Rescuing Halin: Hissa Warrior, Book 1 Page 2

  Her face is grim, and she looks upset but in control. He wants to reach out and comfort her, tell her that he can buy her anything she needs, not to worry about money. “No concern,” is all he manages to croak out.

  “Oh, I'm very concerned,” she tells him. “Now be quiet so I can work.”

  I can do that, he thinks. I can be quiet for her as the pain consumes me.

  She mumbles a few things he can't quite hear and then leaves his side. He wonders if she's disgusted by his weakness. Give me time, he wants to tell her. Let my lie here for a bit to rest, and I'll be better. Don’t leave me. I can prove myself a worthy male. Then he hears her return, and he feels calmer. She came back for him. That’s good. Now he can tell her how beautiful she is and how he wants to buy her things. He thinks of the words he wants to say, but nothing is verbalized. When did he lose the power of speech?

  “This is going to hurt,” she warns him. “But I can't give you anything for the pain until the nanos get to work. Can you not move? Or do I need to tie you down?” She asks such simple things of him. Of course he can grant her this easy request.

  “I'll be still,” he assures her. Anything this female needs he’ll provide as long as he doesn't need to stand up again. He's not sure he can do that.

  A shock of pain comes from his leg, making him roar. He manages to keep himself from pulling his leg away from the brutal female, but why is she hurting him? Did he insult her in some way? If she just told him what he did, he’d apologize and make amends.

  He hears a clatter as she tosses something away and she mumbles, “That was in there deep.”

  “Stop,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Please stop. Just stop.”

  “I know, big guy,” she tells him, and he manages to get one eye opened to find her looking at him with tears in her eyes. “It'll be better soon. I promise.” She is touching his face, and he smells blood. Is she bleeding? No, it smells like Hissa blood. He’s bleeding. When did he start bleeding?

  She turns her attention back to his leg and opens a small tube and dumps the contents into a wound on his leg and then slams her hands back down over the wound, physically holding the edges together.

  I’m wounded and I'm dying, he realizes and that sends a wave of panic through him.

  “Box,” he tells her desperately.

  “I won't take your box,” she assures him quickly, and he growls in frustration.

  “Box needs to go,” he tries to tell her. She needs to get the box to Bicoma. She needs to help him.

  “Right, your box is important. I get it. Just hold onto it, and when you're feeling better you can take it where it needs to go.”

  “You take,” he tells her. “Bicoma.”

  He feels her hands relax their grip on his leg, and she gives a little sigh. “Damn. I knew those nanos were worth the price.” He wants to open his eyes and look, but that seems much too hard. He can feel the pain starting to retreat and tries one more time.

  “Save us,” he mumbles out. “Bicoma.”

  “You're safe, handsome,” she tells him, and he feels her hand on his face. He can smell his blood all over her, and then under that he can smell her. Sweet, feminine, and perfect. For a moment he thinks she smells like Hissa, not human, and dreams he's found a female of his own.

  At least I'll die with her scent to usher me to the afterlife, he thinks and slips into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER 2

  Mian flops down into her pilot chair and lets out a big breath of air. This isn't the first time she's rescued people after a raider attack, but this is the first time it's put her through an emotional ringer. Usually when she rescues people, they’re alive and well, maybe bumps and bruises, but none of them have tried to die on her. At least none that were on a ship that hadn’t been boarded yet. When raiders physically take over a civilian transport all bets are off as to what she’ll find when she retakes the ship. And she’s seen some pretty bad things over the years.

  She’s never pulled someone onto her ship that was actively trying to die on her. This roaring, growly, green, hulking male is a first for her.

  All she can do is sit there at stare at the big guy as she lets her own system calm down. She's never seen anyone bleed that much and still be alive. There's a trail of blood leading down the length of the ship. There’s also a pool of blood where he stood leaning against the wall. Finally there’s a small puddle of blood under her bunk. The sheet under him is soaked, and his pants are bright red. She's pretty sure one of his boots is full of blood also.

