Kozav (3 page)

T
he room didn’t smell
like the hospital. When Grace opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, she decided it definitely didn’t look like the hospital either. Smooth, dull metal plating replaced the stained ceiling tiles she was used to seeing. The walls were that same silver hue, but the hospital’s cream paint—once white—was gone. A low hum filled her ears, not the rhythmic beep of hospital monitors. It almost sounded like the engine of a hovocar, but deeper, louder and soft at the same time. She wasn’t sure how to explain it. It was just different, weird.

Since everything was silver—metal—she wondered if she’d been locked up for her actions. She’d operated on several Preor without a license. The last thing she remembered was telling a Preor Master Healer that he took his sweet time. And then… she frowned, trying to pull forward the memories.

Did their healers finally arrive? Yes. Yes, they had. That’s when her body gave out on her. Her adrenaline disappeared and she just flat out crashed.

Something prodded her mind, poking and teasing. She closed her lids again, shutting out the light that stabbed her eyes. Wait. She hadn’t passed out from exhaustion or her adrenaline crashing. It was…

Knowing.
The
Knowing. It was a Preor… thing, and it was… She hated that the words were slow to come, dragged from her mind like cold molasses. She sensed that she had the answers inside her, but she couldn’t quite catch them. The thoughts danced in and out of reach, teasing her, and the rapid spin had her stomach clenching. Nausea overtook her, drowning the remaining aches in the need to vomit. And God, she hated puking.

Grace rolled to her side, slowed her breathing and fought to calm her heart. In through the nose and out through the mouth, nice and steady. A clammy sweat broke out on her skin, making her sticky and cold in the strange room. She concentrated on the beat of her heart, the rush of blood in her veins, and the desperate desire to
not
throw up.

The new position allowed her to see more of the space—an odd looking chair near the far wall and across from it, a sofa. There was even some sort of weird potted plant in the corner.

A
pwaa
tree that closely resembled an Earth palm.

Another wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. One that had nothing to do with being dizzy or sick and everything to do with the fact that she knew what a
pwaa
tree was.

The Knowing…

The Knowing gave her everything. Every thought, every memory, every bit of research and knowledge gathered by the Preors. It was the race’s genetic memory—blood memory—and only accessible by a mated couple. That was what drove her on Earth’s surface, gave her what she needed to work on those five Preor and save them. The Knowing handed her every detail of Preor physiology. Between that and her medical experience, she’d cared for each one.

Wait.
On Earth’s surface…
It was as if she didn’t think she was on the planet any longer… without consciously making that decision? The thoughts were hers yet they weren’t and… of course she was on Earth, wasn’t she?

No. No, she wasn’t. There was the
pwaa
tree that could only live on Preor ships or the planet itself. There was the silken
aczi
sheet that covered her body. The smooth metal walls and seamless doors that humans hadn’t quite managed to construct yet. She lifted the sheet carefully and glanced down her body. And the
xina
she now wore instead of her uniform or hospital dress. The cloth was nearly weightless but strong—one of the strongest in the galaxy. It always remained clean and fresh no matter its treatment and resisted most blades though it couldn’t do anything for soft tissue damage from a strike. Grace’s outfit was a comfy teal tank top that left her shoulders bare and matching flowing pants that caressed her legs.

Teal…

Aquamarine eyes and dark blue-green hair
. She remembered that from her panic-stricken race to save the Preor males.

Now she was a captive. Grace shook her head, pushing away the dizziness that came with the move. She was a captive, but she couldn’t stay that way. She had to get home. She wasn’t sure how long she’d remained at the hospital, but her shift had to be long over. Plus, it was Friday, which meant Ronda left early and her mother—

Her mother.

Oh God, what time was it? Ronda left at five and if Grace wasn’t there to take over and her mom had an attack, she’d…

Panic. Deep, heartfelt panic.
All that calming and soothing she’d done for herself vanished, disappearing as if it’d never existed. Whatever was going on, whoever she’d pissed off to end up locked up by the Preors, they needed to take care of her mom. Now.

