Page 12 of Wayfinder (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #5)

“The struzzi have sharp claws,” I murmured, watching her ministrations. She took great care not to hurt me. Her touch felt warm, comforting and just the tiniest bit electric.

“No shit!” Pearl barked as she sifted through the contents of the medi-kit. “This isn’t like an American Red Cross kit. What do I use?”

I made a mental note to ask what she meant by American Red Cross as I let my gaze shift to the kit.

It was standard issue as medi-kits went, with instruments and medicines to treat basic wounds like cuts and broken bones.

“The antiseptic spray will disinfect the wound and stop the bleeding.” I nodded to the small aerosol container. I refrained from mentioning that it hurt like hell.

Pearl grabbed the container and studied it for a moment before taking hold of my arm. Her touch was gentle, if not the faintest bit electric, sending tingles along my skin. She drew a deep breath and sprayed the pale white liquid over the gash.

Fuck!

I bit my tongue to keep from grunting in pain. I couldn’t stop the flinch, though, and Pearl’s empathetic frown when she noticed my discomfort caused a strange warmth to bloom in my chest.

“This stuff is amazing,” Pearl breathed, her eyes going wide as she watched the liquid bubble as it cleaned the wound and diminished blood flow to a trickle. Several minutes later, the bubbling and bleeding ceased, as did the pain shooting along my arm.

Pearl was back to sifting through the medi-kit. “Where are the bandages?”

“The blue gel.” I nodded to a glass container, noticing the dizziness had abated somewhat.

Pearl picked up the vial, staring at it suspiciously. “Do I just smear it on?”

“Yes.” I grinned at her expression. “It will harden and create a protective barrier over the wound.

Pearl used a clean corner of the cloth to wipe away any residual dirt and blood smears.

It took a few minutes for her to be satisfied with the cleanliness of the wound, and she poured a bit of the gel on her fingertips.

A minty antiseptic scent filled the air, not altogether unpleasant.

With a gentle touch, she smeared the thick gel over the gash.

I wouldn’t have believed anything could feel good near the ragged edges of the gash, but her soft fingers on my skin felt like a balm, soothing the pain and discomfort.

With a satisfied smile, Pearl rinsed her fingers with water and began repacking the medi-kit.

The gel she applied hardened immediately, creating a tight seal that pulled the edges of the injury together.

In seconds, the gel turned a deep shade of blue, completely covering and obscuring the wound underneath.

“It’s like watching magic,” she murmured softly, mesmerized.

“Our medical technology is much more advanced than Earth’s,” I admitted, moving my arm tentatively. It hurt like hell, but the limb was serviceable.

“Here.” Pearl handed me a small metal container of water. “I saw on Gray’s Anatomy once that you should drink lots of fluids after blood loss.”

I added Gray’s Anatomy to the list of things to inquire about later and dutifully took a drink. “Thank you.”

Pearl smiled, but my enjoyment of the simple gesture waned as I noticed her trembling.

“Are you okay?” I laid my hand on her shoulder, feeling shudders running like subterranean quakes under her skin.

“Yeah.” Pearl took a deep breath and rolled her neck. “It’s just the adrenaline leaving my body. I get this way after a dinner rush sometimes, too.” Her laugh, while harsh, convinced me she wasn’t in need of medical attention herself, but I still didn’t like the trembling.

I put my uninjured arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to my side. Pearl didn’t resist. Instead, she slumped against me as if near exhaustion.

We sat together, nestled in the shade of the outcropping, as the morning sun began its slow ascent, casting golden light upon the landscape.

The coolness of the spot provided a welcome respite from the heat.

All around us, the sounds of fowl and animals blended together, each chirping, cawing, and rustling, adding another layer to the melodic backdrop of our deep, contented breathing.

Pearl was the first to move, rising to her feet and pulling the small, curved blade from her satchel.

“I guess I better get to it.” She eyed the struzzi carcass with a hint of contempt.

“I will assist you.” I made to stand.

“Nope.” Pearl put her hand on my shoulder. She had no real strength to keep me seated, but I bent to her will. “You just sit right there and rest. This is just like butchering a chicken. A really big, mean, nasty-looking chicken.”