  What a mess.

  One of the rounds the raider fired must have sent a piece of shrapnel into his leg. She's amazed he made it as far through her ship as he did. Whatever species this guy belongs to, they’re a tough people.

  Which raises another question, what was this guy doing in a ship with no weapons flying through Raider Alley without any kind of escort? It’s like he was trying to get attacked.

  She got a good look at his ship when she'd passed by the first time and noticed it had no defensive weapons at all. Nothing. Not even a fuel discharge port to mix and disgorge fuel. It’s the only defense some cheaper vessels have, but it can be effective if the attacking ship is close enough. Mixed fuel landing on a hull and eating away a ship’s integrity has managed to make more than a few raiders back off.

  But this guy’s ship didn’t even have that inexpensive form of attack. Sure, the ship was well made and sturdy as hell. It lasted a lot longer under raider fire than an average shuttle that size normally would. But being well built doesn’t mean anything if you have no weapons to defend with.

  “You got lucky, handsome,” she tells him. “Whoever put you in this sector in a ship with no guns almost got you killed. I wasn't even planning to patrol here today. I was going to take the day off.”

  She thinks about the uneasy feeling that settled in her gut when she woke from her sleep cycle earlier. A feeling that pushed her to fire up her engines and take a tour around the system. Happy to jump into any fight with raiders, she didn't hesitate when she saw Hope under fire, but she hates to think what would've happened if she'd been even a minute later.

  Looking down she notices the blood on her hands and winkles her nose. She needs to clean both of them up. And the control room. And the hallway. And probably the rescue tube. This guy painted her ship in his blood.

  Her eyes fall to the box now loosely clutched to his chest. Whatever’s inside is important enough that this male wouldn't let go of it, even while she basically tortured him by pulling out that piece of metal without any numbing agent or pain killer.

  Then, he changed his tune and then tried to ask her to take the box somewhere. What kind of precious items are inside to make him so protective and then so insistent? He mentioned he wanted the box to go to Bicoma, but she couldn't imagine a reason for anyone to visit that unfriendly system. She leans forward in the chair and gently tugs the box away from him and hangs it up by one of the handles on the wall just above his head. She doesn’t want him to panic if he wakes up and finds it missing.

  She examines his armor. It's fancy and advanced, at least three generations newer than her battered gear. She gently starts pulling it off, revealing a sweat-soaked shirt under. He's not wearing the arm or leg guards, and she can only assume he didn't have time to get them on.

  She debates propriety for a moment, thinking about how she would want to be treated if she was unconscious. She certainly wouldn't want some stranger stripping her down. But she wants to get him cleaned up, not just the blood but the drying sweat she's worried will give him a chill.

  She’s going to strip and clean him. If he’s upset with her later, she can just return him to the debris field that’s now his ship and tell him to find his own way home.

  Getting the chest armor off is a chore. After a lot of fighting and tugging, she finally manages to roll him back and forth enough to pull it completely free. The shirt under is soaking in sweat and hugs his body like a second skin. She’s
done wrestling so instead of trying to get it off, she cuts the garment off.

  When faced with an unhindered view of his magnificent chest, she makes an involuntary sound of appreciation. He's nothing but muscles. She takes a moment to really look at this stranger. Obviously, he's not human. Not only are her kind rare outside the Earth’s solar system, but his roar, the light green tint to his skin, blue scale pattern on his head, and massive size are dead giveaways.

  She gently lifts one of his lips to get a closer look at his teeth. He's got large and sharp looking canines on top and smaller but just as sharp canines on the bottom. The two pairs of long teeth are slightly off set so when his jaws meet the fangs don't inhibit chewing. Or biting. She releases his lips and rests her gaze on the rest of his face.

  He's got high sharp cheek bones and a narrow face, and even relaxed in sleep he looks fierce. There's a scar that runs from his forehead down the side on the edge of his face and ends just below his ear. Judging by how much it blends with the rest of his skin she can only assume it's from an old injury. The width of the scar tells her the original injury was substantial. No wonder he was able to walk so far while bleeding out and with a piece of shrapnel in his leg. This guy has had practice with being severely wounded.

