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The female’s fearful posture melted away at once as her eyes fell to his exposed chest. She sat up on her knees, reaching out without even asking permission to pull the fabric open further with delicate fingers, exposing more skin.
“That doesn’t look right,” she said, bending forward. “It’s corroding.”
“I attempted to clean it.” Threxin stifled a hiss as she brushed a fingertip against one of the edges of peeling plaster.
“Show me?” she said. She got off the bed, too close for his liking as she maneuvered around him and into her bathroom. When she dumped the contents of her medical kit on her bed, Threxin attempted to find tubes which matched those he’d used, but he was uncertain.
“Your quarters probably have a more extensive kit,” Alina guessed. “Some of the stuff that could make it look like that needs to be treated differently, but I…” She shook her head, frowning at the wound. “I can’t tell like this.”
Threxin sighed and even that sent stabbing pangs into his ribs as they expanded and stretched the injured skin. His wound was on fire, and at this rate…
“It’ll eat through the stitches. Take me to your cabin so I can see what you used,” Alina said.
His first inclination was to refuse. He wanted to spend as little time near this female as possible. But the flesh was looking and feeling worse by the tick, and Threxin wouldrather do this in his uncomfortably large quarters than here, in the dangerous intimacy of such a small cabin.
“Come,” he said.
Threxin led Alina Argoud back to his quarters through the nearest blood passage, avoiding being spotted by either of their kinds. His cabins contained a passage entrance within them, a secret convenience Threxin was now very relieved to have.
By the time they stepped into his cabins, the melting had begun affecting the sutures holding together his wound. He directed Alina into his cavernous bathroom. Without hesitation, the female began trawling through the bottles and tubes he’d left out on the counter, peering at the labels.
It occurred to Threxin that it had barely been a few ticks since she watched him execute two of her kind. And still she was here.
What if it was a trap? What if she realized her mistake in helping him and was now intending to finish the job the assassin had started?
Of course, he’d never let her get far enough as to cause serious damage. It was the thought of having her there, pretending to want to help when beneath the surface she was repulsed by him.
It does not matter.
“This is caustic,” Alina said, holding up a bottle. “Is this what you used?”
“Yes.”
“Looks like you’ve got a neutralizer here.” She picked up some other containers and the synthskin cream. “You should sit down for this.”
Threxin left the bathroom knowing she would follow. Itwas in her nature. He should never have gotten close or curious enough to deduce that, yet here they were. He sat on the edge of the sofa in the main receiving cabin, feet planted wide on the heated floor.
She kept her eyes on his chest, and part of him wanted to grab her face and force her to look at him. But he only watched as the female lowered herself to kneel between his legs. Alina Argoud cleared her throat and dispensed a dollop of ointment to the tips of her fingers.
He watched her preparations. Her long black lashes had gotten clumped from earlier tears. Her eyes were still rimmed and red and puffy, but now dry. It was as if the female could focus on only one thing at a time: caring for him or panicking, not both. Threxin reclined into the sofa’s backrest, arms splayed on either side of him, and let her work.
“I think the stitches will be fine,” she muttered, leaning in. “They were due to start dissolving soon anyway.”
The neutralizing ointment she applied to his wound was cool and pleasant, softening the chemical sting that had burrowed itself under his skin.
“You are a medic,” Threxin said as he watched her shift for a better position beneath him.
“No. I just picked up the basics.”
“When?”
“Some, a long time ago, for my mom. Most, over the last few days.”
Then she was a fast learner—one more point to her usefulness.
Once the ointment had absorbed, Alina Argoud held a syringe without a needle to the wound and pushed out a dollop of pinkish artificial skin. She sucked in a cheek as she worked, lips pressed into a thin line.
“What you did…” she began.
