Page 11

Lumina

I’m rudely awakened by a yank on my tether. Looking up, I see him scowling furiously as he attempts to change his own bandage. His legs are sprawled open and his head is dipped low as he tries to tend to his wound while keeping hold of the binding that keeps me next to him.

I took some psychobabble personality profile test years ago, before I applied for vet school, but I didn’t need the results of some bullshit test to tell me what I’d known since I was little—I’m a helper.

I donate too much to charity, I give away too many services for free in my practice, and I’m a soft touch in general.

Hell, that’s the reason I hiked into the River of No Return Wilderness. I just want to help.

So it’s no big surprise when I have the fiercest urge to help the asshole sitting next to me. It takes all the strength I have to sit and watch him struggle. If I was a mean person, I’d jiggle the arm that’s tethered to him at the most inopportune time. But I control myself.

And if he wasn’t the world’s largest asshat, he would ask for help. But no, he just scowls as he struggles with what’s now his third attempt.

Finally, “You’re going to waste all the supplies. Here.” I grab the wrap, wrench his thighs open wider, and inspect.

It’s hard to tell, the guy’s got scales instead of skin; he’s blue instead of any shade of human skin, but I wonder if this is getting infected. After straining to reach my pack, I rummage for the antiseptic spray, give him a liberal dose, then bandage him.

He grunts at me. It’s a no-eye-contact monosyllable.

“I’ll take that as a warm thank you. You’re oh-so-not welcome.

” Prick. I still have no idea what caused his abrupt change in mood.

I feel angry and hurt and used and most of all, vulnerable.

And the change from the warm connection we shared to him shutting me out?

Right after we both had our first sexual experience? That was the unkindest cut of all.

He stands and moves toward the fire, now so close it’s a good thing he’s hairless, or he would singe his body hair.

I kneel next to my pack, dump the contents onto the blanket, and take inventory.

“My empty water bottle, package of water purification tablets, ten nutrition bars, one and a quarter rolls of bandage, half a can of antiseptic spray, two pairs of panties, two t-shirts, a pair of jeans.” At the bottom is a hoodie, I don’t know why I forgot it was smashed in there.

“Here.” I tap him with it, not wanting to risk throwing it into the fire.

“Uh.” He sees what it is, then looks over his shoulder at me, eyes wide in surprise. He knows I’m freezing, too. He grabs it, quickly unties the cord on his wrist and puts it on in one swift movement. At least he doesn’t re-tie the rope.

“Don’t mention it,” I say when I realize not even a terse thank you is on its way.

Then he says it, the word I think is a Draalian thank you. It’s so belated and so grudging I can’t take a modicum of joy from it.

“I have no idea when we’re going to be able to climb out. We need to ration the food. How hungry are you?”

Reptiles only need to eat sporadically. The ones on our planet can go five to seven days or longer without a meal. I don’t know how this works with Draals, nor do I know when he last ate.

He shakes his head, a clear indication he’s not hungry, but the way his eyes dart to the food, I wonder if he’s lying.

“You’re already debilitated. You’re injured and freezing. Think you should eat?”

He shakes his head again, then lifts his chin toward the food, indicating I should eat.

“I’ll wait,” I tell him. “We both need to drink.” I fill the collapsible pot with fresh snow from the entrance to the cave and set it near the fire to melt, tossing in a purification tablet.

The day passes slowly as Zoriss casts longing looks out the cave opening. It snows from time to time without a lot of accumulation. I imagine it’s the lack of heat and sunlight that bothers him the most.

“Looks like no basking for you today,” I state the obvious.

He gives me his first direct glance of the day. It’s mournful.

I’m sitting on the sleeping bag with both blankets pulled over my shoulders. The bag does little to cushion my ass from the hard stone floor, nor does it keep the cold from seeping into my bones.

What makes me more miserable is watching him. He’s sitting directly in front of me at the fire. The hoodie covers him from the waist up. From the waist down he’s naked, hugging his knees.

“Oh, I forgot,” I say as I walk to the back wall and retrieve the stuff I grabbed from the capsule after I rescued him.

I inspect what I thought might be a med kit, but it’s basically bandaids and medications so far past their date of expiration they’re either dust or dried into cement.

“Is this food?” I ask with a grimace after looking at the little packages I wondered were freeze-dried insects.

“Mmm.” His eyes light up with interest.

“Have at them.” I hand him the packages. The pictures on them look like crickets and mealworms.

