Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series) (13 page)

He had turned into a selfish bastard.

For all he knew, she might well have a
dislocated shoulder, after the way Brutus had wrenched her arm.
Plus she'd just lost her only companion, wretched creature that it
was.

He knew what it was like to lose
everything.

He sounded the panel tone. "Nessa, may I
come in?"

Silence. He pressed the tone again. "Are you
all right?"

"Go away."

"I'm coming in." He opened the panel.

Slumped on the floor, she leaned against the
side of the bunk with her arms around her legs. Her eyes were dry
but stark with pain as she stared toward the now empty plexishield
case, where a half-eaten piece of bread lay on the bottom. She
didn't acknowledge his presence.

"Nessa." He sank down beside her, not sure
how to take her stoic, detached demeanor. She might be in shock.
"Are you okay?" He cupped his hand against her pale cheek, then
slid his fingers down against the pulse in her neck.

Steady enough, but she felt abnormally cool,
and her ashen complexion alarmed him. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

Fixated on the case, she shook her head
almost imperceptibly. Chase saw the blood then, oozing through
slashes in the right shoulder of her tunic. When he touched the
shoulder, she winced. "Is this the same arm Brutus hurt?"

"It doesn't matter," she whispered, her
voice dull and flat.

Remorse and concern swept through Chase. "It
does matter, Nessa." He took her cold hands, tugging her good arm
away from her legs. "Come on. I'm taking you to the lab so I can
treat your shoulder."

She tried to pull back. "I just want to be
alone."

"Later," he promised, grasping her waist and
lifting her to her feet. "But right now, captain's orders are for
you to receive medical treatment. We'll take care of the pain,
too."

"I don't need treatment. The pain doesn't
bother me." She shoved against his chest, wincing again from the
pressure on her injured shoulder, then quickly hid her
discomfort.

Considering her leg, pain had probably been
a familiar and constant companion. But Chase had no intention of
her suffering more than she already had, especially since he bore
the blame for this situation. If he'd only thought to take more
precautions before leaving Nessa on the ship; if he'd been more
alert and insisted on accompanying Sabin to Giza's.…

The realization that even more people had
almost died because of him burned a path of self-contempt through
his gut.

"This is not open for debate, Nessa. You can
either walk to the lab or I'll carry you. Your choice."

For a minute, he thought she would defy him.
But she turned and limped slowly down the corridor. He followed
behind, noting her awkward gait. She had pushed herself to the
limits today—and saved his life in the process. Sabin was the only
person Chase would ever expect to show such heroics on his
behalf.

He shuddered as they entered the lab.
Spirit, how he despised this room. The equipment, the medical
supplies, the antiseptic smell—all reminded him of his
inadequacies. Even though he'd sworn to never step foot in a lab
again, common sense had prevailed when he'd ordered this ship. He'd
requested a fully equipped medical lab.

A shadower's occupation fostered danger, and
while he didn't care one iota about his own safety, Chase refused
to put innocent people at risk. If Sabin or a bystander suffered
injury because of him, he wanted to have the tools for
treatment.

Nessa stood listlessly in the middle of the
room, apathy dulling her expression. Taking a thermal blanket from
a cabinet, Chase laid it on the table. "Take off your pack and your
tunic. You can get under the blanket." He placed his hands into the
wall sterilizer.

The sterilizer beeped off, and he turned
back to find her clutching the tunic tightly. This promised to be a
battle the entire way. He didn't know if her reluctance to disrobe
in front of him came from feminine modesty or her scarred leg, or
both. If she only knew how many nude bodies he had examined—Chase
exhaled his pent-up breath. Besides, he'd already seen
all
of her, although he wouldn't point that out.

"I can't treat those cuts through the
tunic." He picked up the thermal blanket and handed it to her.
"Now, slip off the pack and your tunic and wrap this around
yourself, but keep your shoulders bare. I'll get the supplies."

He turned toward the medication cabinet. At
her soft gasp, he spun around. Nessa clutched the pack that had
carried the lanrax. Tufts of midnight blue fur clung near the top.
She stared at the fur, her hands trembling, her face deathly white.
"Turi," she whispered. "Oh, Turi."

