated a terran before. But the medpod back home should have her species’ specs loaded. It’ll tell us more.”
Arcanthus settled his gaze on her face and curled his free hand into a fist.
“Any idea who those cowardly fuckers were?” Thargen asked.
“No, but we’re going to find out who the fuck they are,” Arcanthus said through clenched teeth, “and make sure they regret this decision for the brief remainder of their lives.”
ELEVEN
Something feathered across Samantha’s cheek. The faint sensation persisted, pulling her out of an abyss-like, dreamless sleep and easing her into consciousness. Her brows furrowed; the delicate touch shifted to them, soothing away their tension. Something else stroked her leg, moving from ankle to knee and back again.
“Samantha?” The familiar voice caressed her name and drew her the rest of the way to wakefulness.
Her eyelids fluttered open. She was looking up at a ceiling lit with a red ambience. Blue lines raced across it in intricate, angled patterns, never curving as they faded and retraced themselves ceaselessly. It was an oddly calming display but did not counteract her immense confusion.
Where am I?
The gentle touch shifted back to her cheek, following it down to trace the line of her jaw. Now that she was awake, it startled her; she flinched away and turned her head.
Samantha’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened.
She lay on a huge bed with dark red bedding, and Alkorin was reclining beside her. He was atop the blanket—just like her—on his side, his torso propped up on one elbow. Fortunately, she was fully clothed, but Alkorin wore only a black loincloth.
This was the first time she’d seen him in person without a robe. His holographic image had ended just below his chest during their visual call. For a few moments, she was unable to look away from the lean muscles of his abdomen, chest, and shoulders—or rather,shoulder. His right shoulder was covered by the uppermost portion of his armored prosthesis, which somehow made him morealluring. Her eyes followed the lines of hisqaluntil they settled on his lips.
He smiled; it wasn’t the sexy, seductive smile she’d come to crave—though she didn’t think anyof his smiles could be notsexy—but a relieved one.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Where am I?”
Alkorin turned his head to sweep his gaze over the ceiling and walls before meeting her eyes again. “My bedroom.”
“Your—”
His bedroom.
Samantha looked around. The walls were black, sporting the same ever-changing patterns as the ceiling, though they were restricted to smaller panels between cones of soft, white light. Dark, satiny cloths hung on the walls at regular intervals, shimmering faintly in the subtly changing glow. If she went by human standards, this bed would’ve been considered…well, a triple-king, or maybe anemperor. It was massive.
And comfortable.
Why was she here?Howdid she get—
The attack. She remembered the aliens who had questioned her, remembered Alkorin coming to save her, remembered gunfire. She remembered the ceiling falling…
Samantha raised a hand and touched the top of her head. There was no lump despite the crust of dried blood in her hair, and only one spot was a little tender. She felt perfectly fine, which was surprising considering she knew she’d suffered a head wound severe enough to have knocked her out—it had been more than enough to have caused a concussion.
Alkorin brushed his fingertips across the back of her hand. “We healed you in the medpod. Fortunately, your injury wasn’t serious, so it didn’t take long.”