A male’s first responsibility was to his mate and by extension, her family. The Knowing’s words weren’t assuring. No warm and fuzzy feelings filled her. Not while her mom was on Earth and Grace was… She glanced around, surveying her surroundings once more. Grace was wherever the hell she was.

She pushed herself up until she sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling over the side. Her limbs trembled, muscles twitching with the movements, but she pushed past her body’s response. It wanted her to lay back down. Well, she wanted to get to her mom. Fear and worry drove her, helping her toss aside the
aczi
and carefully, slowly push to her feet.

She stretched out her arm, hand braced on a bedside table so she could catch herself the second she thought she was losing her balance. She didn’t have time to spare on hurting herself. She had to get out and get gone. With each passing second, the certainty that her mother needed her desperately grew. The feeling wasn’t logical, she had no proof there was anything wrong, but the emotions were present none the less.

She’d do whatever it took,
who
ever it took, to get home.

No, a tsunami of revulsion swamped her, sucking her breath from her lungs. She could only ever be with her mate. To accept another in her bed would be considered
iqi
. Shameful. Dishonorable. Not the actions of a mated—

The Knowing again. That thing she was slowly coming to realize was real and not some weird figment of her imagination. She’d experienced the Knowing at some point during the day and she needed to find her mate before another bout of Knowing sickness struck. The beginnings of a question eased forward, her mind wondering what the Knowing sickness entailed, but she kicked the thought aside before the Knowing could jump in.

Grace straightened, satisfied when her stomach didn’t attempt to make an appearance. She shuffled toward the small panel set into the far wall that appeared similar to an access pad on Earth—like an identipad. She didn’t think she’d be allowed to leave, but she’d try anyway. She’d be damned if she didn’t get out and get to her mother.

She leaned against the wall beside the dark square, taking a moment to catch her breath before she attempted another move. She wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, to crawl beneath the
aczi
and settle in for a quiet night. She’d close her eyes and pretend the day hadn’t happened.

But Donna Hall waited. Donna who’d grown up in filth and poverty. Donna who’d risked her life by keeping Grace when everyone else in the Hall family told her to get an abortion. Her mom sacrificed a hell of a lot over the years and Grace would do anything for her. Even face down whoever stood on the other side of the door.

Using the wall to hold her steady, she carefully presses her thumb to the pad, counting the seconds while the computer system decided if she’d be let free or not. She wasn’t too hopeful, but a little glimmer did live in her heart.

Without warning, the panels slid apart with a soft whoosh, exposing the world beyond her small suite. The area was just as stark and monochrome as the room she occupied; metal on metal on more metal. The walls and ceiling were smooth while the flooring was made of metal grates.

The heavy resounding thud of boots on the ground vibrated through the air. Great. She peeked her head around the corner, attention sliding up and down the hallway. Empty. Not a soul in sight and as she stood there, the sound of those boots growing fainter. She wasn’t alone, but she wasn’t in danger of immediate discovery either.

She released the breath she’d been holding and took a second to survey the hall a little closer. That’s when one fact became clear. She wasn’t in a human base or jail or ship or… anything. Not just because the metals used in construction were unfamiliar. Or the fact that the design was different than any she’d ever seen. Or even the presence of the
pwaa
tree in the corner of the room.

Nope, it had everything to do with the alien writing on the wall. Alien writing she could read.
Preor
alien writing she could read that informed her the command deck was to the left and meal hall to the right.

Grace’s mouth was dry and air whooshed from her lungs, shock striking her with a hard fist while reality kicked her in the ass. She slumped against the wall, knees threatening to give out on her. She was on a Preor ship. She’d done her damnedest to heal those warriors and as payment she’d been hauled to their ship. What the…

Oh shit.
She hadn’t killed one of them, had she? The Knowing had fed her everything she’d needed to know, hadn’t it?

