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Chapter Four

N ova

I’m so tired. This has been one of the longest days of my life. After the doctor fed me, he went into the connecting lab to give me time to nap. I didn’t get much sleep, because three other women visited me, one at a time, for quick meet and greets. They all swore everyone on the ship is free. Each one treated the doctor with the utmost friendliness and respect.

Dax came in when the doc slipped out for a moment. Even though my mind knew he saved my life, my body reacted by sending my heart pounding in double time. The big guy seems to be a gentle giant—he apologized about fifty times for my arm. I wouldn’t accept his apology—none was necessary. I reminded him if he hadn’t reached out and pulled me back I’d have been split in two by that huge swinging knife. I can tell he’s relieved that I don’t blame him for my amputation.

Even though I’ve been on board this ship less than two days, I’m struck by how kind everyone has been. I’ve met four women, Dax and Dr. Drayke, and all of them seem to be genuinely concerned for my safety. Hell, both Dax and the doctor saved my life.

I give myself a stern talking to. Never put your guard down, Nova. You learned that lesson early and often , I remind myself.

“I’d like to change your dressing, Miss Nova.” The doc pulls me back to the present. “I want to get a good look at the surgical site, put some more topical antiseptic on it, and make certain there’s no infection. It’s been a long day. I’m sure you’re tired and want to get some sleep.”

He leans over my arm and begins gently cutting off the dressing. I grab the scalpel he left at my bedside. I’m not even subtle about it. I think any other male might chuckle at this. I’m obviously not going to hurt him. But he frowns a bit, looking pained. He wants my trust.

Trust? I don’t do trust. After fighting off eight older brothers since I was old enough to walk, and losing my freedom to aliens, I forgot how—if I ever knew to begin with.

He gives me a look so deep and melancholy I can’t even put a name to it, then gets back to his task.

“You might not want to look, Miss Nova. It’s going to be extremely swollen and the cut will be puckered and red. Perhaps you want to avert your eyes.”

“I’m a realist, doc.” My voice is full of swagger, but I clamp my teeth together so I don’t make a distressed sound when I see what he just described.

“You’re a strong female, Nova. You should be proud of how you handled everything you’ve been through.”

That’s the first time he’s called me Nova instead of Miss Nova. Why does it feel sweet and caring and intimate? I glance up at him and catch him looking at me. We just stare into each other’s eyes. For the briefest moment, those dark blue eyes don’t look villainous at all. They’re full of concern. I can feel his tenderness. It overwhelms me. I pull my focus back to my arm.

“Let’s get this show on the road, doc,” I put as much levity in my voice as I can muster. It’s false bravado.

He’s all professional now, finishing snipping through layers of downy gauze then peeling them back. Clamping my teeth together didn’t help at all. A strangled sound escapes my lips. It looks horrifying—Frankensteinian.

I’ve been cut up and beat up and badly hurt before. I have some ugly scars on my body, the worst of which is the gash from belly to flank I received in the fight with the asshole who used a blade he’d planted in the arena sand. He earned a slap on the wrist for cheating. I got a lot of pain and a permanent reminder.

But I rarely see the scar on my midriff. This one will be in plain sight every day. It will remind me of almost being killed. What if I don’t regain full mobility or dexterity? This could be a game-changer.

“It will look much better when it heals, Miss Nova.” His voice is so calm, so reassuring. “A few months from now you’ll just have a scar, you’ll be good as new.” He’s almost pleading now, could it be because tears are snaking down my cheeks? Tears? I don’t cry. I quit crying after my first day in captivity. It just got me smacked by my captors.

Now that I’m crying, I can’t stop. Maybe I’m releasing a tiny fraction of the buckets of tears I’ve held back over the last two years.

I’m safe. The thought arrows into my brain, insinuating itself. I’m safe for the first time in what seems like eons. And dammit, I think part of this feeling of safety is because doctor Drayke is here with me. This patient man who handed me a scalpel to help me trust him.

