Page 44 of Master (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #3)
Agnes
Pain.
Sharp and quick.
My mind conjured an image of a knife moving through warm butter as I felt the point of the blade enter the skin of my left forearm.
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 translated the alien's 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.
Yeah, fuck you, buddy.
I’d bite my tongue out of my mouth before I gave 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 six Tuesday Night Outlander Book Club members had been on a nature hike along the Appalachia trail.
I wanted 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 just settled into camp for the night when the proverbial white light bloomed in the sky above, and 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 that fact that the strange, gray machine had restored 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 remember seeing a dense jungle when the ship came in for a landing before four tall gray aliens ushered me into a concrete bunker and a cell. They kept me warm and well-fed for a few weeks, and 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.
They tested my tolerance for different food and drink first. 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 experiment was 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 round was either pain tolerance testing or punishment for throwing things when they woke me during sleep testing.
It hadn’t been pleasant, but at least my high pain tolerance 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 ideawas comforting.
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 and soreness weren’t because I overused my hands training to be a surgeon.
At least this time, the gray aliens would spare me from the slow progression of a disease that left my life in shambles.
At least no one would have to watch me digress into a bed-bound blob of pain-wracked jerking limbs, 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.
The figment of my imagination who came to me during the dark of 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 enough to glare at the creature, making the ghoulish comment.
He was 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.
He jerked when he met my gaze as though the proof 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 it 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 around my ankles 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 could tell the cut went deep and bled profusely.
“Quickly!” The older-looking alien grabbed what looked like 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 still lay on the table, although realizing I was no longer bound.
Someone had put away most of the day's medical paraphernalia except for the small table beside my metal bed.
The faint smell of ammonia and alien alcohol didn't hang air as strongly as usual.
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?
On the small table, the only piece of equipment remaining was a syringe. Benzedrine perhaps? No, my body’s reaction seemed more on par with a shot of straight adrenaline.
Even discombobulated, my training kicked in and I snatched a roll of gauzy material from a nearby tray, intent on bandaging the cut on my forearm.
What the hell?
Only a faint red welt survived from the gash. I flexed my arm at the elbow painlessly.
How long had I been unconscious? It would take at least a month for a wound of that nature to heal so completely.
I gave slight consideration to the idea that I might, in fact, be dead, but my heart hammered too voraciously against my ribs for that thought to linger.
The room was dark, the stark overhead lights completely dimmed, making the assortment of metallic fixtures glow eerily white. A small yellow bulb near what I hoped might be an exit burned bright.
Shit. Could I really escape?
I hopped off the table, the overabundance of epinephrine in my system causing my knees to buckle dizzily. A warm bar snaked around my waist, holding me upright.
“Easy.”
The voice was deep and male. The words tickled as he said them close to my ear, his warm breath brushing my cheek.
What?” I turned, getting a look at either my savior or captor.
He was at least seven feet tall with golden tan skin.
Not skin, but a short, napped pelt that felt like velvet under my fingers.
My hands rested on biceps as big around as my thighs, and his chest and shoulders rippled with muscle.
His hair was thick, dirty blonde, cut short over his ears and longer in the back.
Damn!
I never thought a mullet could look this good.
The eyes that regarded me with curious worry were dark gold, the color of beech trees in the late fall, surrounded by a sclera in the shade of the Mediterranean Sea.
My angel.
He was real—a realization that gave me no hint of trepidation. Although deep down in my soul, in a part that logic didn’t touch, I knew he meant me no harm.
“Who are you?” I stepped away from his hold, noting the faint reluctance of my body 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 in amusement. “That would be them.”
I took a step toward the door, then another... the adrenaline finally settling in my body. I felt like I could run the Peachtree Road race and not even break a sweat.
"What did you give me?”
He didn’t even pretend to be confused by my question. “It is a compound we give warriors to keep them strong in battle." He gestured toward my arm. “I healed your wounds and gave you an infusion of platelets to counteract the blood loss with the Medi-unit.”
I had no idea what the hell a Medi-unit might be, but I’d been through a machine that turned my body back thirty-five years.
I wasn’t about to question something that could heal a deep cut within hours.
Although the physician in me desperately wanted to get my hands on the thing.
I didn’t even mind the drug. Save for a slight twitchiness, I felt the best I had in weeks.
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 that maybe I wasn’t 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 few feet away, still sporting smears of my blood. “Who are you?”
Apparently tired of my resistance, the gorgeous alien slipped his arm around my waist again, hefting me against his side like an errant toddler, and strode toward the back corner of the room, where I noticed a large rectangular window standing ajar.
“My name is Hakaar and I’m here to rescue you.”