As he claimed her?
He rolled painfully to his side and brushed her long, dark hair away from her neck. He wanted to roar with triumph at the sight of his mark on her neck, but then reality washed over him. In his fevered state he had known only what he wanted. He couldn’t tell her that he had bonded with her without her knowledge. He wouldn’t force her to stay with him.
As if she felt his gaze, Jayn’s eyes opened and she smiled up at him.
“You’re awake! Are you feeling better?”
No! I love you and I’m afraid you are going to leave me.
But he could not say the words aloud. Instead, he focused on his physical condition. His fever had passed, but the wound in his leg still needed attention. He forced himself into a sitting position so he could examine the damage. Dark green and red streaks radiated out from the bite.
“Mie leg iz in-fek-tuhd.”
For a moment she looked startled, then horrified.
“Oh my God. I thought you were just cold because of the water. What are we going to do? We don’t have any medicine.”
“Fie-uhr,” he said grimly. He would have to cauterize the injury to stop the infection spreading.
Her face turned completely white, but she nodded. ‘What do you need?”
“Fie-uhr,” he repeated. “Nief.”
“Oh God. All right.” She peered out through the entrance of the shelter. “The fire went out, but I think I can start it again. Especially now that I know we have a firestarter.” Her brows drew together in one of her adorable frowns. “And as soon as you’re better, we’re going to have to talk about exactly how you knew what it was. But for right now, I’ll gather some wood.”
He wanted to protest as she slipped away—he hated the idea of her alone in the jungle—but he didn’t have the strength to follow.
“Go with her,” he ordered Misstuh Tiduhlz, and the small creature scampered off.
While they were gone, he dragged himself painfully out of the shelter. He was drenched with sweat by the time he reached the firepit, but as he waited for his body to recover, he replayed her words. Firestarter? Another hazy memory tried to surface and he groaned. It appeared that he wouldn’t be able to avoid the attempt to explain his origin much longer.
Chapter Twelve
Jane returned to find Tarax waiting by the firepit. He looked pale and sick, and her first rimpulse was to put her arms around him and tell him that she loved him. But he hadn’t repeated his words this morning. What if it had just been a fever dream? What if he hadn’t even known it was her?
No, she decided. He had spoken her name too often for her to believe that.
But there were still too many unanswered questions, including his knowledge of the firestarter. First they would heal him, then they would talk.
She started the fire easily enough, then watched in dismay as he brought out his knife. He touched the flat side of the blade to the jagged looking wound on his leg, but even that slight pressure made him hiss with pain.
“Prez heer,” he ordered, then thrust the knife into the flames.
“Me?” Her voice shook with horror. It had been bad enough to know what he was going to do—she hadn’t realized that she would actually be the one to do it.
He looked away from her. “Miet faynt.”
She could see how much he hated to admit the possibility, and she gathered her courage.
“All right. I’ll do it.”
The blade was beginning to glow red as she took the handle from him.
“Fast. Hahrd,” he reminded her as he carefully stretched out his leg.
Her stomach churned, but she forced down the bile rising in her throat. “Are you ready?”
He nodded, and she laid the flat of the blade firmly against the wound. The smell of burning flesh filled the air and she fought desperately not to be sick. Tarax didn’t make a sound and he didn’t pass out, although his skin paled even further. It would have been better if he had, she thought as she removed the blade.
The burn covered the wound, and he nodded approvingly before he slumped silently to the ground.
She turned away and was suddenly, violently, sick. Mr. Tiddles rushed to her side, patting her arm with his small paw until the spasms passed. She drew a shaky breath, rinsed out her mouth, and returned to Tarax’s side.
He was still unconscious, but his forehead was cool to the touch. She carefully covered the burn with wet leaves, then sat down to wait.
By the time he opened his eyes, the sun was directly overhead and she was a nervous wreck.
“Oh thank God,” she exclaimed. “I was so worried. How do you feel?”
“Bet-uhr.”
He sat up, still moving slowly, while she brought him some broth. By the time he finished it, his skin had returned to its normal shade of green.
“Yoo did wehl,” he said as he inspected the wound. The burn looked painful, but the red streaks had disappeared.
“I hope I never have to do anything like that again.” She shuddered.
His hand covered hers. “Brayv fee-mayl.”
Their eyes met, his glowing warm gold, and she started to sway towards him. But now that he seemed to be out of danger, her questions came rushing back.
“We need to talk,” she said slowly.
He winced, and she couldn’t help wondering if that was a universal male reaction to those words.
“Sahr-ee,” he said quickly.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Naht noh hou…”
“You didn’t know how to tell me, you mean?”
He nodded, looking away from her.
“Tarax, are you even from this planet?”
She held her breath, waiting for his response. When he shook his head, she found she wasn’t really surprised, even though it only
