“The schedule does not change because of the child’s weakness. The female will come.”
His whole body tensed beside her. His hands had curled into fists, and his tail lashed angrily,
“It’s okay,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “I’ll go.”
“Melissa—”
“Robbie’s asleep. He should be fine for a little while.” She met his eyes, trying to communicate something she didn’t have words for. “Stay with him?”
The conflict played across his face. She could see the fact that he wanted to go with her in every line of his body. But he also understood why she didn’t want to leave Robbie alone.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” he said finally.
She nodded and turned to follow the guard, acutely aware of Becsul’s gaze on her back, of the warmth still lingering on her lips, and the fear coiling in her stomach.
The door slid shut behind her, and she was on her own once more.
CHAPTER NINE
Becsul watched the door slide shut behind Melissa and every instinct he possessed screamed at him to follow.
Stay with Robbie, she had said. It was the logical choice. The infant was sleeping peacefully now, his fever broken, but fevers could return. Someone needed to watch over him.
And yet…
The Tandoran guard’s flat, emotionless voice echoed in his mind.The female will come for an examination.The procedures weren’t always painful, but they were always invasive and degrading. The thought of her subjected to that—especially now, exhausted and vulnerable after a night of terror—made his fists clench involuntarily.
He crossed to the crib and looked down at the sleeping infant. Robbie’s face was peaceful, his small chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. The flush had faded from his cheeks, leaving his skin smooth and healthy. He looked nothing like a Cire child, and yet Becsul felt the same fierce protectiveness he imagined he would feel towards his own offspring.
Not that I’ll ever have any,he thought bitterly. Fifteen years of watching embryos fail had taught him not to hope.
A soft sound drew his attention—a murmur from the baby, a shifting of tiny limbs. Robbie’s eyes fluttered open, dark and unfocused, then drifted closed again. He didn’t want to leave the child alone. But he couldn’t let her face whatever was coming without protection either.
There has to be a way.
His gaze swept the cell, automatically cataloging its contents. The bed with its thin mattress. The small sanitation unit. The high tech crib. The datapad he had brought her, still sitting on the narrow shelf beside a stack of clothes.
The datapad…
He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Standard issue, nothing remarkable, but it had communication capabilities, which meant it had a receiver. And receivers could be modified.
He had learned a few tricks during his years at the reproductive facility. When you spent enough time around scientists and their equipment, you picked up knowledge whether you intended to or not and he’d always had a knack for electronics. It took him only a few minutes to access the datapad’s internal settings, disable the outgoing signal, and activate the audio pickup as a passive monitor.
He placed the device carefully on the shelf beside the crib, angled so its sensor would capture any sounds in the cell. Then he pulled out his personal communicator and synced it to the modified datapad. A faint hiss of static, then silence. Good. If Robbie woke and cried, he would hear it. He gave the sleeping infant one last look, then turned and strode towards the door.
The examination rooms were in the eastern wing of the facility, past the main corridor and through a set of heavy security doors. He moved quickly, his long stride eating up the distance, but he forced himself not to run. Running would attract attention and raise questions.
He was simply checking on a subject. Making sure the procedures were being conducted properly. Nothing unusual about that. The lie tasted sour in his mouth.
He reached the examination wing just as she was being escorted through the doors at the far end of the corridor. She didn’t see him because she was facing forward, her spine rigid with tension, and her hands clenched at her sides. The Tandoran guard walked beside her with that eerily smooth gait, one long-fingered hand wrapped around her upper arm.
He fell into step behind them, keeping enough distance to avoid suspicion but close enough to intervene if necessary. The guard didn’t look back.
The examination room was clinical and cold, all white surfaces and gleaming metal equipment. Dr. Veyalor was already there, standing beside a padded table, his scaled hands folded in front of him. He looked up as the guard pushed Melissa through the door, and his yellow eyes flickered briefly to Becsul before returning to the human female.
“Ah, good. On the table, please.”
She didn’t move. Her gaze swept over the instruments laid out on a nearby tray, the restraints attached to the table’s sides, and the cold fluorescent lights overhead and her jaw tightened.
