Page 43 of Alien Healer’s Mate

He didn’t stay. Of course he didn’t stay.

She didn’t cry. She was too tired for that. So she just lay there, empty, as the silence pressed down on her.

Then she heard a little chirp.

She turned her head. The little robot was there, at the edge of the bed, head tilted in that same dog-like motion that made her throat go tight. She smiled, and it scrambled up onto the covers, legs catching in the fabric, and pressed itself against her, warm metal body tucking into the curve of her waist. It hummed, the pleased, vibrating hum it made when she scratched behind its head.

Was… was it cuddling her?

Her eyes burned with tears. The little robot that had lost its pilot, and hidden in the shadows of a cargo bay full of monsters, that had chased a thread across her floor like it was the best thing in the world — it was curling up against her like she was the only thing it needed.

She closed her eyes.

Reaching out, she put her hand on the robot’s back and closed her eyes. She wasn’t alone. At least one thing on this whole ship wanted her for her.

It would have to be enough.

The next morning, the conference hall smelled like recycled air and other people’s breakfast.

Delilah sat in the third row of tiered seating, her back aching from the hard-backed chair, while the morning’s third presentation droned past in a language her translator matrix rendered flat and monotone. Her gaze slid to the back of Kellat’s head three rows down, his silver braids catching the overhead light.

He hadn’t come back to the cabin last night.

She’d waited, curled around the little robot, listening for footsteps in the corridor until her eyes burned. At some point she’d finally slept. This morning he’d knocked on her door as if nothing had happened.

Because nothing had happened, that was the point. He’d fucked her and left, and she’d lain there like an idiot waiting for him to come back.

Stop it. Stop looking at him.

Dragging her gaze away, she fixed it on the presenter, a Latharian male with a diplomat’s sash and a voice that could put an insomniac to sleep. She squinted. The light in the hall was too bright, the air too cool, and the alien coffee she’d grabbed from the refreshment table had been empty for over an hour.

All she could think about was Kellat’s hands on her body and the fact he hadn’t come back last night. The fact that even now he was chatting away with Lady Amaelii… She gritted her teeth and looked away. Again.

The morning session broke for the mid-morning break, and she headed right for the refreshment table. Only to find Lady Amaelii already there, surrounded by her harem and a couple of the conference staff, the rust-colored fabric of her gown shifting bronze and gold as she moved. She was mid-gesture, her hand turning elegantly in the air as she explained something to the male beside her. Everything in Delilah froze. She doubted Amaelii had ever once doubted her place in the world like she always did.

The room narrowed to just her and the alien woman, and she crossed the distance between them. Her hands shook as she stopped in front of the warlady.

The vorrtan woman turned, and her turquoise and amber eyes moved over Delilah from head to toe, unhurriedly.

“Delilah Sawyer,” her voice was low and musical. “The healer’s guest.”

“That’s right.” Her voice came out steady, her heart slamming against the inside of her ribs. “And I need you to back off.”

The warlady’s eyebrows arched up. “Back off?”

“Yeah, from Kellat.” The words tumbled out, falling over each other. “I know what you’re doing. The way you touch him, the way you look at him. I see it. And I’m telling you to stop.”

There was a moment of silence, the faces of the men around them somewhere before uncomfortable and terrified. She got the feeling that no one ever spoke to Amaelii this way, and honestly? She didn’t care.

Then the alien woman smiled, and that was even worse. It was the fond smile of someone who had been challenged by a child.

“You think I want your healer.” She tilted her head, the scar on her face catching the light. “Is that what this is?”

“I know what I saw.” Delilah managed, lifting her chin. She didn’t even come up to the middle of Amaelii’s torso.

“You saw diplomacy.” The warlady’s tone was measured, like a teacher explaining a student’s mistake back to them. “We are both healers. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“You had your hand on his arm.”