Page 25 of Saved By the Alien Hybrid (Hybrids of Yulaira #1)

Rentir’s tail gripped Cordelia as they trailed through the winding halls after Melam. When she’d tried to pry it loose, he’d only tightened it around her, shooting her a disapproving glare.

Apparently, aliens are clingy.

It was clear he was concerned for her safety, but she also thought he might be…

jealous. Being around him at times felt like being a kid’s first crush on the playground.

There was a strange sense of responsibility growing within her.

He was so na?ve, so forthright. Handling this the wrong way would likely crush him, but what the hell was the right way?

When she pried Rentir’s tail away again, he let it hang between his legs, shooting furtive glances at her that she pretended not to notice.

“Through here,” Melam said in his deep, bass rumble.

A door slid out of their way as he pressed his palm to it to reveal a sterile white medical facility similar to the one at the base.

Rentir kept himself between her and Melam as they entered, ushering her over to the medpod on the far side of the room.

She studied the buttons he tapped to bring the pod online and pop the glass cover wide open.

Rentir shot a glare at Melam. “Leave us.”

“Rentir…”

Rentir ignored her, pointing at the door. “Out,” he barked.

Melam gave him a wry look, but he did as he was bade. The door slid shut silently behind him.

“What was that about?” she asked.

Rentir turned back to her. His tail waved restlessly behind him.

“Your injury is beneath your shirt. You will have to remove it, or the medpod will do it for you, and it will be of no use to you after that.”

“Oh. Right.” She turned her back to him and tugged the hem of her shirt out of her pants, dragging it up over her head.

Rentir reminded her so much of Felix; he’d always been one step ahead of her.

He’d bring her lunch when she was too focused to hit the cafeteria, grab her coat at the end of the day, and never let her get her own doors.

Little acts of chivalry she’d never asked for and didn’t need but couldn’t help appreciating.

When she’d gotten chewed out for a failed simulation, he’d cracked open a can of tuna in the mission control room over a long weekend in retribution.

Her resolve had died by a thousand cuts—until one day she showed up for work, and she could no longer lie to herself that she felt nothing for him.

He had been her friend, and then her best friend, and then…

they teetered on the edge of something more for a year before the doomed flight.

She’d been so afraid to take that plunge.

There had always been some reason why it was better not to take the risk, and so they danced around each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

She’d been sure he would get tired of waiting, but Felix had treated her like the center of the universe to the very, bitter end.

She had never been able to escape the feeling that it was his devotion to her that destroyed him.

Cordelia shook herself. None of that mattered right now. She needed to deal with the wound in her side so she could get back to looking for the others.

“Hold this.” She draped an arm over her breasts and handed him the shirt.

His gaze was a phantom touch whispering over her skin.

He swallowed hard enough that she heard it as he took the balled-up shirt and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. She sat on the edge of the pod and maneuvered her way in. Only when she was more or less concealed did she let her arm drop.

She’d been ready to jump him last night, but now she felt oddly vulnerable about being nude in front of him. Despite how ludicrous it was given the circumstances and how briefly he’d known her, she was sure he didn’t just want sex from her, and somehow that was worse than the alternative.

“Please remain still,” the pod said pleasantly.

It scanned over her, and a nozzle stretched out of the wall, spraying something with a sickly smell over her wound. She winced and squirmed as the gel in her wound began to dissolve. Her eyes pricked with tears at the burning pain.

“You are experiencing distress,” the pod announced. “Administering sedative.”

“No,” she said quickly, sniffling. “Don’t.”

“Sedative aborted.”

She sighed in relief, though it was short-lived.

A robotic arm wielding a needle came out of the sidewall of the pod next.

Something bearing the familiar smell of anesthetic was sprayed over her injury, and then she was stuck listening to the small, unsettling sounds the robot made as it stitched her back together.

“Injury treated,” it proclaimed when it finished, the needle and nozzle disappearing back into the pod. “Infection treated. Vitals stable. If you experience new or worsening symptoms, please return to the medpod for assessment. Thank you.”

The glass lid whirred open once more, allowing the chillier air of the room to spill over her damp skin. The hair on her arms pricked up as she shivered. She sat up slowly, still feeling a slight tug in her side where the pod had stitched her up, and covered her chest.

“How do I look?” She joked, knowing she was sweaty, dirty, bloody, and now covered in the sticky purple residue of whatever anesthetic the pod had used.

Rentir’s eyes turned molten with hunger. “Perfect.” His voice was as rough as gravel. “How do you feel?”

“Brand new,” she said, gesturing toward her discarded shirt.

He handed it to her, a flicker of disappointment passing over his face.

“Turn around.”

Obediently, he spun, but his tail reached for her. It knocked against her knee and slid around the back of it, and there was something strangely sensual about being touched there. His breath hitched, and she knew he was smelling the sudden surge of wetness between her legs.

