Page 1 of Healer (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #4)

P a in.

Sharp and quick.

My mind conjured an image of a knife moving through warm butter as the point of the blade entered my skin.

I didn’t flinch.

I knew pain.

Never-ending spasms that made every joint in my body feel like the fires of hell itself burned within the bone and tissue. Pain so severe that the legal and medical limits of codeine and morphine only managed to dull the sharpness, allowing me to function in normal society.

"Urgot dervuian atorouius."

The thing implanted in my brain that translated alien language changed the words to English with only a second's lag.

"This one is defective."

If they only knew.

"She doesn't even acknowledge the cut." The second of my torturers said in a slightly wondering tone as he made another swipe with the blade along my forearm. This cut hurt worse, and my teeth sank into my tongue to stifle the sound of pain.

Yeah, fuck you, buddy.

I'd bite my tongue out of my mouth before I’d give them the satisfaction of screaming.

And they wanted me to scream.

I kept my eyes shut, using the techniques I'd learned when the pain in my joints got so bad that merely walking across the room was an experiment in agony.

And I prayed.

Not that I'd ever been a religious sort. But being abducted by aliens, not knowing what happened to my friends, and finding myself a guinea pig for alien poking and prodding would make anyone open to the idea of a benevolent deity.

Please, God, let my friends be okay.

The Tuesday Night Outlander Book Club members had been on a nature hike along the Appalachian trail.

I’d voted to go to a day spa for our monthly outing.

But not wanting my friends to realize my growing infirmity, I'd hopped myself up on painkillers and hit the trail.

We'd settled into camp for the night when the proverbial white light bloomed in the sky above.

The next thing I knew, something that looked like a sphinx cat with four tits pulled me out of what had to be some type of alien medical machine.

The shock of waking up pain-free came secondary to the strange, gray machine restoring my body to its youthful glory. I had only a moment to ponder the possibilities before being loaded onto a second spaceship and brought here.

I remembered seeing a dense jungle when the spaceship came in for a landing before four tall gray aliens ushered me into the concrete Twinkie and into a cell. For a while, they kept me warm and well-fed. I was just dumb enough to be grateful until I realized why.

This place served as some sort of medical research facility... and I was the guinea pig.

In the first week, they tested my tolerance for different food and drink.

I fared well in these tests. Of course, during my years of medical school, weekly ghost pepper eating contests were all the rage.

With the cast iron stomach of my twenties back in play, I could eat mostly anything and not suffer.

Except for the slimy mushrooms... I threw up after those, but the gray aliens didn't seem surprised.

The second week comprised some sort of sleep testing. I don't think I passed. I've always been a bit of a bitch when woken suddenly, even as a small child.

This week was either pain tolerance testing or punishment for throwing things when they woke me last week.

It hadn't been pleasant, but at least my high tolerance threshold seemed to upset them.

Please, God, don't let any of the other girls have to endure this.

I'd almost prefer to know the cat aliens sold my friends as sex slaves rather than guinea pigs. I, at least, had enough experience to gauge my fate. I would end up on an autopsy table at some point, and oddly, the idea was comforting. It was what might come prior to the autopsy that had me worried.

I opened and closed the fist of my right hand, feeling the faint resistance in the joints, just like before.

Except this time, I knew the stiffness wasn’t because I overused my hands training to be a surgeon.

At least the gray aliens would spare me from the slow progression of a disease that left my life in shambles.

No one would have to watch me digress into a bed-bound blob of pain-wracked jerking limbs, and drooling mindlessness.

The aliens might think they won when they finally killed me. Jokes on them.

Alien bastards... all of them.

Except him. My angel.

He appeared during the night, tending my wounds and whispering words of strength with the promise of rescue. A gorgeous Brad Pitt of an alien with beautiful golden eyes that my fractured mind conjured to help me deal with the stress.

"We could amputate her leg. I bet that would make her scream."

My eyes popped open at that comment, but I schooled my features to complacency, glaring at the creature making the ghoulish comment.

He stood smaller than the others, closer to seven feet tall than eight.

The quintessential alien, with a rounded triangular-shaped head and large black almond eyes that slanted upwards.

Like the others, he didn't possess a nose, only two vertical slits above thin dark gray lips.

