Page 48 of Alien Healer’s Mate

“Don’t seal the doors,” he growled. “If they’re running a dampener, a lockdown only tells them we’re coming. Keep monitoring the situation and keep this line clear. I’m headed down there now.”

The nausea hit hard enough that Kellat had to put his shoulder against the wall. He’d written the paper and put his own mate in the crosshairs.

“You look like a male who has just discovered he is a fucking idiot.”

He spun, muscles coiling, and found the Vorrtan warlady leaning against the opposite wall. Her eyes glowed in the shadows, the pale scar from temple to jaw lit by the flickering strip overhead.

“She’s gone,” he said. His voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel. “Z’Saai took her.”

The warlady didn’t look surprised. She didn’t even blink. Pushing off the wall, she took a slow, unhurried step toward him. Her gaze dropped to the marks on his wrists and back up to meet his.

“I suspected as much. The male is a scavenger in a healer’s robe.”

“You knew?”

“I didn’t know he had the nerve.” She shrugged. “Latharian behavior is difficult for me to work out. But I saw the look in his eyes when he looked at her. He didn’t see a female; he saw a resource.”

The words hit like a punch. Draanth, that was close to what Delilah had said. She’d told him that Z’Saai had given her the creeps, that he looked at her like a lab rat.

She’d seen it, she’d told him, and he hadn’t listened.

“I have to find her,” he blurted out. “I don’t know where he’s taken her, but I’ll burn this draanthing station down to get her back.”

The warlady tilted her head, amusement crossing her face. “You are a healer, V’Raav. You are good with a scalpel and a diagnostic bed, but you are a clumsy hunter. I heard the conversation with command. Z’Saai is running a dampener, which means that you’ll chase ghosts through these corridors only to find out he left hours ago with your female.”

His jaw tightened. “Then what do you suggest?”

“I am Vorrtan.” She grinned, a flash of sharp teeth. “We do not rely on grids and digital readings. We hunt by scent. Give me something she has worn, something that holds the salt and sweat of her skin. I will follow her across this station, onto whatever ship holds her, and across the galaxy if I have to.”

He stared at her. “Why? Why would you help me?”

The amusement vanished, and what replaced it was old and hard as she stood in front of him.

“Because I was a fool in love once. Someone should have hit me upside the head with a heavy object and knocked some sense into me.” She held his gaze without blinking. “I am simply paying back a debt to the universe. Now, are we doing this, or are you going to let Z’Saai steal what is yours?”

“Draanth no,” he growled, turning to lead her through the corridors at a pace that scattered delegates out of their path, his boots hammering the deck plating. Neither of them spoke. The marks burned on his wrists with every stride, and every time he blinked he saw her face… the way she’d looked in the gown he’d give her.

The Voors’tial’s airlock was cycled open, two guards at their stations. They stepped aside as he and Lady Amaelii swept through the airlock.

He punched his override into the door of Delilah’s quarters, and the panel hissed open. The room was small and neat, smelling of sterile ship air, but underneath it… faint and fading, was the lingering sweetness of her scent. His jaw tightened. The little room felt so empty it hurt.

The warlady moved through the small space, her nostrils flaring as she sampled the air, and drifted toward the luggage rack where an LMP-issued bag sat half-zipped.

She drew out one of the soft grey jumpers Delilah had lived in those first days aboard. Bringing the fabric to her face, her eyes closed as she inhaled, slow and deep.

He stood with his pulse slamming and the air gone thick in the little room, his fists clenching and unclenching. All he wanted was the throat of the male who had touched her under his hands. He forced himself to stay still and waited.

The warlady opened her eyes. They were dark, pupils blown wide.

“I have it,” she said. “Let’s go.”

12

Delilah woke up cold, with metal under her cheek and a hum in her teeth.

She blinked. She knew that hum, knew the way it got right into your bones until you barely felt it anymore, but at the same time it was somehow always on the edge of hearing. She was on a ship.

She sat up too fast, and the room tilted. Wincing, she held a hand to her head as she looked around. Grey metal walls, grey bunk, a light strip turned all the way down until she could barely see. There was no window or door.