  Unlike a human, there’s no hair on his head. Instead there’s a scale-like pattern that starts at a point on his forehead, and V’s out from there, encompassing most of his head by the time it gets to the back of his neck. She can’t tell if they are actually overlapping scales or a pattern on his skin. Her hands itch to touch him there and find out, but she resists the urge. She's already pushing the boundaries of decorum by stripping him while he can't refuse her or give consent.

  And ogling him doesn’t seem appropriate either. Where is her usual iron self-control? She forces herself to concentrate, to be clinical. He’s a wounded warrior in need of care. That all she should see him as. Straightening up, she looks down at his pants.

  “It'll be easier just to cut the damn things all the way off,” she mutters and reaches for a knife, then stops. He's probably not wearing anything on under the pants, and her face flushes a little at the thought.

  She looks around and grabs one of the blankets she'd tossed off the bunk when she'd pulled it down earlier. She lays it across his lap and then goes to work cutting his pants off. She makes sure not to upset the blanket as she cuts the fabric starting at the hip and then all the way down. Once both sides are cut, she’s able to tug the pants off him and toss the ruined clothing aside. His legs are totally bare now and just like his chest, they're nothing but muscles.

  When her eyes fall on the wound all lustful thoughts vanish. She knows there's a chance he won't wake up, even with those expensive nanos working hard to heal him. She needs to clean off the leg and bind it tightly, giving the nanos the best conditions to work in. She wishes she had bought synthetic blood last time she had the chance, but just buying the nanos broke her budget.

  She pulls a cleaning cloth out of the med kit and starts wiping away the blood on his leg. Once it's gone and she can see the wound clearly, she grimaces. It's stretches almost from his groin to his knee. She glances over at the piece of metal she pulled out of him. It's still covered in his blood and looks to be a shredded piece of engine shielding.

  Pulling out a large bandage she wraps the wound tightly, making sure the skin on either side of the cut meets. When the nanos are ready to seal the outer area of the wound it will be easier if both sides line up. If the nanos sales pitch is to be believed, within one cycle the wound will be sealed and within two cycles the damaged muscles and other tissue will be good as new. Although he will be left with one hell of a scar. The literature on the nanos made it very clear that they aren’t programed to minimize scar tissue. She has a strong suspicion this guy won’t mind the scar.

  Finished with that part of her duties, she turns to cleaning off the rest of him. He's got blood on his face where she touched him, and his chest is still damp from sweat. She carefully cleans off the blood then grabs a towel and dries his chest. Finally, she pulls off his boots, blanching when one makes a sucking noise as it comes off because it's so full of blood. She'll clean the boot later, for now she concentrates on getting the last of the blood off his body.

  After she’s done, she fetches one of her personal blankets from her cabin and tucks it around him. “That's all I can do,” she tells him with a soft pat on his chest. “The rest is up to you and the nanos. Try not to die on me, you're too pretty to leave this world and I'd hate to think I wasted my nanos.” She's not surprised when he doesn't react to her words.

  Flopping down in the pilot chair with a sigh, she turns her attention to the navigation system and checks their progress. It'll be a full cycle before they are within hailing range of the nearest station. Thoughtfully she looks back at the sleeping giant and wonders what she'll do if he's poor. His ship was expensive, and his armor is top of the line, but the lack of weapons on the ship and no crew makes her think he might have stolen it. Is he AWOL from his military unit? A deserter? A thief?

  Actually, if he’s a thief then there’s probably a bounty on him and she might make back some credits. But the thought of him being a criminal fills her with disappointment.

  Her eyes wander up to the box, and her imagination takes over. Maybe he's on a secret mission. That would make much more sense and explain a ship with no weapons and why he's alone. Probably something to do with the contents of his box and the Bicoma system.