Although I felt a twinge of guilt for lounging in the shade while Pearl did all the work, I couldn’t help but admire her skill and determination.

With fierce concentration on her face, she wielded her knife better than some warriors I knew, slicing through the tough meat as if it were water.

She deftly separated the delicate feathers from the flesh, pausing to gauge which cut of meat might prove more succulent.

Every movement was precise and intentional, with no wasted effort.

I found myself unable to take my eyes off her, awestruck by her ability.

When she cut through the thick joint, pulling the wing away to get to the meat below, my awe turned into suspicion.

“Wait.”

Pearl halted, wing in hand and arm raised to toss it aside.

“Don’t tell me.” She playfully rolled her eyes. “You’ve got a hankering for buffalo wings.”

I frowned, my attention focused on the odd bend in the wing’s upper section more than her words.

Noticing my expression, Pearl stiffened, her eyes moving from me to the mass of bone and tissue.

When I held out my hand for the wing, she didn’t hesitate to hand it over, following to kneel at my side as I began my inspection.

The struzzi wing was square, divided into two distinct sections, with a thick bone running along the outer edge from shoulder to tip. As I manipulated the wing, the movement showed an odd bend in the upper section.

No wonder the struzzi couldn’t fly. The bone had suffered a clean break in the mid-upper section.

“What is it?” Pearl moved closer, her fresh floral scent chasing away the blood and death clinging to the fowl.

“The wing is broken.”

“You must have done it in the fight,” she suggested.

I pulled a small knife from my bandolier, cutting the skin away at the breakpoint.

“No. It kept its wings folded as we fought. I remember wondering why it didn’t flee to the air.

” I peeled back a section of skin, uncovering the pale-yellow bone beneath.

The edges of the bone looked clean, almost sterile, like it was sawed apart, not broken.

“Look how evenly the bone is broken.”

I felt Pearl’s hand touch my thigh as she leaned closer to inspect. My entire body jolted from her touch, but now was not the time.

“That’s weird,” she agreed, her blunt white teeth worrying at her lower lip.

I started to move the wing away when a glint of sunlight highlighted something metallic lodged in the soft feathers, confirming my suspicion.

“Look at this.” I pulled the tiny pieces from the wing, like grains of Pearl’s salt, only silver.

“What is it?” She touched a fingertip to one of the kernels in my palm.

“Part of whatever was used to break the struzzi’s wing.”

Pearl sat back on her heels, blinking at me. “You think somebody purposefully broke this bird’s wing?”

I nodded, watching her frown deepen.

“Why?”

“The same reason someone perforated the behia’s lung. To make it easier for us to hunt and kill the prey.”

The frown grew even deeper.

“Why?”

I took a deep breath and voiced my suspicions. “Because someone wants you to win.”

Pearl jumped to her feet, blue eyes simmering. “Are you fucking kidding me? Somebody is cheating to make sure I win?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure it’s me they’re trying to help? Anyone of the contestants could have found the animals we did.”

“Not really,” I sighed, clamoring to my feet. “The shuttle tracks the skiff’s location. Whoever tampered with the behia and struzzi knew the animals were in our hunting zone."

Pearl growled, a sound worthy of a warrior.

“Well, that’s it. I’m quitting the contest.” She ranted, kicking up a cloud of dirt with the toe of her boot.

“I’ve won Iron Chef and a host of other cooking competitions a dozen times or more, all fair and square.

I won’t be party to a rigged contest. I have my reputation to think about.

” Pearl dropped to her knees beside the carcass, flinging feathers into the air. “Stupid Baron.”

“You can’t quit,” I said and dodged a sliver of bone flung in my direction.

“Like hell I can’t,” she huffed. “Not only am I going to quit—I’m telling the other contestants about the cheating.”

“Pearl, listen.” I knelt beside her, capturing her wrists in my hands. Her erratic movements stilled, but ire danced in her blue eyes, turning the color dark and stormy. “You can’t quit. There’s more going on here than just the contest.”

“What do you mean?” Pearl tensed, the color of her eyes going lighter.

I drew a deep breath. It wasn’t a question of whether or not to confide in Pearl. I trusted her.

