Captured: Warriors of Hir, Book 1 (12 page)

Bill went for his sidearm and Ra’kur’s snarl ripped through the air.

“Birdie!” Bill shouted, taking aim. “Get down!”

“No!” She darted to the side to throw her arms out protectively in front of Ra’kur. “Bill, don’t—!”

A crack echoed across the mountain. Bill’s eyes were fixed on her, the gun trembling in his hand, his mouth working as Ra’kur skidded to a stop beside her.

Jenna’s brow creased. Her body felt funny, heavy, as if a great weight was pressing down on her shoulders. Scalding pain suddenly burned through her upper chest and she blinked down as red spread across the front of her white jacket.

“Jenna . . .” Ra’kur whispered.

She lifted her head to meet his wide gaze. “I think—”

Her legs gave out.

“No!” He fell to his knees in the snow to catch her against him. His black hair curtained his face as he cradled her, the brilliant sky behind him pale in comparison to his eyes.

She wanted to hold him too but her arms wouldn’t work. 

But she could hear everything—the faint bubbling when she tried to breathe, Ra’kur’s heart thumping in his chest, Bill’s gun click as the barrel turned, the sharp, high call of a cardinal in the woods—

“Go home . . . I . . .” This was really, really important but she couldn’t get a breath, her vision darkened at the edges.  “. . . Ra’kur, I . . .”

“Stay with me, Jenna. You promised.” He held her tighter. “You
promised
!”

Blackness took her. The last thing she heard was Ra’kur’s roar and the shrill sound of human screams.

Twelve

Someone was keening.

The long mournful sound went on and on, dragging Jenna upward toward consciousness. She fought it, that pull, knowing that at the other end lay pain and fear and confusion.

But she knew the voice making that agonized plaint; she could feel his suffering in the very cells of her body.

Ra’kur.

She grabbed hold of that wail and let it take her then, lift her upwards, let it carry her toward him.

The strange antiseptic smell hit her first. It smelled like hospitals always do but odd too and she wrinkled her nose against it. There was the familiar feel of a mattress beneath her, a pillow under her head, a blanket covering her, and the dull burn of an IV in her arm.

It took a huge effort to open her eyes, way more than it should have. For a moment Jenna could only lay there, the whole of her concentration committed to keeping her eyes open, to staying here with the light and hurt and weakness.

Ra’kur’s head was bent and he sat beside her bed, rocking, his shaggy black hair showing blue highlights as he swayed.

She tried to swallow past the god-awful dryness in her mouth. Her lips felt cracked and her gaze darted around the room. This wasn’t part of his ship—that was for sure. The walls were a soothing light brown, the ceiling white, and everything else—equipment and furniture alike—had a pristine shiny look to it that his ship didn’t.  Bewildered, she saw a running display on the wall over her bed. Trying to read the three-dimensional alien language as it scrolled by made her woozy.

His shoulders were shaking and while g’hir didn’t cry like humans did, she knew they felt things just as deeply. She reached toward him and found even her best effort only moved her hand a spare inch.

“Wha—” she breathed.

His head shot up. There were shadows under his eyes, his face was drawn; he looked utterly exhausted. “Jenna?”

“What . . .” She tried swallowing again, past the agony of dryness in her throat. “Happened?”

“Jenna?” He blinked rapidly. “You are awake? You are awake!” He caught her hand, holding it between his big warm rough ones. “They said you would never—!” He turned toward the door and bellowed: “Healer!”

Jenna winced, squeezing her eyes shut against his roar.

“Stay awake, little bird,” he pleaded. His hand touched her forehead. “You must stay awake!”

She forced her eyes open to meet his anxious gaze.

“Water,” she croaked.

He let go of her hand then to fumble at the table beside her. Jenna let her heavy eyes fall shut.

“Honored warrior,” another g’hir said sharply, his words deep growling sounds like Ra’kur, although she could understand him as perfectly as if he spoke English. “I am sorry for your loss but—”

“She is awake!”

“Warrior,” the man began gently. “Your lifemate is not going to—”

Jenna opened her eyes and managed to turn her face toward the speaker. He was a g’hir too, not nearly as tall or burly as Ra’kur but with the same ridges on his brow, the same heavy eyebrows and inhuman face.

It was funny really how she’d never stopped to think about it, assuming that all the g’hir would have dark hair like Ra’kur’s, but this man was blond. His clothes were different certainly—instead of a warrior’s dark brown leather he wore a medium blue outfit that strongly resembled scrubs. His glowing eyes were green, not blue, and they widened as they met hers. 

His glance flew to the scrolling display over her head. “This is not possible! She cannot have regained consciousness!”

Doctors!
Jenna turned her head toward the straw Ra’kur held toward her mouth. She took a long pull and closed her eyes in relief as the blessedly cold water hit the back of her parched throat.

“Wait! She should be examined before she is given liquids orally!”

Jenna ignored him and thankfully Ra’kur did too, keeping the straw in her mouth so she could drink.

“
You
dare give advice? When you did not even think she could ever waken again?” Ra’kur threw him a dark look. “Summon the senior physician! Only he should be attending her in any case.”

The young doctor hurried out, the door sliding shut behind him.

Just sipping on the water was exhausting but at least she could swallow without pain now.

Ra’kur searched her face anxiously as she let go of the straw. “Can you drink more, little one?”

