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“You killed my father?” I growl.
He snarls at me, his claws bared and his eyes manic. “I bashed his skull in with a rock and fed him to a sabrevipe.”
Violent fury explodes through me and I pounce on him, sending several zutametal tools clattering to the floor. Emery’s bloody gauze from the procedure litters the space. The rekking mort is strong for his old age and manages to punch me in my side hard enough I lose my breath. His claws swipe the air above my face, but I shove at his chest just in time. My fist cracks against his nog, sending it whipping to the side. Before I can manage another swing, he rolls off me and is on his feet in the next instant.
And then he runs.
I check on my sweet mate, and the moment I feel sure she will be okay, I snatch up a carpal knife, still wet with Emery’s blood, and charge after the monster who killed my father.
He will not rekking get away with this.
13
Emery
Sweet, fresh air.
The lack of stones pressing in on my chest.
It’s the relief that brings me swimming up from unconsciousness.
I’m unable to move, but I can breathe, so I don’t panic. I know Calix must be near and it doesn’t hurt, so I let myself swim in the floaty sensation that must be the medication Calix administered.
Calix.
I’d been so worried about my past, so afraid to tell him about the worst parts of me, and he didn’t even care. He’d brushed away my fears without a second thought. It was as though he looked into my soul and saw me, the real me, and accepted me, faults and past and all.
I sigh, taking in a deep, long breath of that sweet, fresh air, and imagine Calix’s face. With my past and sickness behind us, we can have the future I imagined. Somehow, we’ll figure out a way to get back to the others. We made it through the storm once, we can do it again.
The cell is small. Cold. Lonely. I’m shaking and there isn’t any room to pace or lie down. Is this my future? Will I spend the next fifteen years standing in a tiny cell starving to death?
As if on cue, my stomach grumbles loudly.
It’s been days since I’ve last eaten. I’m going insane here. Kneeling, I run my fingers along the bottom of the door where a tiny draft of air swooshes in. I drink from it as though it’s actual water. But I’m left empty and parched.
Something glimmers, barely sticking inside beneath the door. Leaning forward, I run my tongue along it.
Water.
God, I am so thirsty.
I slurp up the foul tasting, and awfully thick water, and swallow it down. My stupid lungs choose this moment to fail me, sending me into a coughing fit that has me nearly throwing up the precious drink of filthy water. I manage to keep it down, barely.
What feels like hours or days later, the door finally opens. My captors haul me to my feet and all but carry me to a warm room. Hundreds of tubes are lined along the walls. I’m escorted to one rather roughly. I’m too weak to fight them.
I am pushed into the surprisingly warm and soft standing tube. As they attach tubes to me—tubes that I hope desperately will nourish me—I find myself relaxing. If I have to spend the next fifteen years being punished, I hope it is here, in this tube.
Moments later, something cool slides into my vein and immediately has sleep overtaking me.
I come to, pushing away my bad memories, and remember where I truly am. At Sector 1779. With Calix. In small increments, the sensation and movement seeps back into my muscles. I can see why Avrell cautioned about the Haxinth. The lack of control is debilitating, but it reminds me somewhat of the paralyzing toxica I’m subjected to when we mate, so it doesn’t make me panic. It only reminds me of Calix, which is soothing, but I’d rather see him, touch him. Reality, I’ve learned, it so much better than dreams.
But where is he?
It’s awfully quiet.
I take in the gradual return of feeling starting with my toes. I flex and relax them until I can wiggle them all. Then, I do the same with both feet until movement is back up to my calves. I continue flexing and relaxing all the muscles in my legs. It occurs to me I should worry about feeling returning to the operation site, but the medication has me so tranquil, I resolve to deal with that as it comes. Finally, I can move my hands and arms, then my mouth. Last, my eyes flutter open.
Everything is blurry at first and it takes a minute for my vision to adjust to the brightness from the lamps shining down on the bed. A finger of disquiet traces down my spine, but I’m not sure why at first. I attribute it to coming down from the drugs and the after effects of the surgery.
