Her eyes were wide, and her hair fanned out, dark blonde at the base and toxic green at the end.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, shoving off the wall toward him.
She removed her tank top and tore it in half before he could respond with a gruff, “It’s nothing. I will heal.”
“Off,” she commanded, tugging at the collar of his tunic. He complied, removing the garment. “Hold this here.” She pressed the wadded cloth to the gash. When his hand covered hers, she pushed away. “You might heal fast, but I’m sure gunking up the ship’s innards with blood is bad for our health.”
Nimbly, she collected the droplets of his blood that floated in the immediate area. “There,” he said, pointing up.
Without a word, she placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed, launching herself up. She touched the walls and ceilings to redirect herself and cleaned up the splatter. Spotting a bright red box strapped to the wall, she worked her way across the room. With the kit in hand, she bit her bottom lip and her nose scrunched.
It was adorable. Not that he was studying her face, because he was not even looking at her or the way she wore only a brassiere and her hair floated around her like she was a mythological creature of the water, a dencadiz. Those stories had fascinated Havik when he was young. The idea of so much water that a person could live in it, breathe it, baffled him. He had yet to see the ocean at that point and he studied the illustrations in his book of fables. The dencadiz were beautiful creatures but deadly. They sang a sweet melody to lure people into the water. Sometimes the dencadiz loved the person and they lived together under the water. Sometimes they feasted on the bones of their victims.
He knew which type she was.
Thalia tucked her knees to her chest and slowly spun until her head pointed toward him. She pushed off the ceiling and drifted down. “Give me a hand,” she said.
“I thought this was your first time in space,” he said, reaching for her outstretched hand.
“Never been off the planet before. Those three years frozen in a tube don’t count.”
“You maneuvered quite skillfully,” he admitted. Color rose to her cheeks, a pleasing pink that brightened her otherwise dull complexion.
She opened the medical kit. Straps held the contents in place. Her focus grew intense as she inspected the contents. One by one, she removed the supplies and read the labels.
“That is unnecessary,” he said. “The wound is no longer bleeding.”
“Still needs to be cleaned or you’ll get an infection.”
Havik should have told her that his superior immune system would eradicate any germs as the Mahdfel did not easily pick up infections, but he selfishly wanted her intense gaze focused on him.
“I don’t suppose you know if this is a cleanser. It’s foam. Normally these things have swabs.” She held up a squat white bottle.
“I have never opened the medical kit. I do not know.”
“Right, right. Super soldiers don’t need no doctoring,” she muttered. “Do it for my peace of mind, please.” Opening the cap, she tested a little of the product in the palm of her hand. “Smells like alcohol. Now, hold this.” She shoved the kit into his hands. Grabbing onto his shoulder, she maneuvered behind him and wrapped her legs around his waist.
His tail reached for her.
“Sit still. I’m sure this will sting.”
Havik remained still as she covered the laceration with the foaming cleanser. The bubbles and fizz stung for a second. He kept his eyes focused on the kit in his hands because the female pressed her uncovered chest to his back.
It should not feel pleasant.
He should not enjoy the brush of her soft skin against his, and his tail would remain still, even if he had to chop the blasted thing off.
“Are you a medic?” he asked.
“I didn’t have time for medical school what with all the thievery.” Her voice warmed with amusement.
“But you are familiar with blood.”
“Familiar, yes.” A sterile cloth wiped away the foam. Gently, she applied a layer of gel to the wound and continued to speak. “I was apprenticed to a doctor, I guess you could say. I have no formal qualifications. Mostly I cleaned the equipment.”
“Apprenticeship sounds unusual.” He meant primitive. Advanced worlds had formal education and training, not a relic from the dark ages.
Thalia hummed, as if in agreement. “I sort of fell into it, but it was better than the alternatives.”
“Explain.”
“My mom wasn’t the best. Not abusive but she just wasn’t able to take care of herself and a kid, so I mostly had to fend for myself. It was fine. I made my own food. I kept myself entertained.”
She covered the wound with a bandage, taping it down. In a day, the laceration would be completely healed, and he would not require such covering, but he kept that to himself.
“Then she died in the Invasion. Not from the Invasion, exactly. She got sick. The flu, I think. Lots of people had it. After that, I was on my own,” she said.
“There would be relief camps. Field hospitals.”
“Sure, but let me stress this, I was eleven. I spent my whole life dodging social workers. I wasn’t about to walk into an alien camp. They’d take me away from my mom.” She unwrapped her legs and Havik’s chest hitched at the loss of contact.
Thalia moved to position herself in front of him, her hair fanning out in the zero gravity. He handed his tunic to her. “You will grow cold,” he said.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
“If she required medical attention—”
“Enough with the Monday morning quarterbacking, Danger B.” She slipped the tunic over her head. The fabric swallowed her, but he felt enormous satisfaction seeing her in his shirt. “I don’t have a time machine. Bitching ain’t going to
