Page 10 of Elas (Mate’s Mark #2)

August

“I’m not letting that… thing… touch me.”

Great.

Another fun one.

My strained smile feels like it could split my face, and I take another deep breath to stop myself from exploding. “It’s a few tiny stitches,” I say, that plastic grin plastered on my mouth. “You’ll be out of here in five minutes, good as new, if you’ll just let me help you.”

“And let you come over here and do something weird to me? No, thanks.”

Kopros, the Curtiphan I’m working underneath today, snorts from the corner.

All three of his golden-brown eyes are fixed on the patient, a young soldier with muted red skin who is currently baring his long, curved fangs at me while his tail twitches behind him.

“Come on, now,” Kopros says, an obvious sarcasm lacing his words.

“Do you really think a human could actually hurt you?”

The patient frowns, weakly gesturing at the cut on his arm. It’s crusted with a strange, greasy black blood, but it isn’t deep. Three stitches—four, max—and he could be out of here.

Instead, he’s chosen to fight me.

For the past half hour.

“What if he puts, like… a tracker or something in my arm?”

“Oh, for the love of the gods,” I mutter, dragging my hand over my face as my composure slips. “Why? Why would I be tracking you?”

His brows draw closer together, eyelids narrowing until I’m not sure he can even see through them. “I won’t pretend to know how your kind thinks.”

“Fine,” I snap, yanking my gloves off and storming to the trash can. Flustered and shaking in my anger, I fumble with the lid three times before managing to shove them inside. “Either let it scar and risk infection, or find someone else to do it. I tried.”

He dismisses me with an arrogant sneer as I walk towards the door.

“We aren’t weak like your species. Infection, can you imagine?

” He tosses another haughty glance towards Kopros, like he’s going to get support for his tantrum.

The Curtiphan only watches with mild amusement, all three eyes crinkled in a smirk.

“The only reason I even came here is because my commanding officer ordered me. I don’t need your help to heal. ”

“Well, that’s great,” I snap, “because you aren’t getting it.”

I push out the door and almost crash straight into Xeni.

“Whoa, easy killer,” he says with a chuckle, and when I jerk back in surprise, he grabs me by my biceps to steady me.

He’s on the thin side, especially for their kind, where so many of them are built with bulging muscles and wide frames.

But as he holds me upright, there’s no denying the strength in his grip.

“Thanks,” I mutter, taking a half step back.

“Hey… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“August…” His voice is surprisingly gentle, and I glance up to meet his solid white eyes.

They were unsettling the first few days we worked together, but over time, the lack of pupils has become normal.

Somehow, instinct tells you where he’s looking, even without them.

They’re no longer strange, just… different.

A part of him, like those ivory, porous horns that twist from his skull.

His face softens as he gives me a sympathetic smile. “You’re terrible at hiding your emotions, you know. Tell me what’s wrong.”

My eyes dart around his angular features, tracking his sharp cheekbones and defined jaw. Elas believes he’s some sort of malicious puppet master who’s trying to control me, but when I look at him, I only see my friend.

“Everyone is so awful to me, and I’m not used to that,” I admit. “Before I came here, I could count the number of genuinely rude people I’d met on two hands, and those people hated everyone so I could ignore them. But here? These people hate me. They’re trying to hurt me without even knowing me.”

He frowns as he places a gentle hand on my forearm. “Have you eaten lunch yet? ”

“No, too busy fighting with stubborn patients,” I murmur, and he bites back a smile.

“Pouting doesn’t suit your handsome face, August. Come on, let’s get a bite to eat and you’ll feel better.”

He’s right. I know he is, so I sigh and let him lead me to the break room.

Xeni gestures towards a two-seater table, and I drop into a chair with a huff as he grabs a couple pre-made plates from the fridge.

He sits one in front of me, loaded with fat purple grapes, a chunk of hard, golden yellow cheese, and a slice of crusty bread he’s slathered with butter.

“Thanks,” I mumble, pulling a grape from its stem and popping it into my mouth.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Another sigh pushes from my nose as I shake my head, uncharacteristically discouraged. “Not really. If I’m being honest—”

“You can always be honest with me,” Xeni interrupts, grabbing my forearm again and squeezing as I offer him a weak smile.

