Page 13 of Healing Creek (Arena Dogs #3)

Chapter Nine

Grace was patching a crew member’s minor burn when Creek returned to the med-bay.

She’d been relieved when the Dreat standing guard that morning had accompanied Patel and Santos to the slave hold.

They were now being held with the crew that had been deemed unsafe.

A single human woman had replaced the Dreat at the door and Creek greeted her by name then instructed her to wait outside.

He was probably only there to escort her back to her room, but Grace couldn’t suppress her happiness at seeing him again. Just having him near made her feel safer.

The medic had not been unkind, but he’d been mostly businesslike. She was accustomed to the attitude. Many of her brothers and sisters were the same, preoccupied with their research or other projects. Most of the time she was beneath their notice.

But Creek noticed her. As much as she noticed him.

She noticed the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

She noticed those alert ears and the angles of his face.

She noticed the breadth of his shoulders and longed for him to hold her, but that way lay danger.

Before leaving, Patel had warned her again not to get too close to the Arena Dogs.

She hadn’t told him there was one Arena Dog she very much wanted to be close to.

Putting her mind back on her task, she finished up the medicated sealer she’d been applying to the tool slinger’s hand. “There you go,” she said. “You shouldn’t have any more pain. If you do, come back to see the medic.”

“Thanks.” The man smiled warmly at her. “Though I’d rather come back when you’re here. Doc doesn’t have your bedside manner.”

Creek growled in the back of his throat as he came to stand at her side. Was his protective attitude toward her different from her family’s or was she seeing only what she wanted.

“Ah, thanks again, Grace.” The man scrambled down from the med-bed and strode out the door.

“Where’s the medic?” asked Creek with a scowl.

“Resting. There’s a small office with a cot at the back of the bay.

As the only working medic he’s on call all the time.

” Creek had tucked his dark hair into a knot at the back of his neck, leaving his high cheekbones to draw her eye.

She couldn’t resist the urge to touch him in an effort to chase his scowl away.

She brushed a loose lock away from his cheek, tucking it behind his ear with her fingertips, and his face softened.

“Have you come to let the medic look at the injury causing you pain when you walk?”

His scowl was back in a flash. “I’m no longer injured.”

“Hmm?” She hummed her disbelief. “An old injury perhaps?”

He sighed. “Many old injuries,” he muttered.

“Right.” She couldn’t stop the curl of her lips.

There was no humor to be found in his pain, but his disgruntled expression touched her.

She knew the injuries likely came from terrible battles he’d been forced to fight.

Even damaged, he was still a dangerous man.

But with her, he’d been nothing but gentle.

“The medic could give you something for the pain, at least.”

He hmphed and tugged at her sleeve. “I brought you better fitting clothes.” He pulled off a pack he’d been carrying slung over one shoulder and handed it to her.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, “If you are going to help the medic you don’t want your garments getting in the way.”

She was done helping the medic for the day, but there didn’t seem to be much point in arguing. “All right. Thank you,” she said, tucking the bag under her arm.

“Good.” It was not good, if his scowl was anything to judge by. He had the look of a small boy whose gift of a flower is lost on the girl who’d rather get her hands on one of his toys.

Letting her smile show, she stood motionless for a moment. Soaked in his thoughtfulness. He’d been thinking of her while he had other tasks to do.

She was debating what words would show her appreciation without embarrassing him when he huffed at her. “Try them on. You must see if they fit.”

“Oh! Okay.” She looked quickly around the room she’d been in for hours as if it was new. She dodged across to one of the exam beds that had a pull-out privacy screen and slid it out and around.

She plopped the bag on the bed and pulled it open wide. There were several outfits inside. Her stomach twisted over making use of some unknown woman’s wardrobe when she could be suffering in a cell. But she refused to come up short in the showing of appreciation again.

She chose a pair of soft, blue pants and a short cream sweater. They were a surprisingly good fit. Long enough for her legs and not so big they swallowed her up. She was tall for a woman, and she’d lost pounds she couldn’t afford during her stay on Morgan’s ship.

She assessed the other garments and felt sure they would all fit. He was a good judge of women’s sizes. No, that seemed unlikely. He was just observant. Of her. She stepped around the privacy screen and found him standing, feet firmly planted and arms crossed over his broad chest.

