Page 5

I wish I could say it was a waste of money, but it wasn’t. It was worth every penny. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to afford a real mate, and the automated one has given me a lot of pleasure.

In addition to the two cocks they’re noted for, I see the bumps and ridges described in the literature as well. Although it’s state of the art, whoever designed my sexbot didn’t do this race justice—these masculine shafts beckon me.

I force myself to quit staring and tear my gaze back up his body toward his face, but can’t contain myself from saying, “I wonder what you’ll look like when you’re awake. I bet you’ll be magnificent.”

Blood is already seeping through the bandage. Shit! I need to take it off and treat his wound again.

Zoriss

Searing pain in my thigh. Warm hands on my shin and wrist.

I lie quietly, eyes closed, keeping my breathing still and calm. Where am I, what is going on, and why does it feel like the flames of hell are licking at my groin?

It’s quiet and smells musty. The hands on me are small and warm. Her scent is female. I can’t detect if anyone else is in the room, but I’ll bide my time until I figure out what is going on.

“I wonder what you’ll look like when you’re awake. I bet you’ll be magnificent.”

My translator works. I understand her perfectly, but the language doesn’t sound familiar.

Zorn and I have been fighting . . . where were we stationed last?

I can’t recall. Weren’t we due for furlough?

The last thing I remember is . . . the last clear memory I have is saving Zorn’s life on planet Pythian. Somehow, that doesn’t seem right.

The female’s hands move to my groin. I have to force myself to keep my eyes closed in order to maintain the element of surprise, but is she about to harm me? To inflict more pain?

Are we alone here? I can’t sense anyone but her, and I need to find out if she is friend or foe. Her touch is gentle, but the pain is severe.

I don’t care how many others might be in this room, I’m a lieutenant in the Draalian planetary army, I can’t lie here helplessly forever.

My eyes snap open and I grip both her wrists so tightly she gasps in pain as her blue eyes pop open wide, looking at me for what, mercy? Sitting up, I wince as every muscle in my body protests, but I focus on my task—subdue the female and conduct recon on my situation.

She’s a warmblood—a mammal. Humanoid. No species I’ve seen before. Are we in a cave? I keep a tight hold on her while I glance around. I see no others.

What planet is this where they live in caves lit by fire?

“Where am I?” my voice sounds gravelly as if I haven’t spoken in weeks. I sound like this when I wake from a long stasis.

“Crap,” she says. “My translator must be malfunctioning.”

Perhaps the populated areas are advanced and there are rural areas with cave dwellers. What else would explain a female in a cave mentioning a translator?

“Who else is here?” I continue to scan the environment, looking for others of her kind.

She looks up at me with pleading eyes. “I don’t understand you.”

“Who else?” I shake her, my eyes blazing so she knows I’m not playing.

“I . . . my translator doesn’t work. I don’t have much use for it out here. I had no idea it was broken.” Her blue gaze is full of fear and holds no aggression.

Tightening my grip, I look around. We’re definitely in a cave, and by the look of things, we’re alone.

“What do you want with me?” I bite out.

She looks at me helplessly and shakes her head, obviously having no idea what I want.

I inspect her now, taking her measure. I haven’t known many females, just family—my mother and aunts. Our female population had been declining for a century, but the disparity between males and females spiked in the last generation. I’ve never known a female my age.

This one is soft. And scared. Her pulse is hammering under my fingertips.

In one sweeping glance, I inventory her bland, colorless face, the symmetry of her nose, and the blonde hair on her head and browridges.

Although she’s not an attractive species, her face is interesting.

Perhaps over time she would appear pleasing to the eye.

“What were you doing to me?” I ask in Draalian, knowing she can’t comprehend a word of it. Looking down at my lap I see a gash high on my right thigh. I’m no medic, but it’s close to my femoral artery. I want to accuse her of doing this, but it’s jagged and obviously wasn’t performed with a knife.

I examine the cave. “Are there others of my kind? Like me?” I ask. “Where’s my brother? My platoon?” I gesture to my chest, although with no translator there’s little chance she could possibly understand me.

“Draals?” she asks.

She knows my race.

“Draals.” I nod.

“Just one,” she says, indicating one finger, then pointing it at me.

I point behind my right ear and tell her, “I understand you.”

“You understand me?”

“Yes.” She’s smart; she catches on quickly.