He jerked when he met my gaze as though the idea I might be a sentient being something he hadn't considered.

"Don't be idiotic." The alien with the wrinkled skin spoke with a deep frown. "You cannot weaken her with an amputation. As it is, we will need to allow it a day of recuperation to ensure the results of further testing are not skewed.”

Did that fucker just call me an it ?

"Let me go, you bastards!" I screamed, rather enjoying the way the aliens jumped and skittled.

Kicking against the restraints on my ankle made the metal table on which I lay creak and groan. I didn't dare move my lacerated arm. Even with a cursory glance, I noticed the cut went deep and bled profusely.

"Quickly!" The older-looking alien grabbed a long button-ended syringe and tossed it to his comrade, who stood near my head.

Seconds later, I felt the sting of cold metal against the curve of my neck, and consciousness drained out of me in the time it took to sigh.

My body came screaming awake, heart pounding in my chest, lungs craving air. I remained on the metal table but no longer bound. The faint smell of ammonia and alien alcohol hung in the air reminding me of a poorly made margarita.

Jerking into a sitting position, my head swam as my brain tried to catch up with the sudden alertness of my body.

What the hell?

The only piece of equipment remaining on the small table beside my bed was a used syringe. Benzedrine, perhaps? No. My body's reaction seemed more on par with a shot of pure adrenaline.

Even discombobulated, my training kicked in. I snatched a roll of bandage material from a nearby tray, intent on wrapping the cut on my forearm.

What the hell?

Only a faint red welt survived the gash. I flexed my arm at the elbow, stunned at the painless movement.

How long had I been unconscious? It would take at least a month for a wound of that nature to heal completely.

Blinking, I tried to gain some awareness of my surroundings.

Darkness blanketed the room. The stark overhead lights dimmed to a flicker, making the assortment of metallic fixtures glow eerily white.

A small yellow bulb near what I hoped might be the exit was the only brightness in the din.

Silence was a soft roar broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing.

Except for being locked in my cell, this was the first time I’d been left alone and unfettered.

Shit.

Could I possibly escape?

I hopped off the table, the overabundance of adrenaline in my system causing my knees to buckle dizzily. A warm bar snaked around my waist, holding me upright.

"Easy."

The voice sounded deep and male, huskier than those of the gray aliens. The words tickled as he said them close enough to my ear, his warm breath brushing my temple.

What?" I turned, getting a look at either my savior or captor.

He stood at least seven feet tall with golden tan skin—not skin, but a short, napped pelt that felt like velvet. My hands rested on biceps, as big around as my thighs. His hair was thick, wavy, and dark brown, cut short over his ears and longer in the back.

Damn. I never thought a mullet could look this good.

The eyes regarding me with curious worry were dark gold, the color of beech trees in the late fall surrounded by a sclera the shade of the Mediterranean Sea.

My angel.

He was real—another alien in an alien place.

Although this alien seemed nothing like those that experimented on me.

He wore what looked like black leather pants and a sleeveless vest with a wide utility belt sporting a myriad of blades as well as two other weapons strapped across his back.

This guy was no scientist. He was a soldier.

.. a warrior. Logically I should be far more afraid of this guy than the frail gray aliens, although deep down in my soul, in a part of myself that logic didn't touch, I knew he meant me no harm.

"Who are you?" I twisted out of his grip, noting my body's strange reluctance to move away from him.

"Shhh," he laid a finger across his full lips and nodded toward the door. "The Ulkommanian are notoriously light sleepers."

"Ulkomm... you mean those fuckers who have been messing with me?"

The corners of his lips quirked upward. "That would be them."

I took a step, then another... the adrenaline finally settling in my body. I felt like I could run the Peachtree Road race without breaking a sweat.

A large hand closed around my wrist.

"We must go, little human. Silent and swift."

Go?

Granted, this dude seemed a hell of a lot better than the bastards who tried to carve me up like a Christmas turkey. But I would admit to maybe not being in the best mindset to trust first impressions.

"Go where?" I squared my shoulders and faced him, noting the alien scalpel lying on the table a foot away, still sporting smears of my blood. "Who are you?"

"My name is Hakkar, and I'm here to rescue you."