The worst part is that most scars are clearly surgical – precise and straight.
A sickening dread coils in my stomach, and my chest tightens at the implication of what the sheer quantity of scars might imply. It feels strange to hope that his people and not mine created these. I can’t shake off the nagging awareness of my species’ shortcomings and the horrors we are capable of perpetrating.
A sense of protectiveness washes over me as I carefully bandage up his freshest cuts and bruises, promising silently to do what I can to heal his wounds, both seen and unseen. After all, beneath the alien exterior, Stormy bleeds and scars like any other.
Dipping the cloth again in warm water, I take extra care as I cleanse the area around his bullet wounds, making sure his bandages don’t get wet. I wash away all traces of dirt and blood from his stomach and chest. After I dry him, I roll the blanket back up to ensure he doesn’t get chilled.
I switch to a fresh, clean washcloth and start to wash around his neck and up to his ear which is pointed almost like an elf’s. Sunlight filters through the surrounding forest into the cabin’s huge windows, casting a soft glow on his bruised and battered skin. Tenderly, I ease the warm, damp cloth across his forehead.
All the while, I steal glances at his face, marveling at the shapes and shadows the dappled sunlight makes on his exotic features. Detail by detail, his alien face becomes clearer as I wash away the lingering blood and dirt. He’s… handsome. Completely different, but if you took away the gray skin and strange tattoo-like markings, this man would be swoon-worthy. He kinda is, anyway.
My heart rate picks up as I trail the warm cloth over his angular jaw, sweeping it down his elegantly long neck tinged with hues of purple and silver under his dark skin.
“You’re gonna be okay, Stormy. I’ll help you the best I can,” I promise.
Once I finish washing and drying his skin, I sit and stare at him for a minute. The miracle of seeing a real-life alien is so shocking and overwhelming and frankly insane that I am compelled to memorize this moment. I’m having a one-small-step-for-man moment. I will never be the same. There are aliens in this universe. And I’ve seen one. Touched him. How crazy is that? And I don’t have anyone to tell! Well, besides Mango and he doesn’t give a shit as long as his kibble bowl is full.
Stormy’s body, while shockingly human-like, other than being plus-sized, has a mesmerizing luminescent glow that emanates from his charcoal-gray, unearthly skin. Blowing out a breath, I tuck the blanket more snugly around him, wanting to ensure he doesn’t get chilled after his sponge bath.
His chest rises and falls in a slow even rhythm that fills me with an assurance that he will make a recovery, even if it might take a while.
I’m usually the picture of professionalism when giving a sponge bath but I’m going to chalk this up to exhaustion and unusual circumstances.
Assured that he’s as comfortable as I can make him, I gather up the bowl and the soiled towels.
CHAPTER 17
Ravok
The piercing wail of a siren jolts me back to consciousness, its shrill tone painful to my highly sensitive ears. I tense in readiness and then wince, the sudden movement sending pulses of pain across my body but manage to hold myself still at the last moment. Remnants of my ordeal are already reeling in my mind as the piercing sound fills the room.
My eyes, although still heavy with fatigue and pain, open to a slit, catching sight of the human female from the corner of my vision. I observe her as she springs into action – a surprising kind of grace about her, even in her rushed panic. She’s not like the others, the ones who have caused me pain and experimented on me. There’s a softness about her, a quality that probably means she is cowed and mistreated by her superiors. She wouldn’t survive a day on Cryzor.
Swiftly, she reaches for what I recognize as a communication device. I’ve seen similar tools used by my previous captors.
However, my interest in the device fades into the background as the female darts out of the chamber, leaving me alone. Despite the thick, rough walls of the building, my sense of hearing, far superior to that of humans, picks up her hurried conversation. Not that I can understand on a linguistic level – for the Earth’s languages are still incomprehensible without the assistance of my translator, but tones of urgency and worry, followed quickly by relief, are universal.
Being left alone gives me time to evaluate my current situation; the dull, aching pain that still racks my body is a stark reminder of my vulnerability. However, there’s a glimmer of hope in the fact that I still seem to be far away from the sterile, cold labs of my previous captors. This female also seems to be caring for me for reasons I cannot possibly fathom, but I will gladly allow. For now. Once I am more healed, she will be ridiculously easy to overpower and escape from.
She slips back into the dwelling on quiet feet, the door closing behind her with a soft thud. The large, clear viewing panel on one side of the room tells me it is day, with bright light filtering inside the dwelling. The female scuttles about the room, running water and gathering supplies. I am mystified by what has her occupied. When she returns to my side, I close my eyes to slits and watch. She carries a large bowl with water sloshing around inside it. The scent wafting in the air arrests my attention – a unique, interesting blend that is softly floral. This same scent is clinging to her skin.
She kneels beside me on the thick floor covering on which I’m laid out, placing the bowl at her side.