Jenna wet her lips. “In a minute.” She glanced up at the display, at the unfamiliar equipment in the room. “We’re on Hir, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” He gently smoothed her hair back away from her face. “I thought—I prayed to the All Mother, they said you—” He shook his head. “But you are awake and I will offer my blood to Her in thanks.”

Jenna’s brow creased. “What does
that
mean?”

“I will offer the Goddess my blood to thank Her.”

Her frown deepened. “Not much, though, right?”

“I would give all to see you well.” He gave a faint smile, his eyes shining, and inclined his head. “But this time, it will just be a little.”

“You brought me to Hir.”

“Yes, my Jenna.”

“Even though I said I didn’t want to leave Earth.”

His fingers traced her cheek. “I had no choice but to bring you here. You would have died.”

“Died?” She frowned. “What do you mean, ‘died’?”

“You were wounded. The peacekeeper”—Ra’kur’s face worked for a moment—“nearly killed you.”
             

She stared up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The peacekeeper shot you.”

“Bill
shot
me?”

His glance went over her face. “You do not remember.”

“
Bill
shot me? Sheriff Bill Riley—the man who dresses up every year as Santa for the town’s Christmas party—you’re telling me
Bill
shot me?”

His brow furrowed. “I do not know some of these words but the peacekeeper you call ‘Bill’ wounded you.”

“But why the hell would he—” She broke off, looking into Ra’kur’s brilliant gaze. “No,” she murmured. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything about that.”

He gently took her hand in his. “What is the last thing you recall?”

She considered; it was all pretty jumbled. “We were talking—arguing really—in the woods on our way to the ship so you could finish the repairs.”

“You were angry. You did not want to come to my world. You left the ship to return to the shelter. I followed you. When we left tree cover we saw the peacekeeper had returned—”

“My God, he saw you, didn’t he?” she whispered.

What Bill must have thought, seeing Ra’kur coming up behind her through the woods, his size, his terrifyingly inhuman face . . .

Her frightened glance went over him. “Did he shoot you too?”

“You . . . shielded me from his weapon fire.” Ra’kur’s eyes were haunted. “You lay on the ground, bleeding to death in the snow because you shielded
me
.” He gripped her hand. “You
must
promise you will never do such a thing again!”

She was about to point out that the chances of her getting shot by an old family friend while acting as human shield had dropped significantly as soon as they left Earth’s atmosphere, but then she remembered something.

The horrific sound of screams.

“Bill . . .” she whispered. “What happened to Bill?”

His glance flicked away.

“Did you hurt him, Ra’kur?” Her eyes stung with tears. “Please tell me you didn’t . . . that you didn’t kill him?”

His nostrils flared, his alien eyes stormy. “No,” he growled. “To my shame I did not.”

Her shoulders fell in relief, but—“What do you mean, to your shame?”

“I
should
have killed him.” His fangs bared, wicked and sharp in this light. “I should have torn him apart.”

“Bill Riley would never have meant to hurt me!” she cried, outrage giving her voice strength. “He thought I was in danger or he never would have fired.” She searched his eyes. “But did—did you hurt him?”

“Yes, I hurt him,” he growled. “I
wanted
to hurt him. I would have hurt him more but there was no time. I had to get you back to the ship before you—Once you were in stasis I completed the repair and brought you here.”

“Do you think he . . .?”

“He reached his transport,” Ra’kur said shortly. “He called for help.”

Her eyes shut briefly. “Oh, thank God. But how did—” 

The return of the young doctor and what she could only assume was the senior physician cut her off.

This g’hir was much older, his hair and eyebrows white, his face lined and careworn, but his carriage was proud, his blue clothes crisp.

The senior physician’s glance darted over her and then moved to the display over her head. “Her baselines must be very different if she has recovered consciousness.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Jenna said pointedly.

His eyes, a disconcerting vivid yellow, met hers and he came to stand at her bedside. “I am the senior physician of this facility, Doctor Elaran.”

“I’m Jenna McNally.”

“That is quite a name sound you have.”

Somehow that didn’t sound much like a compliment. And lying there, under that detached, clinical gaze, she suddenly regretted how she’d scolded Pap for the tart way he used to address his doctors.

She narrowed her eyes up at Doctor Elaran. “Okay, spit it out, already, Sawbones. How am I?”

Doctor Elaran studied the readings for a moment. She looked too as the symbols scrolled by over her head and it was really annoying that she couldn’t make head or tails of them.

“I guess the question should be: how do you feel?”

“Like hell,” she said honestly.

The doctor’s white eyebrows rose at that. “You were grievously injured by a projectile weapon. You lost a great deal of blood and replicating it proved to be time consuming. I repaired the damage done by the projectile but your recovery from medical stasis has not gone at all as I anticipated. I would expect you do feel . . . uncomfortable.”

“
You
told me she would die!” Ra’kur snarled. “You told me there was no hope!”

“Clearly I was mistaken,” the doctor said dryly.

Jenna could almost hear Ra’kur gritting his teeth.

“Well?” he demanded. “Now that she lives—despite your prognosis—how is she?”

“
She
is not g’hir,” the doctor reminded. “This female is the first of her species that I have ever treated. Or seen. Or
heard
of.” He jerked his chin at the display. “According to these readings she is at the All Mother’s gate, but she seems to be recovering.”