I’m sad and angry and have a longing so deep I can barely stand it. I don’t even know what I’m yearning for.

For so long I was completely alone and afraid; I had to pretend to be strong and courageous to everyone I knew. Now my safety allows me to experience the fear and sadness I’ve kept at bay—it’s overwhelming. I don’t like this feeling. Part of me wants to hide behind my self-erected protective walls.

Through eyes filled with tears, I watch him apply medication and re-bandage me. He works quickly, gently—not mentioning my weakness. That’s nice of him. He’s been nothing if not kind and compassionate.

I’m crying harder and can barely see what he’s doing now. He’s not touching me anymore. He must be finished.

“What can I do to help?” His deep voice is so close his warm breath fans my cheek. “Let me help, Nova. Tell me how.”

The floodgates have opened and I’m weeping now. I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know what to tell him. The defenses I’ve used for the past two years, hell, my whole life, are gone, decimated. I’m vulnerable as a newborn.

What do I want? What would help? I want warmth. I want companionship. I want connection. I want the constant fear I’ve lived with my entire life to go away, even if it’s for the briefest moment.

For so long I’ve kept my distance from everyone. I was afraid anyone I got close to would die, or be sold, or sent away. I protected myself by staying emotionally isolated. But now I’m on a ship full of free people. If I believe what they tell me, I’m safe here. I’m safe with Dr. Drayke. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be alone.

“Stay with me doc. Can you do that?” Where I found the courage to ask that I will never know. But now that I’ve said it, I realize I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in a long, long time.

“Absolutely.” He sits in the chair next to my right arm.

I feel ridiculous. What now?

A wave of fear overtakes me. It’s like every emotion I smashed down for two years is crashing to the surface of my awareness in the span of half an hour. My eyes open wide in fear as I wordlessly look at him.

“I’m so afraid. It’s like I’m drowning,” I whisper.

“How can I help?” His face is serious, earnest.

“I don’t know.”

There’s a long pause. The silence is only punctuated by my soft sobs, then, “Once upon a time…”

Seriously? This doctor is going to sit with his patient and tell her a fairy tale?

“Once upon a time there was a little girl. She was a good little girl who got lost in the woods…”

His voice is deep and relaxing. I don’t know if he’s making this story up as he goes, or if perhaps his mom told him this story when he was a little boy. But there is something so reassuring about the slow unraveling of this simple bedtime tale. I’m not crying anymore. The tears that trailed down my cheeks are drying on my skin.

It’s so achingly sweet when he sits up straight with his shoulders thrown back speaking in a high voice as he mimics the little girl. “‘But I can’t find my way home,’ the little girl says.”

Then he puffs out his chest and his head sinks low when he uses a deep male voice to imitate the gruff giant. “‘I’ll help you find your way,’ the big giant says as he pulls down a tree and lays it across the banks of the river for her to walk across.”

He doesn’t seem embarrassed as he puts his heart and soul into acting out this story. He seems determined to make this little tale so compelling I focus on it rather than my fears or my sadness.

I haven’t felt this safe and protected in... ever. In my life, no one ever read me a bedtime story. My lips turn upward in a fraction of a smile.

I find it hard to stay awake as he prolongs the story with more and more detail. I think he just wants to keep talking until I fall asleep.

My eyes have drifted shut, but I listen all the way through until he says, “and together they lived happily ever after.” Then he eases up slowly, saunters to the medbay door, and locks it. The sound of the electronic mechanism locking us in together should scare the living shit out of me, but it doesn’t. The overhead lights flicker off, I hear his unhurried footsteps approach the bed next to mine in this small room.

“Doctor Drayke?” My voice sounds little to my ears, like the girl in the story.

“Yes, Nova?”

“It’s not fair of me to ask,” I say. Nor do I have any idea why I’m doing it. “Would you sit in the chair next to me for a bit? Just until I fall asleep?”