The thump of someone approaching reached her, reminding her the hallway might be empty at the moment, but she definitely wasn’t alone. If she was going to get out of the room, now was as good a time as any. She glanced to the right, relieved that no one was coming, and then headed left to the command deck. Mr. Teal was the Primary Warrior and he’d either be on the command deck or someone there could tell her where to find him.

She stepped into the wide hall, marveling at the sheer distance from one wall to the other and then she remembered a Preor’s wings. They’d need plenty of space to walk if two winged males wished to pass each other. Females didn’t have wings since they were meant to care and nurture while the males protected and— She cut the Knowing off at its knees. She didn’t need an explanation of physiology. She got enough of that in the hospital.

Grace kept her hand on one metal surface while she eased forward, careful where she placed her feet. It only took three steps for her bare soles to protest walking on the grated floor, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Her mom always told her she could out stubborn a mule when it came to getting what she wanted. Since mules were extinct, Grace would have to trust her mother.

And maybe she was stubborn. It sure as hell would be easier to sit around and rest, but she refused to sit on her ass and wait in that room until someone remembered her. She needed to get back to Earth—to her mother. Now. Or as close to now as she could get.

“Female!” A booming voice stretched along the hallway and vibrated through her, shaking her from inside out.

S
he glanced over her shoulder
, spying a Preor male standing no more than fifty feet away. For a split second, she wondered if he was one of the men she’d treated, but she soon realized he was a stranger. She didn’t recognize the amber hair or bright orange wings. Her stomach clenched, fear warring with the nausea that still plagued her. She gagged, body torn in two directions—the need to drop to her knees and puke and the need to run.

“Halt,” he barked at her as if she’d listen, as if she was a pet. Later she’d puff up with righteous indignation at his tone and word. Now, she just wanted to keep moving. So, she did what humans did best when faced with a troubling situation. She ignored him.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop his approach. His pace picked up, turning from a trudging walk into a brisk jog.

Yeah, she so kept moving.

“Female!”

She had a name. At least if he was going to accost her, he should use her
name
.

“I order you to halt!”

Yeah, well, Dr. Richards ordered her not to save Preor lives. Grace was not a good listener. She was a good hurter, though. Because damn her body ached and protested her every step. But determination kept her moving. Determination to get off the ship and get back to Earth, determination to go to her mother, determination not to pass out while accomplishing the first two determinations.

“Female, if you do not halt, I will be forced…”

Until that moment, that very second, she hadn’t realized the depths of her trouble. Maybe it was just exhaustion or worry or the weird Knowing thing still pummeling her mind, but she hadn’t quite accepted the ins and outs of being on a Preor ship.

With Preors.

Who had wings.

Who carried swords.

Who could force her to do whatever they wanted.

She glanced over her shoulder, watching as he reached behind himself and withdrew two lengths of sharpened metal. Swords this particular Preor warrior decided to unsheathe while he closed in on her. The hall’s light glistened off the honed blades, and any thoughts about her mom, the Knowing, and the ship stopped. Just flat out ceased.

That was when her survival instincts kicked in. Pain or not, injuries or not, Grace Hall was gonna run her tired ass away as fast as she could. She spun, ignoring the scraping sensation on the bottom of her foot, and bolted down the hallway. She ignored her pursuer’s curse and his increased speed, focusing solely on finding someone who wouldn’t slice and dice her.

There had to be at least one warrior like that on the ship, right?

The pounding came closer, his huffing breath growing nearer. “
Female
.”

Female. As if she was nothing more than a
thing
. She’d put her bitch hat on for that comment later. For now, she tried to go faster, tried to put on more speed and strength and… failed spectacularly. But it wasn’t her fault. The Preor at her back fisted her shirt, yanking on it and sending her flying backward through the air. A scream burst from her lips—long, loud, and unending—while she pin wheeled her arms. He wasn’t going to catch her. No, he’d stopped her and then let go. She held out her hands, attempting to catch herself and brace her fall, but she still collided with the grating, the metal digging into her flesh, and banged her head on the hard surface.