Page 187 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

187

Don’t Let Me Hurt You

M aya

“You won’t kill me? Drain me dry?”

Perhaps he understands, because he says, “With females of my species, it is part of the mate-bond. It’s said to not only feed me, but provide pleasure for the female. You’re tiny, much smaller than my species. I don’t want to hurt you. You’ll have to stop me if you need to.”

Why, out of all the information floating through my mind, is my brain stuck on the word tiny? I’m a size 18. No one else on Earth would call me tiny.

“How would I stop you?” I ask with an exaggerated shrug.

He taps his gauntlet and his hand comes away from his forearm with a hunting knife that was hidden within the metal. Even in the dim light, I can see the elaborate engraving on the golden blade. That’s not its most salient feature, though. The deep serrations scream this knife isn’t for show, isn’t for whittling, or even for skinning dead animals. This knife is designed to kill.

He grips the point between two fingers and offers it toward me, handle first as he bows his head almost as if this is a ceremony. He’s letting me know he trusts me. Something about this tugs at my heart.

The bazooka was designed to only work on his command, keyed to his DNA. The knife? It’s an equal opportunity weapon. Did this guy just give me the means to kill him?

He needs my blood, and no matter that he’s tired and has no energy, he’s still big enough and strong enough to take what he wants. Instead, he’s giving me the choice—even if it kills him.

His eyes aren’t slitted. Right now, they’re staring straight at me with the intelligence of an apex predator. He knows exactly what he did.

As if he could read my mind, he says, “Giving you that knife isn’t such a big gamble. You’ll need me to escape this ship alive. You must know that.”

He’s my only ticket out, and I believe him when he says he needs my blood to stay alive. Helping him is about self-preservation.

He braved those cockroaches to save my life. Besides, it’s only blood, and I’ve got the knife.

I slowly scoot toward him. With each inch closer I get, I take his inventory. Chiseled muscles made from light-green flesh. It’s mottled, less with freckles than with what could best be described as camouflage.

He’s not as terrifying as he originally seemed. His muscles are lax. He’s not preparing to hurt me.

Taking a deep breath, I steel my nerves. Just before I lean in, he points to his thigh.

“Stab me here if you need to. Don’t let me take too much of your blood. I’m so hungry I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop. Don’t let me hurt you.”