Her anguish tore at Chase. He strode over
and slid his arm around her. She raised startled but dry eyes to
his. "It's okay to grieve, Nessa. It's all right to cry and even
scream, if that helps."

Her eyes reflected the depth of her torment,
but no tears. "I never cry. It's useless and weak."

She looked so vulnerable, so fragile, her
body rigid with the effort to maintain her composure. But she'd
never appeared weak. In fact, Chase admired her spunk and her
courage.

Even with her physical impediments, even
after losing her parents, breaking down in space, getting caught up
in a battle not hers to fight, she'd persevered. Even sustaining
new injuries and then losing her only companion, she displayed
amazing fortitude.

No, never weak.

"Put on the blanket," he said, turning
away.

Nessa remained silent while Chase helped her
onto the exam table and sterilized the gouges left by Turi, then
bandaged them. She shivered with cold, despite the thermal blanket,
and he lowered a heatwave light over the table. Her shoulder had
not been dislocated nor her arm broken; both were only bruised.

His medical scanner picked up a virus, the
same one present the first two times he'd checked her. He didn't
recognize the viral structure, but thousands of viruses existed in
the galaxy, the vast majority harmless. Probably a cold
incubating—although it was going to be a nasty one, if the
proliferation of the cells were any indication.

He gave her a combination injection for
shock, infection, and pain. The warmth and the medication drained
away her tension and pain. She surrendered to exhaustion, falling
asleep on the table.

Chase left her there, placing more blankets
over her. He sterilized her tunic, although it was badly torn and
would have to be replaced at the first opportunity. He placed the
tunic beside her, but folded the pack, slipped it into an airtight
plastic bag, then put it in a cabinet. He'd sneezed repeatedly
while he was treating Nessa because of that damn pack, and he'd
been tempted to disintegrate it. But he decided that might upset
her further. If she asked for it, he'd return it to her.

After he cleaned the cut over his eye and
tended his shoulder wound, he returned to his cabin. He shed and
disposed his ruined flightsuit and took a long shower. Then he
collapsed on his bunk and slept, awaking several hours later.

He went to check on Nessa and found her
leaving the lab, dressed in her tunic. "Hello," he said.

She looked at him, her eyes huge orbs of
distress in her small face. Her color had improved somewhat, but
dark hollows lurked beneath her eyes. She started past.

He blocked the path. "How are you
feeling?"

"Better. Thank you for taking care of my
shoulder."

Chase steered her toward the galley. "It was
the least I could do. Thank you for saving my life."

Nessa tugged against his grip. "I'd like to
go to my cabin now."

"A stop in the galley first. You need some
nourishment. Then you can go to your cabin and rest."

She remained withdrawn and distant as she
drank the simple broth he prepared. Neither of them spoke until she
rose from the table. He rose with her. "Let me take you to your
cabin."

She offered no argument and he opened her
panel, stepping in behind her. At the sight of the empty
plexishield case, her body went rigid. Her hands clenched by her
side, she trembled visibly. Chase cursed himself for not thinking
to remove the case.

"Here, let me get rid of this." He moved
around and grabbed the case.

"No…wait." She stepped forward and lifted
the lid. Reaching in, she picked up the half-eaten piece of bread.
"He loved your bread," she whispered. "He'd never had fresh bread
before."

Chase set the case down and turned to her.
"It's okay to cry, Nessa. Really. It's not a weakness."

"I
don't
cry," she insisted. Her
fingers stroked the bread. "I shouldn't have left him. What if he
was still alive? What if he was frightened and needed me?"

He touched her good shoulder. "He couldn't
have survived the force of hitting that wall. He never knew what
happened. He didn't suffer. We had to leave when we did."

Nessa looked at him solemnly. "You had to
try to catch Dansan."

Her voice held no recrimination. She could
have blamed him for forcing her to leave her beloved pet behind,
even if it was dead. She could have railed at him for allowing his
obsession with Dansan to take her only companion from her. But she
didn't. Instead, she accepted the harsh realities of a world that
had never dealt her a fair hand.

Again, remorse at his own selfishness swept
through Chase.