“Would it make you feel safer?” he asks, his voice rough.

“Yes, I think it would.” It’s like I’m watching myself answer his question. I don’t understand why I want him this close. This is a risk. I don’t like to take risks.

The room is dim, with just a sliver of light streaming out from under the bathroom door. I watch him pull his chair a bit closer to my bedside, then settle in. I feel a pang of guilt that he’s going to be uncomfortable in that small, hard chair.

“Just until I fall asleep,” I tell him, then take a deep, calm breath, the first I’ve breathed in a long time, and allow myself to fully relax.

S omeone’s screaming. I wake with a start, every muscle tense. I’d forgotten for a moment about Bellona and the amputation and the fact that my arm is tethered to the bed rail, but it all comes crashing back along with the awareness that I was the one who was screaming.

“It’s okay, Nova.” It’s Drayke’s deep, reassuring voice. “Just a bad dream. You’re safe now.”

He’s pulled himself closer and is leaning over the bed rail. I order my body to stand down, telling myself I don’t have to be on high alert.

As my pulse and breathing slow, a thought grabs me and won’t let go. I’d feel so much safer if he would lie in bed next to me. Part of me knows I’m crazy to even want such a thing. The other part already knows I’m going to ask.

“Would you... would you lie in bed with me?” I cringe, waiting for his answer, assuming he’ll be harsh and rejecting. “I shouldn’t have asked,” I amend, even as he says, “Yes.”

He stands for a long moment, giving me every chance to take it back. Every chance to tell him to get the fuck away from me. But I’m just lying here, still wanting him in this bed with me. I know I’ll feel safer.

He climbs in on my left, so gently, so cautiously, and lies on his side. He’s careful not to touch me in any way, even in this small, single bed.

“Keep the scalpel if you want, Nova. I know you don’t trust my promises, but I won’t hurt you.” His voice is sweet and warm and full of compassion.

I realize the scalpel is still somehow clutched in my left hand. It hits me with a sudden flash that I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want to be alone and isolated anymore. I’ve been that way my whole life. I’m done with it. I throw the scalpel on the floor. It hits with a loud, reverberating clang.

Dr. Drayke sun Omrun

The dim illumination drifting under the bathroom door allows me to inspect Nova’s beautiful face. Dear Lord, she is so attractive. Even under the emotional pain of the moment, her face carries such strength.

I reach behind me and put up the bed rail, then press my back against it. I can stay as far away from her as possible without falling off the bed. I’ll give her as much room as she needs.

She’s taller than any of the other humans on board, and more muscular as well. But I feel strong and powerful lying next to her. I have to order my hand not to stroke her hair or trace the curve of her shoulder.

I couldn’t have dreamed even an hour ago that I would ever be lying in the same bed with Nova. And here I am. I would never be presumptuous enough to pray to my God for something as greedy and self-serving as this. But I believe Lord Anteros has answered my unspoken prayers.

She asked me to lay with her for a reason. Perhaps she wants touch. Maybe that would speak to her in a way she could tolerate.

I tentatively reach out and skim my fingers over the top of her head. Just enough pressure so she knows I did it on purpose. She takes a deep breath. I think my touch gentled her.

I caress her head again and see her facial muscles relax. It’s clear she doesn’t like to ask for much, but she won’t be shy about ordering me to stop. I’ll keep stroking her unless she protests. My dark black hair is coarser than her fine, silky-brown strands. I feather my fingers softly from scalp to tips.

After a few minutes of petting her hair, she’s breathing easier. She inches toward me until her shoulder snuggles against my chest. She’s lying on her back, her right arm tied loosely to the bottom of the bed rail to keep her from moving and doing damage to the delicate microsurgery.

A war is waging within me. My emotional side is thrilled with this level of closeness, the sweet connection of these gentle touches. My rational side can’t fathom why I want to touch a female I’m not bonded to. Unbonded Dacian males simply don’t have these desires.

