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They descended the staircase and emerged into chaos.
“I know of a safe house nearby,” Horas said. “Follow me.”
Sarus did not argue. He fell into step closely behind the imperial guard who led them a handful of blocks to a residential structure. The location sparked an old memory.
Horas placed his hand on the door’s central panel. A second later, the panel blinked yellow and the door opened.
“This is an imperial safe house,” Horas explained as he led them inside. “I’ve used it a few times when guarding a member of the royal family or a visiting dignitary.”
“The Pinkspring Coup Attempt?” Sarus queried as he looked for a place to set the human woman down.
The older male’s words had revealed he was no mere guard at the imperial palace. He narrowed his eyes at Horas, whose scaled hide had turned pale. The imperial guard’s injuries needed medical attention, too.
“Aye.” Horas pointed to a table. “Set her there while I summon a healer.”
“One without a mate to claim,” Sarus murmured under his breath.
“Aye.” With a grunt, Horas moved to a communication panel and tapped a short sequence. The panel glowed red. After a couple of seconds, it flashed blue to signal their request had been received and help was on the way. Horas moved slowly and carefully to a chair and eased himself into it.
“How long?” Sarus asked.
“Now,” Horas replied as the door opened and a medical team entered.
Sarus blinked. “That was fast.”
Horas shrugged. “I’m an imperial guard and this is an imperial safe house. We’re high priority.”
Sarus nodded, for once grateful for his culture’s hierarchy which would see that his mate received immediate medical attention.
“Tend the female first,” Horas ordered as a healer accompanied by an emergency medical team headed toward him.
“Human?” the healer in command asked, aiming a quick glance at the woman still cradled in Sarus’ arms as one of the other medics raced to tend to Horas’ injuries.
“Our mate,” Horas answered before Sarus got a word in.
“Dyad mating?” the healer murmured in mild surprise as a medic examined a wound in Horas’ upper arm. “I’ve heard human females thrive under such conditions.”
Horas grunted as the medic tending him extracted a barbed pellet buried deeply in his upper arm. The healer gestured toward the table and said to Sarus, “Lay her there.”
“Are you familiar with human physiology?” Sarus asked, reluctant to release the woman to another male’s attention, however clinical.
“I’m an imperial healer,” the healer reminded him with icy hauteur.
Sarus bowed to the healer’s authority and laid the woman on the table. She whimpered in pain. Her eyes were closed and her skin slick with cold sweat and a spreading stain of blood.
The healer pressed his fingertips against her sweaty forehead for a long moment, an assessing expression on his face. Lifting his fingertips from her skin, he swiftly took action, first injecting a sedative to allow the human female to relax and rest while he worked on her. Sarus hovered, anxious for the female’s welfare as the healer worked not only to save her life, but also to rectify the damage done to her flesh.
“Have you barbed her yet?” the healer asked after instructing Sarus to lift her torso so he could wrap the dressed wound where a sneaky Sivuul had stabbed her with a barbed stinger.
“No.”
The healer nodded. “Then she will not heal as quickly as if she were already aligned to her mates. She will need several days of bed rest. I have done what I can.”
“Will she live?” Horas asked, rising from the chair and sporting several bandages.
The healer nodded again as he turned his attention toward Horas and began investigating his wounds. “She will live if infection does not take hold. Her wound is grievous and she should not be moved once settled in a bed.”
“We’ll stay here until she is healed sufficiently to transfer to the palace,” Horas said. He endured the healer’s ministrations without wincing, although his voice was hoarse with the effort not to shout in pain. Both of them knew there would be no transfer off-planet to Quadrant 22.
