Back in the basement, Brennan sets me down on his sleeping bag with surprising tenderness. I look up, expecting anger in his eyes – but they’re blank and unreadable; slate-grey like those of the marble statue he so resembles.
As I sit there, Brennan pushes my slip up, exposing my thigh.
I struggle to push him away, but he grabs my wrist with one huge hand and stares me down. I realize he’s not groping me – he’s trying to attend to my wound.
Gods! It hurts!
The long slice in my thigh is seeping blood. It’s much worse than I’d thought at the time, and the rusted metal that gouged me open was probably very far from sterile.
Could my injury be life-threatening? What will I die of first? Infection, or blood loss?
I glance at my wound, and when I get a good look at it, I instantly feel woozy.
“Don’t move,” Brennan’s voice is a hard command. He leaps up, rushing to the window and opening one of the two duffle bags I’d stacked on top of each other to escape.
He comes back with a small kit – squatting in front of me as he opens the black case and pulls out a gleaming, glass bottle of clear liquid.
“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” Brennan warns. “Can you handle pain?”
I nod, wincing. The cut hurts like mad already – and, besides, I can’t show my captors any weakness. I won’t give them the satisfaction of that.
Brennan breaks the seal of the glass vial and pours the contents out across my deep wound.
I cry out from a sharp, new pain – a fiery, cleansing agony.
To my shock, Brennan puts his left hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing to comfort me – as if he isn’t a violent criminal who snatched me from my home just hours earlier.
I grit my teeth and watch as the blood and dirt are washed from my cut – the liquid sterilizing and cleansing my injury. Then the glass vial is empty, he throws the bottle aside and pulls out a tiny, black gun from the kit.
My eyes widen. I know what that is.
It’s a sealant gun.
I prepare myself – because while I know that these sealant guns are miraculous, they also come at the cost of causing scorching pain – often worse than the injury itself.
Brennan presses the trigger and a black beam arcs to my leg.
I brace myself…
…but no pain comes. “It doesn’t hurt?”
He shakes his head. “We have better tech than humans.” He snorts. “Most humans.”
I look down and watch as the searing beam seals my cut – the sliced flesh merging together. Within seconds, there’s no trace of a scar. It’s as though my escape attempt never happened.
However, I don’t think Brennan is going to see things that way.
The towering Aurelian promised me a punishment if I tried to escape. He might be putting on a kind and protective front now – but I’m still scared about how and when he’ll make good on that promise.
Brennan finally releases his hand from my shoulder. As he kneels there, he opens a sachet from the black medical case – pulling out a small, wet cloth that he cleans the rest of my leg with.
As he moves on from my now-healed thigh, he spots where I scraped my leg clambering out of the narrow window.
“That cut on your knee isn’t bad – but do you want a shot of the sealant gun?”
I nod. “It’s going to scar if I don’t, right?”
The Aurelian shrugs. “Maybe – but a scar is a trophy of a battle survived.”
“My father won’t see it that way,” I hiss. “He’ll look at the scar and remember how he couldn’t protect me – from you.”
Brennan ignores that barb – instead pulling out the sealant gun and zapping my knee. Within seconds, and completely painlessly, it’s as good as new.
Satisfied, Brennan snaps the kit shut and stands up, towering over me.
For a second, our eyes meet – and then he turns, walking to the duffel bag to stow it with the others.
When he returns, the kind, protective Brennan is gone.
He’s taken care of my injuries. Now, it’s time for him to be the tough captor – the one who’ll brook no insolence.
“Get up,” Brennan demands. “Show me how well you can walk.”
He barks out the command – as if he’s a drill sergeant.
I pull myself to my feet. My leg is completely healed – and when I walk forward, I feel nothing.
Nothing, except exposed.
I cover the rip in my slip, where that rusty barb tore it open.
I don’t want to show too much flesh while this marble-skinned alien has his blood up from battle. He might find it even more difficult to control his urges.
Controlling himself is probably why Brennan’s still got that hard look on his face – but I hope some of the tenderness he showed me minutes earlier is still there.
“What were those gunshots?” I demand. “Who was that man I saw Otho dragging away?”
The one without an arm, no less.
The truth is, I know who they were – but asking is the first thing I can think of to say. I need to keep Brennan talking – to establish a rapport, and aid any potential escape.
The men who’d fired at us were rogues or cutthroats – fools who’d thought they’d stumbled on an easy mark out here in the slums. They must have seen the ship fly in – that rented shuttle – but they can’t have possibly imagined that it would contain three deadly Aurelian warriors.
Brennan ignores my question. Instead, he demands:
“Jump up and down – now.”
I clench my fist at his cold tone, but I obey. I jump up, holding my slip down to cover what I can of