“Okay. I’m decent.” Was her voice a little wobbly?

He turned back to her, lids heavy, and she would have known what he was thinking even without the obvious bulge in his pants.

It had to hurt, that perpetual hard-on. She was sure it would if he were a human man.

Actually, she didn’t even know if a human man could keep an erection for as long as Rentir had without chewing Viagra like they were Tic Tacs.

The silence between them stretched into awkwardness.

“I’d kill for a shower,” she said.

He nodded slowly, dragging his eyes up from their perusal of her body. “You will not need to resort to violence. I will ask Melam where the facilities are.”

She laughed at his literal interpretation of her words. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

“I see.” His frown suggested he did not, in fact, see. “Humans toss around such strange phrases casually.”

“I guess we do.” She hopped down from the pod.

He didn’t step back, still studying her with that uninhibited intensity. His body seemed to sway toward her.

“I probably shouldn’t bother with the shower.” She sighed in misery. “We haven’t made any progress. The only crew member I found was literally abducted before my eyes. We need to get back out there.”

“We will not leave until you have recovered further,” Rentir said in a tone that brooked no argument.

His tail skimmed up her arm with a tenderness that was at odds with his authoritative statement.

“It will be dark soon, anyway. Whatever trail we pick up, we’ll lose in short order. We should remain here for the night.”

“You can do whatever you want,” she argued, unable to hear the reality in his words past the pain of her failure. “I’m going back out there to find my people!”

“You cannot. In this state, fatigued and hungry and injured, you are a liability to your crew, not their savior.”

A liability. Her stomach shriveled as he unintentionally struck home on her insecurities. She batted his tail away, wilting.

Cursed, the little voice in her whispered.

“Cordelia?”

She ground her teeth, staring past his shoulder.

He whined low in his throat, a sound more animal than man, and ducked his head until their eyes met. “We will resume at first light, I swear this to you,” he said in a pleading tone. “I must figure out transportation and rations for the trip with Melam.”

His distress at having displeased her thawed her indignation. She sighed, rubbing both hands over her sun-burned face. The medpod had taken most of the sting away, but it still throbbed faintly as she lowered her hands. Fatigue thrummed beneath her skin, making her muscles lax.

She wouldn’t last long in this state, as angry as it made her to admit it. If they still had their supplies, she could have given herself a shot of adrenaline to push further, but even that would not last long enough for a rescue mission.

If only they had some means of communicating with the others. She could radio back to Nyx and see if any of the others had made it back.

What would Nyx say when she found out Cordelia had spent the night in an alien resort instead of going after the rest of the crew? Shame gripped her by the throat.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice cracking, even as she knew there was no better option.

He stepped closer, cupping her face in his hands.

“If they are even one bit as resilient as you, if they have lasted this long already, they will make it to daybreak.” He spoke softly, his big, green eyes flitting back and forth between her own.

“And we will find them, Cordelia. I will chase them to the end of Yulaira for you. I will bring down the Gidalan with my own two hands if I must; I swear this to you.”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head as much as the press of his hands would allow.

He dragged her into him and cradled her head against his chest. “Trust me. Trust that I would not ask you to suffer this anguish if I believed there was any better path. We must wait for daybreak. We must.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, and slowly she nodded. “You’re right. I don’t like it, but you’re right.”

He blew out a breath of relief, drawing back to meet her gaze. There was so much in that look, poignant enough to twist like a dagger in her heart. She sniffed hard, pushing away from him and straightening her shirt.

“Well?” she said, avoiding his gaze. “Show me where to crash.”

“Crash?” he repeated in alarm.

“Sleep.” She corrected herself. “Just… where can I sleep?”

He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. This way.”

“So… Melam,” she said as they stepped into the empty hall. Rentir visibly bristled at her segue. “He’s kind of fucking huge, no?”

He ruffled his hair with one hand, obviously brooding. “He is of unusual stature for most hybrids,” he said. “Though I have met some of a similar size, bred for the toughest jobs in the mines.”

She mulled on it for a few steps. The rebellion must have been a blood bath if there were more like Melam down in the mines.

“You… do you like it?” Rentir’s voice was stilted, uncertain. “His stature. Do you prefer that?”

She startled at the question, so far removed from what she’d been thinking. He was jealous, and it didn’t even occur to him to hide it. Why was that oddly charming?

“Nah. That’s a little too much alien for my taste.”

His shoulders sagged with relief, and a smug look stole over his face. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the boyish display of pettiness. Her stomach chose that moment to growl, the sound mortifyingly loud in the empty, unfurnished hall.

Rentir stiffened, his momentary relief gone. “You require nourishment. Sleep can wait a little longer. Come.” He held out a hand to her.

There was a strange vulnerability in his eyes that made her heart ache, and so she took it.