How strange was that? I trusted this tiny human female as much as my Vaktaire brethren, more than some, if I was being honest.

I let my hand travel from her wrist to her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “When my Vaktaire brethren rescued your friends, we discovered what we suspect is a plot by Duke Ako’s son Nansar against humans.”

“What kind of plot?” The flicker of fear that crossed her face made me want to find Nansar and rip him limb from limb.

“We do not know yet. All we have are smaller pieces to a bigger puzzle.”

“And you think rigging the contest is part of the puzzle? Not just Baron Oappo cheating to win the wager?”

“I do. That’s why you can’t quit. We need to find out what’s going on, and the best way to do that is to pretend we haven’t discovered the tampering.”

“I’ve never cheated in my life,” Pearl grumbled, casting a side eye around the landscape like she expected to find someone listening.

I suspected we were being watched as well. But thankfully the type of drone the Chancellor might use was only good for visual surveillance at a distance.

“You’re not cheating now,” I reassured her, watching the corner of her full lips tick faintly upward. “Think of it more like spying.”

“Well, now you’ve got me,” she chuckled. I felt the tension leave her in an exhale. “I always loved James Bond. Fine. I’ll keep on with the contest.”

I bristled at her words. Who exactly was this James Bond, and why did her mention of him make me feel... jealous?

Our eyes met and locked, faltering only when we both realized how my fingers moved up and down her arm in a slow massage. A deep pink blush crept upon Pearl’s cheeks, and she pulled away awkwardly, turning her attention to the struzzi.

“We better head back to the skiff,” I said, to break the silence. My voice was thick, hard to push past the lump in my throat.

Pearl glanced at the bird. “Okay. I think I have what I need.” She picked up a hank of meat, studying the striations of fat within the flesh before relegating it to the pack.

“Do you know what you will cook?” I asked, not wanting silence to linger between us. The absence of sound felt strangely promising, as if a single word could change the course of... everything.

Pearl shrugged, relegating a cut of meat to the discard pile. “It’s an alien chicken. With all the vegetables we found yesterday, I think I’ll go with my tried-and-true Coq au Vin.”

Great.

My stomach rolled queasily. I glanced at the bird, then back at Pearl, realizing she didn’t have the precise cut of meat needed for the dish.

While Pearl packed away the rest of our supplies, I kicked the struzzi onto its back.

It took me a few minutes. I wasn’t the universal expert on struzzi sex organs, but I found the bird’s member hidden in a pouch between its legs.

With a grunt of disgust, I reached inside, extending the flaccid length and lopping it off with my blade.

“Here, you will need this.” I tossed the cock atop the pile of meat Pearl was wrapping.

Her gaze darted downwards, widening in shock before a blood-curdling screech escaped her lips. Her body jolted backward, and she landed with a thud on the ground, her backside cushioning the impact.

“What the hell is that thing?” The hand she used to gesture trembled.

“The struzzi cock.” I told her, using a container of water to rinse my hands. “You said you were cooking cock a van again. Don’t you need the cock for that?”

Pearl blinked at me with wide, bright eyes. “Cock? You thought....” Her entire body began shaking.

For a moment, I feared she was ill until I noticed the sound of her laughter filling the air with a joyous melody that seemed to echo through the rocks. Her face was flushed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she bent over, clutching her stomach, her whole body shaking uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny?”

Pearl only laughed harder. She fell over, laying in the moss as she cackled and wheezed.

I stared at her, curious at the impetus for her condition. Granted, the struzzi cock looked like a pale pink serpent, but I didn’t see why Pearl would find that funny. I didn’t mind it, though. She was beautiful when she laughed, and the sound floated along my skin like a caress.

“Oh God, oh God,” she moaned, finally seeming to gather herself. When her gaze found mine, she giggled, then drew a deep breath. “It’s coq au vin , not cock a van . The words are French, not English.”

“French?” I considered and translated. “Rooster with wine?”

Pearl nodded, giggling.

“Thank the goddess,” I grunted, kicking the struzzi member toward the underbrush with the toe of my boot." “I didn’t relish having to admit that cooked cock was my new favorite meal.”

Pearl’s eyes widened, lips trembling, as she dissolved into hysterics.