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Laboratory
Ethan Radcliffe. The butcher. The man who created monsters. The man who vanished after his trial for experimenting on sleeping Endeavor passengers.
Her husband. Her monster.
The records were unclear about what happened. It was implied he had committed suicide, but some theorized that the newly elected colonial governor hushed up his execution. Obviously, that did not happen. Now she understood why he had been so cagey in their conversations, always avoiding any questions about his past.
It was a lot to take in and they didn’t have the luxury for her to examine every nuance, as much as she wanted. The hardest thing to grasp was that she had a type and that type did not make flattering comments about her person.
Later. She’d worry about it later.
“Clearly, we have a few things to discuss,” she said, slicing across her wrist. Wincing at the sting, she was thankful for the sharp blade that cut easily. She’d have given up at the least bit of resistance. She clenched a fist, watching as the blood beaded and trickled down in rivulets.
She leaned forward, extending her wrist to Draven. “Don’t argue. Drink. Please.”
His eyes burned scarlet as he licked the wound, lapping up every drop. Charlotte gasped, not expecting the cool, numbing sensation. His mouth clamped onto her wrist. There was the faintest prick of a bite and the numbness spread up her arm and settled over her. It was bracing and as invigorating as brisk winter air. Every sensation felt heightened by the connection between them. Her heart pumped. He drank. His beat in return. She was in him.
Charlotte’s free hand settled on the top of his head, her fingers twisting into his pale hair. She breathed. She felt him breathe in return. They moved together.
How much would be enough? She wanted him well enough to fight if necessary but she had to be strong enough too.
“Enough,” she said, attempting to tug her arm away. Draven growled, refusing to release his hold. He drank greedily. Her head swam. “Draven, love, let go.”
She groped for the discarded dagger, willing to use it if need be. Her hand found the hilt.
Draven released his hold, flinging her arm away. He licked his lips, eyes an unsettling scarlet. “Open the kit. Drink the nutritional shake.”
Charlotte drank half the bottle. She offered the remainder to him, but he shook his head.
Draven—Ethan?—slumped against the wall and tipped his head back. “My eyes are still blurry. When they’ve healed enough, I’ll sew myself up.”
“I can do that.”
“Have you stitched flesh together, sweetness? It’s not pleasant.”
“I’m not squeamish,” she lied. She was very much squeamish. “It can’t be too different from working with leather.”
He shook his head. “It’s not pleasant, and I do have the training, even if I haven’t stitched together a patient in a century, give or take a decade.” He laughed, a wet and unpleasant sound. “I suppose now’s when I have to explain myself.”
“I’d appreciate it. How about I clean you up and you talk?”
“Well, it’s a rather complex story.”
“Start at the beginning.” She unfastened the waistcoat and shirt, easing the fabric open. He hissed as she pried up the bits where fabric had dried to his skin.
“Shall I regale you with tales of my childhood on Earth? Do you want to hear about the year we had no rain and the soil turned to dust? Careful,” he growled between clenched teeth.
She did not apologize for being rougher than necessary removing the stubborn cloth. “Maybe instead of being sarcastic, you can start your story when you arrived on the planet?”
“This tale starts at least a year before that, perhaps earlier. I was a medical officer on the Endeavor, which you probably knew. The ship received a distress call from our sister ship, the Hope. An asteroid field damaged their life support. No survivors.”
With his stomach exposed, Charlotte soaked the cloth and carefully wrung it out over him. He hissed again as the water trickled over the gash across his abdomen. Gently, she cleaned above and below and wiped the cloth over the least damaged areas.
“And the Endeavor was off course. The only suitable planet was Nexus,” she said. Every school-aged child knew the story.
“Nexus wasn’t suitable,” he said, “but we had no choice. Captain Beckford told me to find a solution. I did. She didn’t approve of my methods.”
“Your methods killed people.” Charlotte went to refill the bowl with fresh water. Hal watched them from the far side of the room, his eyes wary.
