Page 150 of Alien Burn

“My father will bury you.”

“Let him come.” Dhomhes's voice scraped low in his throat. “He can hear what you did to my mate.”

The guard closed the restraints.

Sereya was arguing with the medic when he reached her.

“The guard in the visitor room. Has someone gone to him?”

“Yes,” Dhomhes said. “He's alive. They're treating him.”

She shut her eyes.

“He believed me.”

“I know.”

“I told him she was threatening me. He called. He did exactly what—” Her voice failed.

Dhomhes stopped close enough for her to reach him. He had to unclench his hands before he could offer one. There was blood drying at her temple. His gaze kept returning to it.

“He sent the alarm. He gave us the room recording. You gave us the destination.”

Her eyes opened.

“They wanted to take me away. Make you get the chip to bring me back. The thing with Adryel—she was going to take me either way.”

“She doesn't have you.”

“Her communicator. There's a message. My old name, a picture. Please don't let her send it.”

“The device is isolated. No transmissions. We will check what went out before we took it.”

He wanted to promise that nothing had left it. He could not know that yet.

Sereya nodded, hearing the distinction.

The medic held a small dressing against her hairline. Sereya barely seemed to notice.

“Your coat,” she said.

Dhomhes looked down. The seams had split across his shoulders, and one sleeve hung open beneath his armor.

“I never liked it.”

Her mouth shook.

He held out his hand.

She took it with both of hers and stepped into him so hard he had to brace his feet. His arms closed around her, carefully at first, then tighter when she caught the torn cloth at his back.

He lowered his face into her hair. Under the smell of blood and scorched cloth, she was warm and familiar. He drew her scent into his lungs and held it until she moved against him.

“You're shaking,” she whispered.

He couldn't deny it. His arms trembled around her, and the armor would not settle.

“I saw the knife touch you.” His voice broke on the last word. He pressed his mouth to her hair and tried again. “I thought I was too late.”