He grabs them, divides them into two equal piles, and hands me half.

“Really? Generous, but no thanks.” My stomach does a slow, rolling dive.

He cocks an eyebrow. His expression looks as if he’s baffled by my lack of interest.

“They’ll taste like ass. They’re all yours.”

He stashes them with his half of the bars, opens one as if it’s a Godiva truffle, and savors every crunchy bite.

I try to stifle my disgusted shiver, but don’t succeed.

It’s barely after noon and I’ve thought about what happened last night a thousand times. Five hundred of those times were about what occurred before he switched personalities. They were pictures of the sex we had, the physical bliss, and the tender look in his eyes.

Five hundred were replays of what happened after I told him he was magnificent. The blazing anger in his eyes, the harsh words he spat at me.

“ Shamispah ,” I say, unable to imbue it with the level of hatred he did last night. “Wonder what that means.” I’m baiting him. I know it. I have no idea why I don’t even try to contain my urge to ruffle his already-ruffled reptilian feathers.

This catches his attention, more even than the hoodie I handed him. His eyes shoot me fireballs.

“I have an idea. Let’s play a game. I’ll teach you English so you can communicate with me. I’m pretty smart. I bet I know just what words you’d like to add to your vocabulary.”

He turns to give me his full attention, arms across his chest, cocks flaccid.

“Bitch. It means a spiteful female. Or it can be a verb that means to complain. Say it,” I taunt, daring him not to play.

“Bitch.” His face looks bland.

“Come on, Zoriss. You can do better than that. Say it with feeling.”

“Bitch!” is said with enthusiasm as he warms to our little game.

“What’s the Draalian word for that? One you’d use for a male?” I ask, my eyebrow lifted. I’ll learn a few appropriate words to communicate, too. “On Earth that word is bastard. Bastard,” I repeat, diving into the spirit of the game.

“ Chareen .”

“ Chareen . That has a nice bite to it. Let’s see, what next?

Fuck you. ‘Fuck’ is what we did last night.

It’s sex without meaning.” That jibe was so accurate a stab of pain pierces me as I admit it out loud.

“‘Fuck you’ means I don’t like you, go to hell, eat shit and die.

It’s used for someone who you deem despicable. ”

“ Shamispah ,” he says as he pegs me with the coldest gaze I’ve ever received.

“No. Fuck you.”

“ Shamispah . Despicable.”

“That’s what that means?”

He nods slowly, as if talking to a child, or an animal, to make certain I get the full extent of his hatred. “ Shamisssspah .” There, he adds that wonderful fillip of the hiss to make certain his meaning is clear.

“You find me despicable, Draalian? How about a male who fucks a girl and then insults her? How shamisssssssssspah is that?” He thinks he can hiss? Well I can fucking hiss too.

“ Shamispah ,” he admits with a nod, although he shows no evidence of contrition. He’s not sorry he said it.

“ Chareen ,” I taunt as I turn my back to him and face the rear wall.

And that, boys and girls, ends our little vocabulary lesson for the day. I can add chareen to asshole, bastard, and prick as his list of identifiers.

Zoriss

I thought lying in a pod for three months with my body unable to move and my mind unable to rest was hell.

That was a vacation compared to this. Being trapped in a primitive cave with a despicable female who believes in slavery, one who was saving up to buy me like I’m a pedigreed canine?

Fuck her. I like that Earth word. Yes. Fuck her.

I’m freezing. That doesn’t help. During drills in military training, we learned how to stand all day without fatigue.

But I’m not in military training. I’m on a strange, cold planet.

I’ve been unable to bask, haven’t had anything other than liquid nutrition and one tiny minten since I left Draal, and I lost a great deal of blood.

I had already cleaned my wound before Lumina woke up this morning.

It had seeped through and bled profusely on the blanket during the night.

I was blissfully unaware of my wound when I was deep inside of her but I am painfully aware of it now.

She’s a doctor. I know she should look at it, but it was all I could do to allow her to bandage it.

I’m surprised, though, that she hasn’t discovered the spot on the blanket where I bled.

After our verbal sparring match, I give in to my body’s demands and lie down. The nutrition bars are still neatly stacked in two piles. She didn’t have to share with me. She’d have every right to hoard them. And she saved my life. I can’t deny that.

I shove the bars into the pack and stow it near the cave wall. She’s right, we need to ration. I’ll wait until I’m hungrier. Which means weaker.