"I should never have left the ship." Nessa's
voice shook. "If I hadn't been so stupid, Turi would be alive now."
Her voice broke completely, and he gathered her against him.

"You didn't know," he soothed, although he
should be reading her the riot act for leaving the ship. But he
didn't have the heart in the face of her guilt. He had enough guilt
of his own to judge anyone else. "It wasn't your fault, Nessa."

"It was." A small sob escaped. Then another.
"Spirit, but I never cry."

Chase pulled her closer. "Then now is a good
time to start. Go ahead and cry, Nessa. It's okay."

The floodgates burst, then, and she sobbed
against his chest, wrenching waves of grief and anguish. He swept
her into his arms and sank onto the bunk, cradling her against
him.

He held her, murmuring reassuring words. He
suspected she cried for more than Turi's loss; perhaps for her
parents, or her destitute circumstances. If the duration of the
flood were any indication, she'd been stockpiling tears a long
time.

Finally, the storm spent, she burrowed
against him quietly. Her hands clutched his flightsuit as if it
were a lifeline. Chase stroked the damp curls around her face, an
immense tenderness welling up inside him. He hadn't been needed
like this, hadn't responded to another's suffering in a long time…a
very long time. "Are you okay?"

She raised her tear-streaked face to his,
her eyes reddened, but no longer so haunted. He found himself drawn
into their dark depths as she slowly nodded. He caressed her cheek,
soaking up the dampness there. She had the softest skin, like the
petals of an Elysian starflower.

Of its own volition, his hand slid along her
neck, feeling the erratic pulse there, then to her shoulder.
Wondering if she was that soft all over, he slipped his fingers
beneath her tunic and stroked her shoulder and the back of her
neck. Velvet. His pulse quickened. Her sharp intake of breath told
him she wasn't unaffected by the contact either.

"Chase," she whispered. His attention
shifted to her lips—lush and trembling. Heat spiraled through him,
settling in the lower extremities. He shouldn't do this, he told
himself. He shouldn't. Leaning down, he touched his lips to hers.
She didn't pull away.

Stop this now. You've both suffered
tremendous stress
, Chase's rational side argued valiantly.
She's vulnerable right now—and very innocent
.

But her tentative, sweet foray with the tip
of her tongue, the sensuous feel of her, drove all rational
thoughts from his head. Hormones took over, and he deepened the
kiss. His hand slid down the outside of her tunic, cupping her
breast. She pressed against him and he was lost. Tearing his mouth
away, he kissed the softness of her neck, then moved his lips
lower.

"Nessa, Nessa," he muttered against her
heaving breast. Need bolted through him; need so sharp he felt as
if he'd been hit by a laser stream. He clamped his mouth onto the
soft mound, frantically tonguing the nipple through the rough
fabric. She cried out in surprise.

More. He needed more.

Breathing harshly, he yanked her tunic open.
Her small breasts were beautifully rounded like dainty tarini
fruit. The sight of her nipples beaded into tight nubs sent
shockwaves to his groin. He cupped one breast, rubbing his thumb
over the nipple. She gasped again.

"This is also part of mating, Nessa," he
murmured hoarsely. "Do you like it?" He moved to her other breast
and fondled it. "Do you?"

She arched against him. "Yes. Oh, yes."

She wanted this, too. At least her body
did.

Chase knew with certainty if he slipped his
hand beneath her tunic, he'd find her wet and hot, ready for his
male invasion. He also knew he should slow down, initiate her
leisurely into this new realm of sensuality.

But then she grabbed his hair and pulled his
face up to hers. Her mouth found and mated hungrily with his. He
tasted the salt of her tears, the desperation of her need. With a
groan, he returned her kiss, invading her mouth. He continued
stroking her breasts and teasing her nipples. Her soft moans, her
frantic movements against him, urged him onward.

He pulled her upright, slipping her tunic
off and down her arms. She released him long enough to shake away
her tunic, then pressed herself against him. Keeping their mouths
sealed, he pushed his hands between them, unfastening and tearing
off the top of his flightsuit. She murmured a protest when he broke
the kiss to stand and yank off his boots, then the pants.