I want to do more than simply lie here next to her—I want to do more than pet her hair. But I’m too smart for that. I understand she’s like a delicate woodland creature. She has to be coaxed and treated gently. As hard and tough as she appears on the outside, her emotions are fragile. She’s beginning to trust. That’s right, it’s just her trust I want, not anything sexual.

I lean in until my nose nestles in her hair, breathing in her scent. I don’t know how, but it smells like the wild idleberry on Dacia: sweet and delicate. I want to tell her how pleasant she smells, but I know instinctively she doesn’t want words. I won’t burden her with any.

I rest my hand on her shoulder, gently so I don’t startle her. I wait another heartbeat to make sure she isn’t going to protest. When she doesn’t, I graze tenderly down her skin from shoulder to elbow to wrist then fingertips. The touch is soft as an amantine’s wing. If I were on the receiving end of such an action, it might tickle. But I don’t want it to tickle, I want it to capture her attention. Maybe even set her nerve endings on fire.

Her eyes are closed. She’s saying nothing, but I know she’s completely focused on my touch. She likes it; if she didn’t, she would object.

Her left hand is loosely curled on her hip. I open it and lay it palm up on her thigh. With the lightest touch, I use my index finger to trace along her palm to the tip of her smallest finger, then back up to the wrist, and down again to the tip of the next finger. I hear her quick, sharp intake of breath.

I don’t know how I have the knowledge to do these things. I was never taught them, didn’t read them in a book. I simply know they will be deeply arousing for her. I see in the dim light she’s grabbed her bottom lip with her top teeth. The look on her face is pure sensuality. I don’t stop touching her. I focus on her pleasure and not the urgent pressure gathering in my body.

She lets out a deep sigh. I look over to find she’s peeking at me through the veil of her lashes. For the first time, she looks at me with something other than hate, fear, and distrust. She glances at my lips, then back into my eyes. I know an invitation when I receive one.

I bend my head slowly toward her, waiting for any signal that I’ve read her wrong. No, her gaze is blazing with need—and promise. She wants this kiss.

My lips graze hers. The softest touch imaginable. Back and forth. And then a true kiss. Sweet pressure of my mouth upon hers. I lean forward a bit, to get better access. I don’t need to pull away to check her reaction, to make sure I haven’t frightened her or crossed a boundary. She opens herself to me. Desire flares along my veins with this silent proposition.

My tongue presses in, invading her mouth. I’ve never tasted anything so divine. It’s like I’ve waited all my life to experience this. As if I’m coming home. My tongue grows a mind of its own and explores the depths of her. I spar with her tongue. A sensual dance.

She reaches up, sliding her hand along the back of my neck, under my hair. Her fingers drift, pressing my head and pulling me nearer.

I want to climb closer, I want to touch and explore her secret places. I’m so desperate for all of these things that for a moment I forget why I shouldn’t act on this desire. But I pull my rational side back from where it’s hiding. Can’t go farther, even though I believe she wants this, too. I think if I pressed, she would acquiesce. And I know tomorrow she would hate herself. And worse than that, she would hate me.

I pull back, leaving the welcoming warmth of her mouth. I kiss her again, just lips on lips. Many times, just like that. And then I finally give her words, whether she wants them or not.

“Goodnight, Nova.” She sighs but doesn’t protest. Those three words were not enough I decide. “Thank you,” I whisper into her ear.

Nova

That was like the sweetest, most wondrous dream of my life. Only it wasn’t a dream.

My existence as a gladiator stole all my humanity. It happened incrementally. I don’t know when my humanness was fully erased. I guess never knowing if I’ll live to see the next dawn can do that to a person.

And here I am. Just like that, just when you think the worst thing in the world has happened—you’re given your freedom and meet a man who is tender and kind and heals your wounded body.

I had some boyfriends before I was abducted. But this was the sweetest, most sensual moment of my life. I think I might have pegged Dr. Drayke sun Omrun wrong.