I breathe softly, my focus entirely on the touch of metal on metal within the tight confines of Ravok’s wound. I give him a reassuring nod, my voice trembling slightly as I speak. “You’re doing great… Just a bit longer, Ravok.”
He responds with an acknowledging grunt. It doesn’t take a master linguist to understand that the grunt translates to a silent acknowledgment for me to do whatever I must. I take one deep, settling breath to steady my hands, then close the pliers around the bullet.
His growl grows louder, echoing off the cabin walls. I see his hands claw into the rough, cedar floor beneath him. However, beyond the unearthly growl, he holds his body completely still. Ravok is putting all his energy into not fighting me, to not pulling away.
“Almost there, just hang on a little longer,” I whisper, even though he can’t understand me.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I tug at the pliers, the foreign object resisting but slowly giving way. The metallic tang of alien blood fills my nostrils, mixing with the musky scent of Ravok’s unique aroma, an amalgamation of steel and spice.
With a trembling breath, I pull, and then finally, with a horrible squelching sound, the bullet comes free, slick with blood. The relief is immediate, yet fleeting, as I quickly apply a clean cloth to the wound, pressing down to staunch the bleeding. My heart pounds relentlessly against my ribcage, the adrenaline finally ebbing away, leaving sweat trickling down my temples, fingers trembling slightly as I examine the bullet piece. I hold it up, still gripped in the pliers, for Ravok to see. Then, I set the bullet and pliers on a waiting piece of gauze.
“It’s done,” I let out a weary sigh, brushing a loose strand of my hair away from my face while being careful not to smear any of his blood on me. “You’re going to be okay, Ravok.”
His shoulders slump slightly as if in relief that echoes through my entire being.
“Holy shit. That was rough,” I whisper to myself. I debate internally if I should stitch the wound closed but based on the healing rate of his other injuries, it seems unnecessary.
Carefully, I smooth a fresh, clean bandage over the seeping wound. “There you go,” I murmur, patting his shoulder reassuringly. I snatch my hand away, realizing I do not know if he is okay with casual touch. I shouldn’t assume. He’s a damn alien and who knows what is appropriate with him and his species.
I quickly clean up his chest. Then, turning away, I gather up the pliers, the bloodied gauze, and the bullet to dispose of them.
I feel Ravok’s piercing gaze following my every movement, his silent scrutiny as loud as spoken words. His eyes, hauntingly beautiful yet imbued with boundless intelligence, track my motions. It’s unsettling – it makes me feel a little like a science experiment. My imagination is being overactive, and the lack of sleep is definitely catching up to me.
With my nursing duties taken care of for now, I turn back to Ravok, my eyebrows knitting together in question. I mime eating, my hands pretending to spoon invisible food into my mouth. “More food?” I ask. His eyes watch the motion, but he shakes his head; the gesture somehow looks downright bizarre on such an alien being.
“Water?” I pantomime drinking from a glass and point towards the half-empty cup he’d drank from earlier. His gaze holds mine for a second before he gives an affirmative dip. A sigh of relief escapes me, and I go fetch the glass to refill it, feeling his gaze on my back.
Ravok takes small, measured sips as I help him hold the cup, my hands wrapped around his, as his thick throat contracts with each swallow. As I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, I’m amazed that an alien species can be so similar and yet so different from mine. Once the water is gone, I take a step back. His gaze is heavy-lidded, his alien features drooping slightly with exhaustion.
Gently, I readjust his position, removing all but a single pillow for his head. I press my hand against his forehead which wrinkles in consternation under my palm. His skin feels cool and smooth under my fingertips. I’m pleased that he doesn’t seem to have a fever. Once I’m done, I back away, giving him the space he probably craves. Feeling the weight of the last day weighing on my shoulders, I sit on the couch where I can keep an eye on him while he rests.
I watch his eyes slowly close, the glowing orbs fading into dormancy. His breaths become deep and slow, and his face slackens. The harsh lines of pain and distrust fade away, and I can’t help but marvel at the sight. This alien, this creature of the stars, resting under my care. It’s a strange honor.