My head throbs. I release one of her wrists and explore a spot above my brow that’s pulsing in pain. It’s swollen, tender, and when I pull my fingers back they’re specked with dried blood. I have a head injury. That explains both the loss of consciousness and memory problems.

“Y-you’re hurt. I was tending to you,” her voice is a whisper, her eyes luminous and terrified. “Your head has already stopped bleeding, but I need to close your wound.” She glances at my lap.

I nod at her, giving her permission to do so.

“Lie back?”

I shake my head, I’m not putting myself in a vulnerable position. I still don’t know who she is, what she wants, or if more of her tribe will be joining us soon.

She tries to pull away, but I shake my head.

“I need supplies. In the pack.” She motions with her head toward the pack to her left. I nod, releasing her left wrist and tightening my grip on her right.

“See?” she says as she shows me supplies. “I was going to wait to close your wound until I was certain it wasn’t infected, but it won’t quit bleeding. Here.” She lifts a small tube and shows it to me. “This will close the wound.”

“Go ahead.” I nod.

She’s sitting on the cold stone at my side, but because I won’t lie down, she has to scoot back, bending low to get access to the injured area. I release her wrist, but grab the waistband of her pants to keep her from escaping, although she seems to have no desire to run as she works on me.

“I’m a vet. A veterinarian. Oh,” she glances nervously at me, then back to her task, “not that I was implying you’re an animal. Sorry. It’s just that I don’t want you to worry about your medical care. I know how to use medi-seal.”

Her fingers are warm. I’ve never had occasion to touch a warmblood before. Her touch is light, I’d almost call it tender, as she works on me.

“You’re on Earth, of course you must know that, in the River of No Return Wilderness.

It’s a two-hour hike almost straight down to get here.

More like three or four hours to climb up.

That’s when you’re in good condition. Which, of course, you’re not.

” She pulls on both sides of the wound, readying it for the sealant.

In that position, her hands and head are inches from my cocks. I’d have to be dead not to respond. Both cocks are now straining for attention, vying for space in the crowded area of my lap.

“Um . . .” She looks up at me, embarrassed. “Maybe with your other hand you could . . .” her gaze flicks toward them.

For a moment, I consider not complying as I wonder what it would be like to have a feminine hand touch me there at least once in my life.

I may not have known any females my age, but I was raised by a mother who taught Zorn and me how to be decent Draals.

I push my cocks out of her way and try to focus on her efforts instead of her proximity.

Her breath caresses me as her face turns in that direction. One hand keeps the wound pressed together as she works with the medi-glue.

“I hiked down to save a moose, a calf, even though it’s not a good time to be down here. There are no guarantees a blizzard won’t hit us and then we’d have a hell of a time climbing out. I just felt compelled to save the little fellow.

“I was looking for him when I heard this high, whooshing noise. Your one-person vessel was a fireball when it came down, and then there was the most spectacular crash.”

I’d wondered if perhaps my platoon was nearby, but she’s describing a one-person vessel. What would I be doing in that? Is it an escape capsule? What was my unit doing here? Why was I in an escape capsule? Is my brother Zorn okay? Why am I here?

Her nimble fingers are trying to close the wound, which is a job that would be difficult under the best circumstances. Now, in the firelight, with me sitting instead of lying down, and my cocks happily bobbing inches from her face, it is not the best of circumstances.

A lock of her hair brushes against my primary. Why this gentle brush of silk feels more sensual than when I fist myself, I have no idea.

“I thought it was an old satellite crashing to Earth. It happens sometimes. These things are relics. Who knows why they’re held up in the sky one moment and fall the next? But I ran toward it anyway for some unknown reason.”

Aunt Madreen does this same thing. When she’s nervous or uncomfortable she talks too much—a constant stream of meaningless chatter.

If this female’s planet has satellites and medi-glue, what is she doing in a cave? Did they have some cataclysm and revert back to prehistoric ways?

“So I came running, and the capsule door popped open and there you were. I knew immediately you were a Draalian. Well, yeah, that was obvious.”

Her hair brushes my primary again and it returns the favor by pulsing toward her.

“Uh . . .” She clears her throat, bends closer to her task, and applies the medi-glue to one side of my scales, then closes the wound and holds it for a minute.

“I think that will do it,” her voice is deeper, obviously relieved as she sits up and tries to back away.