His eyes widened and darkened. He nodded once, apparently satisfied with her appearance.

“Creek, it’s all…great. Thank you so much.

” She stepped close and went on her tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek.

Graciously he bent down so she could reach.

She grasped his arm to steady herself. She’d never spent any time around muscular men.

In her family, anything beyond being toned and agile was considered superfluous.

But she liked the solid strength of him beneath her fingers.

Despite his tough exterior, his cheek was smooth and warm against her lips.

The twist in her belly tightened, turning into want.

Releasing him, she adjusted the hem of her sweater at her hips. She stepped back and his eyes scanned her closely. Heat prickled everywhere his gaze touched her.

He nodded again. “Come.” He held out a hand and waited for her to put her palm in his. She grabbed the bag of clothes and slung it over her shoulder, then took his offered hand. When she did, he clasped hers loosely and led her out of the med-bay door.

It wasn’t the first time they’d held hands, but he didn’t often initiate it.

His hands were big and rough with scars, but warm and so gentle.

A bit breathless, she stayed at his side, strolling through the ship’s corridors.

He moved with confidence. She doubted anyone else had noticed the slight stiffness in his movements or the pain that left lines of strain in his brow.

She’d been in pain often enough in her younger life to be intimately familiar with all the signs.

He was wearing ordinary clothing today. Snug pants that encased his muscular legs to the ankle and a shirt with plenty of room for movement. They might have been ordinary, but he made them look exceptional. They fit well, so he must have gotten them from one of the other Arena Dogs.

She almost missed the toga slung low on his hips, that he’d worn the day they met. Almost, but she couldn’t allow herself to enjoy the memory of something he likely found demeaning.

“Where are we going?” It had taken a few moments to register that they were not heading back to her cabin.

“I thought we could share dinner. We can carry our meals to the garden and eat there.” He didn’t look at her when he suggested it.

“Garden?”

The mess hall doors appeared, and he stopped in front of them. “It’s not called a garden. It’s a place where they grow food for the ship, and there are several display screens there showing images of the sky. It is…peaceful.”

It didn’t surprise her that he’d go out of his way to make sure they had someplace nice to share a meal.

Did he need the peace or think that she did?

He couldn’t know that no amount of greenery could keep her thoughts from worry for her sister.

Regardless, the garden explained the fresh fruit that had been on her breakfast plate that morning.

She supposed it would also be handy for a criminal to not have to regularly go to ports for supplies.

Still, it did sound nice. She squeezed his hand. “I’d like that.”

The doors to the mess hall slid open on a silent woosh of air, but the noise of the group of Arena Dogs coming through those doors made Grace jump.

“Creek,” called one.

“Brother,” said another as he slapped Creek’s shoulder. “We missed you at the evening meal. We thought you’d be joining us.”

Creek dipped his chin in greeting. “I needed to complete my security rounds.”

A male, similar in size to Creek beckoned them inside the mess. “My mate provided steaks for the pack.”

Grace didn’t recognize either of the men that spoke. While it was easy to identify them all as Arena Dogs, the only one she recognized was Mercury. He’d been there the day Samantha had questioned the crew. Mostly, watching from across the room. His petite mate was nowhere to be seen nor was Diablo.

A caramel-skinned, dark-haired woman stepped forward with the shortest of the towering Arena Dogs. This one had silver hair and large lavender eyes. He stood out as exotic among some of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen.

“Hello,” said the woman, a question in her voice. “I’m Feeona.” Her hand pushed forward, and Grace took it by rote. How many times had she shaken hands with diplomats and businessmen and scientists. Feeona might be a few inches shorter than her, but she radiated presence that made Grace feel small.

“This is Grace,” said Creek.

“A pleasure.” Feeona smiled wide and welcoming, but with every second they clasped hands, Grace felt less. Less brave. Less worthy to stand at Creek’s side.

“And these are her mates, Jupiter and Seneca.” He indicated the exotic male at her side and the first man who’d spoken. Creek stepped closer and put a hand on her back near her waist. Feeona dropped her hand but didn’t move. “You know Mercury.”