“I wish I could fast forward to a time when they’ve accepted me, you know?

Part of me gets it, because what happened to those people was awful.

But I think…” I trail off, but his thumb swipes over my wrist and encourages me to continue.

“Your kind have been here for so long that sometimes you forget you were the first to attack.” His pale eyes are curious as I meet them again.

“We were the victims in this, but the winners are the ones who get to rewrite history. Somehow, we’ve been turned into the villains of our own oppression. ”

He gives a low, thoughtful hum as he chews on a piece of bread, giving my arm another squeeze before releasing me. “That’s an interesting perspective. You aren’t wrong.”

“Is it na?ve of me to say I wish we could all just get along? Let the past be the past and work together to—”

“Mr. Beckett!”

My spine snaps straight as Chief Aeliphis barges into the room, taking up the entire space even with her small stature. “Yes, ma’am?”

“My office.”

I glance forlornly at my half-eaten lunch, but Xeni winks at me. “I’ll put it in the fridge for later.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, trailing after the chief as she power walks past the rows of exam rooms and supply closets. Finally, she turns into her office and marches around her desk, dropping into the swivelling leather seat with a heavy sigh.

“This isn’t working.”

Way to sugarcoat it.

I scrub my hands over my face for what must be the fiftieth time today, but before I can even form words, she continues. “Our turnaround time has doubled because the patients don’t trust you, so instead of helping, your presence is hurting.”

A tremor of nerves runs through me as my stomach rolls.

I’m not blind to my reality here, and this little pep talk doesn’t bode well for my limited freedom.

If I can’t make this work, I’ll be tossed back in that prison.

And it’s selfish. It’s so damned selfish, because the others from my camp are still there.

They’re continuing to suffer, and I haven’t even thought about them in the past few days .

Maybe this is my punishment for taking more than I deserve.

“Ma’am, if I can just have more time, I know they’ll get used to having me here.”

“Believe it or not,” she says, her voice losing some of its authoritative edge, “I don’t blame you for this.

The staff don’t have issues working with you and none of the complaints have been valid.

They’ve all been based around the fact that you’re human, and the bottom line is that you are viewed as the enemy. ”

“I just want to help,” I say weakly, and her lips pull tight.

“Until your presence here has become less shocking and the patients are more prepared to let you treat them, I’m pulling you from patient care.”

“Pulling me?” Panic makes my body move without my permission, and I jump from my seat to stare down at her incredulously. “I’ve done nothing wrong, you can’t—”

“I can, and I am . Sit down, Mr. Beckett.” She enunciates every word as I take a few more deep breaths and drop into the chair again. After a few tense moments of staring at one another, her thin eyebrow arches. “I didn’t take you for the hotheaded type.”

“I’m not.” This time, both her brows fly up, and a touch of embarrassment burns my cheeks. “Not usually, in any case.”

She waits as I draw in a deep breath, steadying my rare show of temper. “While everyone is getting used to your presence here, I’m moving you to the records room. It’s been several years since we’ve had an attendant in there, and the files have gotten admittedly chaotic. ”

Disappointment churns in my gut as I bite my lips between my teeth. Despite Chief Aeliphis saying otherwise, it feels like a slight—another intentional insult. After all, everyone has already admitted they’re shorthanded in the clinic, and they’re sticking me in a room to organize files?

The alternative is much bleaker, though, so I accept my fate with a forced smile. “That sounds great,” I say, not meaning it in the least. The chief watches me for a pause before nodding.

“Come along, then. Let’s get your keycard updated and I’ll show you where you’ll be working.”

Dust scatters as I slide open a filing cabinet, forming a gritty, musty cloud of air that attacks my nose. I push my pointer finger against my nostrils and fight the itch, but end up pulling my shirt over my face as an explosive sneeze breaks free.

My eyes are red and itchy from the few hours spent in this mildewy room, and the mess is astounding.

Chief Aeliphis said the files hadn’t been managed for years, but the level of disorganization still took me by surprise.

Paperwork is shoved onto random shelves and crammed inside drawers they don’t belong in.

The most common practice, though, is tossing them wherever you can find space and praying for the best.