  He was strong and brave when she had to tend to his wound. Unlike his stoic silence, she would’ve been screaming if he had to pull a hunk of sharp metal out of her leg. And there’s no way she could be still. She knows that for a fact. She punched out a med tech once when he tried to treat a wound years ago. She still feels bad about that, but he should have warned her before he touched her.

  Wincing at the memory she finds herself studying the stranger’s face. She knows she shouldn’t, but still she reaches out to cup the male’s jaw with her hand. Muscles move under her hand, and it looks like he's trying to talk. He must be dreaming, she thinks and leans over.

  “Don't leave me,” he whispers in his sleep, his deep voice so faint she strains to make out the words. “Sweet female, don't make me beg.” His head turns slightly and his soft lips kiss the inside of her wrist. “You smell so good. Ask for anything, but let me hold you.”

  She rears back and feels her face flush. He's dreaming about a lover. Despite feeling like she's intruded on something very personal, she can't help but wonder what it would be like to be the woman he begs to stay.

  Mortified at her wayward thoughts, she turns her attention back to her computer console and focuses on the few tasks she needs to do there. Once finished she fetches another blanket from her room and settles back down in the chair. She can't leave him alone and not just because he's healing and vulnerable. But also because there is no way she's going to let a stranger wake up alone in the control room of her ship where he could easily lock her out and take over.

  “It's going to be an uncomfortable cycle,” she mutters to herself, and she wiggles around in the chair. He whispers something else in his sleep, and she's amazed to see the blanket over his crotch rise a little.

  Well, she thinks, at least he's got enough blood to have an erection. That's got to be a good sign.

  She grins at him. “I guess this is going to be an uncomfortable cycle for both of us.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Halin wakes suddenly and jerks to a sitting position. He hits his head on the blunt corner of something, and with a roar of pain he falls back, clutching his head with both hands.

  “Oh crap!” a startled female voice exclaims, and he feels warm hands tugging his hands away from his head. “Let me see, damn it!” she demands. He lets her pull his hands away but only so he can better look at the owner of the voice. Recent events flood back to him when he sees her face and despite the pain, he smiles. Not only is he alive, but the lovely creature from
his dreams is real and hovering over him with a concerned expression on her beautiful face.

  “You didn't break the skin, but you're going to have a bruise,” she tells him, examining his head. She pokes the spot, and he gives a little growl of pain.

  “That didn't help,” he mutters and pushes her hand away. He looks up to see what he hit and finds the genetics box he fought so hard to save. “Moons preserve me. I didn't lose it with Hope.”

  “You sure had a death grip on that thing,” she tells him following his gaze to the box. “I guess that wasn't the best place to put it. I just wanted to make sure you saw it when you woke up.”

  He looks back at the woman and notices her face looks pale and there are dark circles under her eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “About a full cycle and a half,” she tells him glancing over at the control console. He looks around and realizes he's sitting on a bunk in the control room of her small ship. The pilot’s chair is turned to face the bunk and a discarded bright green blanket hangs off one arm rest. Did this female stay up for over a cycle to tend to him?

  He feels a little dizzy. Maneuvering so he can lean his back against the bulkhead, he takes a few deep breaths. The blanket slides off him, revealing he's naked, but he doesn't reach to pull it back over himself. He's a Hissa warrior, and nothing in their culture is shy. He watches with amusement as she stares at his lap and then looks up to find him watching her. Her face turns an interesting shade of pink, and she looks away.

  “I had to cut your pants off,” she mumbles, looking anywhere but at him.

  “Why would that be?” he asks with interest. He hopes the answer has something to do with her wishing to examine his worthiness as a bed partner. He hasn't bedded anyone in a long time, and this female isn't just lovely to look at but smells so good his mouth is watering.

  To his surprise she drops back into the chair and leans forward, gently touches a scar on his thigh. “This,” she states simply. “It looks like it's healing well,” she murmurs and gently presses to test the scar tissue.