I watch as she removes the covering laid over one of my legs, exposing the limb to the cool air. I almost jump in shock when she wets a cloth and begins to wash my foot. What is she doing? Is she bathing me? But why? Nothing about any of her actions makes the slightest bit of sense. I wonder for a moment if she is a slave. But dismiss that thought as she is in this dwelling alone, serving no one but me. Perhaps she is mentally unwell which might explain why she is alone in this hovel. On Cryzor, damaged individuals are recycled, not cruelly tossed away to fend for themselves.
She takes a deep breath, her small pink tongue darting out of the side of her mouth in concentration as she works.
A shiver tries to run through my body, not from pain but from her gentle touch. I ruthlessly suppress the reaction. It’s odd; her touch is delicate like she’s afraid of breaking me. Humans are so vulnerable and soft, and here she is, acting like I’m the fragile one. Her hands are calm and soothing, and the water surprises me – it’s warm and comforting.
Her touch isn’t like any I’ve ever experienced. My people do not touch each other like this. If a Cryzorian touched another so familiarly it would be considered a threat and an insult. Any Cryzorian worth his nanites would immediately retaliate. But her touch is… tender? Gentle. Much like how she behaves with the animal she shares her space with, the little plump orange one. The female works her way up my leg, washing away the dirt, blood, and remnants of the wreckage from my skin.
The sensation is… confusing. The warm water, absorbed by the soft cloth, is like a whisper against my skin – a sensation of comfort that brings forth unsettling feelings. As she bathes me, disconcerting emotions flit and surge through me like cosmic rays, intensifying with each gentle stroke of the cloth. The sensation – warm, soothing, strangely intimate – reaches beyond touch. I struggle with the feelings her touch evokes, unable to find words to explain the sensation as anything recognizable.
My patience is strained, and I force a steady rhythm in my breathing – slow inhales, prolonged exhales, mindful to keep up the appearance of unconsciousness. My skin thrums at her touch, each finger brushing my skin igniting unknown sensations that echo down the fabric of my being. I hadn’t known humans possessed such an effect. Her touch is burning me despite the barrier of the wet cloth.
When she reaches my thigh, she hesitates, her brown-green eyes glittering as they roam over the metallic shine of my skin. She’s frozen in place, her breathing growing rapid and shallow, her cheeks flushed pink. There’s a strangeness in her gaze as she stares, filled with an emotion I am unable to identify.
Whatever is happening with the female is creating a strange reaction within me. Confusion twines with alarming agitation, and I feel as if electricity is lighting up along my nerve endings, something I’m not comfortable with.
A churning, tugging sensation in the pit of my stomach grows as she moves on to my other leg, her warm palm pressing against the cool silvery expanse of my skin.
Her fingers brush against the edges of the cloth covering my groin, and a surprising surge of intrigue pulses through me. I wonder if she will wash my genitals for me. I can’t decide if I loathe that idea or crave it. I feel myself start to harden at the thought. So much so that I have to direct my nanites to restrict blood flow to the region. My nanites spring into action, slowing the rush of blood threatening to betray my composure.
I almost let out a sigh of relief when she finishes washing my leg and covers it with the thick shroud. She rises to her feet, taking the washing bowl with her. The air cools my skin, and I can’t help but appreciate the absence of the itching, dirty skin. I’m left alone, gazing after her retreating figure, unsure if I feel relieved or disappointed that the bath is over.
Before I come to a conclusion, the female returns, the refreshed bowl of water in her hands. Her curiosity is printed openly all over her face. She seems particularly fascinated by my silvery skin, occasionally darting glimpses of admiration.
She rolls the blanket down to my hips, exposing my upper body to the air. I watch her, following her every move. She pauses, staring at my exposed body in silence.
I realize that her eyes are filled with admiration. I swell with pride as she admires my body, my Cryzor strength and power. There’s awe in her eyes, an apparent approval that sends an unfamiliar shift down my spine. The look she gives is compassionate, awed, and curious. But most importantly, there’s no loathing or disgust, only intrigue.
The sound of wind rustling through the tree outside, along with her soft voice, lulls me into a relaxed state. My muscles go lax as the female washes my stomach and chest.
My senses are tantalized by a new enticing scent that rises above the aroma of the floral, soapy water. It’s intoxicating in a way I can’t quite describe – sweet and musky, warm with an alluring hint of spice. With a start, I realize that the scent is rising from the female’s skin, permeating the air around her, teasing and tormenting my heightened senses. It compels me, making me want to draw closer – to press my nose against her skin to find the source of the scent. A primal need, foreign but incredibly potent strikes, urging me to take this female in my arms.
I grit my teeth and push away the urge to reach out and touch her. I force myself to complete stillness as she bathes my chest and stomach. There’s an efficiency to her touch, but also an unexpected tenderness that catches me off guard. It feels… foreign, that surprising softness. Yet, there’s an inexplicable sense of familiarity in it too, echoing something buried deep within me – far from the roar of battle and conquest, something more primitive and ancient.