CHAPTER 21
Ravok
As soon as the projectile is out of my body, my nanites rush to the area to begin mending my torn flesh. It won’t take long now for my body to finish repairing itself.
Once Leelee has finished sterilizing and bandaging my wound, she insists on helping me onto the simple, makeshift bed she has constructed on the floor. I can’t help but notice the fatigue tugging at the corners of her eyes as she moves around the small room.
I consider her. This female, of a species I’d thought weak and insignificant, is exerting herself beyond exhaustion for an enemy she scarcely comprehends. The irony that her saving and healing me hastens her species’ doom is not lost on me. I skirt away from the thought that my people will wipe her from existence soon enough because of me. Curiosity erupts within me, intertwining with the bitterness and anger beneath my skin. The complexity of it all is a weight I’m not accustomed to carrying.
As she helps me settle onto the makeshift bed on the floor, I notice the skin around her eyes is sallow and darkened. Her bright eyes seem dimmed, reflecting the growing fatigue she can no longer conceal. Despite the barriers of species and birth worlds, it’s clear Leelee is exhausted.
Her movements grow slower, her lids heavy. I want to tell her to stop fussing and get some rest, but I cannot communicate my thoughts. I want to growl in irritation that my translator is not working. Once I am healed enough to move about, that is the first thing I will repair.
Leelee’s gaze lingers on my prone form before she slips out of the room. Her absence fills the space with an unexpected emptiness, and the quiet is too loud. After a short moment, she returns, her small orange meat stock cradled gently in her arms.
She shuffles towards me, the soft footfalls echoing in my heightened senses. Holding the creature out towards me, she exhales a single breathless word, “Mango.”
Her gaze is imploring as she stares at me, fiercely protective of the animal in her possession, “Dont urt im, okay?” Although her words are strange and somewhat garbled to my ears, I understand the message clearly.
I hold my hands up in a placating manner, hoping she understands my intention. She dips her head, signaling a mutual understanding, before retreating to the cooking area with Mango, leaving me again in relative silence.
I can hear the rattle of food being poured into a bowl and the unmistakable sounds of the animal eating. A handful of breaths later, she reappears and crosses the room to where I am. Leelee checks me over once again, talking to herself as she assesses my injuries. She seems satisfied and more than a bit surprised at my healing progress.
When she brings two ice-cold bags and tries to put one on my injured wrist and the other on my ankle, I growl at her to stop. I need rest and won’t be able to rest with ice packs on my skin.
“Ravok,” Leelee scolds when I grab the ice packs and push them back into her hands. She holds out the packs and shakes them at me. “Deez elp.”
I growl out a “No” at her. She scrunches her nose at me in vexation, but I lower my brows to let her know how serious I am.
Finally, Leelee huffs out a breath and shakes her head at me. “So, stub-born.”
She gives me one last exasperated look before returning to her cooking area and tossing the bags back into her cooling unit.
At last, she sinks into a faded chair set in a corner. Her body curls inward as if she’s attempting to make herself smaller.
Despite her obvious exhaustion, she seems to be trying to keep watch over me. I realize that as long as I am conscious, she will also try to stay awake, so I pretend to fall asleep. As I let my eyes slide closed and my steady, rhythmic breaths mimic sleep, I watch her from beneath my lashes.
Within a few minutes of me pretending to sleep, her eyes slowly shut. Her head lolls to one side, mouth slightly ajar in her exhaustion. It’s an unguarded, vulnerable state I could use to my advantage. Instead, I watch, a strange sensation expanding in my chest as a being who should fear, despise, or exploit me. Moments stretch into minutes, and I continue to study her.
The room is quiet, save for the soft, even sound of her breaths, and against all odds, I find a strange sort of peace in the silence.
I observe her for a few minutes more, scanning her slumbering form. A spark of something indefinable stirs within me; not pity, certainly not affection, but an inexplicable sense of protectiveness that emanates from a place deeper than my rage-fueled desire for retribution. I won’t be able to save her from my people’s invasion, leaving a sour feeling in my gut.
