The Abduction (7 page)

Samantha’s mouth went dry.
If she’d thought Rikist looked like a wild lion before, then he was an absolute beast lying half naked on his silver sheets. She grabbed onto the edge of the doorframe to keep her shaking hands still against the sudden rush of heat she felt in her core.

Rikist groaned and threw one arm over his eyes.
The round muscles in his chest, arms and stomach clenched as he shivered. “Too bright,” he rasped.

Images
of rolling and twisting lions and tigers snuffed out at the sound of Rikist’s strained voice. Samantha straightened, a sick feeling twisting in her stomach.

Krissik
put his hands on Rikist’s brow and neck, checking his brother’s pulse. He frowned, and then began releasing the clasps on Rikist’s leg brace.

Rikist cried out and reached for
Krissik as the first support came loose. Krissik pushed Rikist back against the bed and growled when his brother struggled. He leaned his weight to pin Rikist’s struggling arms, and the look on his face made it clear he was surprised how easily he was winning.

“You are
feverish,” Krissik said. “Your leg may be infected.”

Samantha
took a steadying breath and stepped into the room. Growing up on her father’s farm, she was well aware of what infection looked like in wounded animals, and the damage it could cause if left unchecked. Standing closer in the light, she now saw the dark circles below Rikist’s eyes and the pallor of his normally tan skin. Several dark patches of bruising were visible on the left side of his ribs and arm, and a four-inch line of stitches cut across his side.

She touched
Krissik’ shoulder. “Do you need help?”

He turned his head toward her, his eyes distraught. He nodded. “Turn the clasps counter clockwise until pressure releases.” He used his chin to point. “
Then pull the support loose of the frame.”

Samantha’s small hands deftly unsecured
the brace clasps one by one, then pulled the support straps loose so that the tension eased and the frames fell away to the bed. By the time she reached Rikist’s ankle he was groaning and shaking, his strength spent.

Krissik eased his weight off his exhausted brother, his eyes wary, and then used his claws to easily rip Rikist’s pants open over his thigh. He hissed and then tore the entire pant leg off, and both he and Samantha stepped back.

Rikist’s leg
had been ripped and pummeled so that purple and green bruises mottled his skin, and several lines of rough stitches cut across his calf and shin. His knee swelled severely, pulling at the edges of the two lines of stitches around the kneecap. A large, purple gash slicing nearly the length of his thigh had been stitched and covered with a wide, clear skin-like bandage. The edges of the wounds on his thigh burned deep burgundy, and crimson lines spider webbed outward between the bruising.

“That is
definitely infected,” Samantha said, eyeing the impressive amount of damage. She looked at Rikist’s closed eyes. “Did you have your knee operated on in the field?”

Rikist sniffed, and brought up a shaky hand to wipe at the sweat in his eyes. “Y-yes.”

“You did not go to the hospital once you landed?” Krissik yelled, his eyes narrowed.

“No.”

Krissik let out an angry snarl, his lips curling back to expose his long, sharp canines and his irises narrowing to thin slits. “You idiot. You should have said something. I am going to call a medic.” He brushed past Samantha toward the door.

Rikist’s arm shot out
toward his brother. “No!”

“You need help.”

Rikist struggled to sit upright, his face pained. “If they know how bad it is… I can not afford to be discharged.” His eyes rolled and he swooned, catching himself before toppling off the bed. “Just get me meds, and I will be fine.”

“
I am not doing this again. You need more than just medication. You need to see a physician.”

Something in Rikist’s face made Samantha pause. Maybe it was the sheer determination on his face. Or the genuine fear in his wide eyes. Her heart broke at the sincerity of his plea.

“Kris,” she said softly.

Krissik
turned to her, his face angry and frustrated. “What?”

“I… I
f you have antibiotics I think with medication the infection will be fine. I’ve seen animals on our farm come back from worse with care.” She shrugged. “I can help. At least give him a day or two and see if he improves?”

Krissik
let out a snarl, and then turned on his heel and stormed out the door. “I will see what I can find.”

Samantha stood silent as
Krissik stepped out of sight and began slamming cabinets in the bathroom, and then made his way to the kitchen. She pressed her lips together and glanced down at Rikist, who had laid back and covered his face with one arm, his chest rising and falling with effort.

“You know
antibiotics won’t help your torn ACL,” Samantha said softly. “That probably needs proper surgery and physical therapy.”

Rikist ignored her.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked. She waited when he did not answer, and then touched his arm. “Rikist?”

He jerked
awake, his eyes fluttering open and sucking in a breath. He blinked, his eyes unfocused, and swallowed. “I’m cold.”

Samantha
frowned, knowing from the small touch that he was burning up. She nodded and picked up one of the blankets that had fallen from the bed. She tucked it around him; careful not to cover his wounded leg. She hesitated, and then rubbed his shoulder through the blanket.

Rikist shivered and closed his eyes, turning his head away.

Samantha looked up as Krissik entered the doorway with a glass of water and two bottles of pills. She stepped back from the bed.

“
You are lucky we still have antibiotics from your last return trip home,” Krissik said, his eyes on his brother.

He set the water down on the nightstand, measured out pills
from both bottles, and then gave them and the water to his brother. He glanced up at Samantha.

“He is alw
ays coming home with new wounds,” he explained. “We keep pain medication in stock. I have considered the fact I should have gone into medicine with all the hands-on training I have completed living with him.”

Rikist swallowed half the water and laid back, his breathing heavy.
His eyes opened to Samantha, and he forced a smile. “Thank you.”

Krissik gently took Samantha’s elbow and steered her out of the room.
“The medication should work soon. Come, we can eat while he rests.”

Samantha nodded and followed him out, though food was the furthest thing from her mind
with the sudden fluttering of butterflies in her stomach as she felt amber eyes on her back.

Krissik
went back in the Rikist’s room after they had finished eating, intent on cleaning and bandaging his brother’s wounds. Samantha did her best cleaning up the dishes and figuring out where everything belonged to keep herself busy. She nearly dropped a glass at a sudden string of screams interlaced with obscenities.

The door to Rikist’s room opened, and a
very pissed-off Krissik exited. He shut the door behind him and hugged his left hand to his chest as blood seeped from between his fingers. He glared over his shoulder and then headed toward the kitchen.

Samantha
started. “What happened?”

“He bit me.”

“He
bit
you?”

Krissik
held up his hand, where a half-circle of indentions and two large fang punctures marred his skin. “See?”

Samantha grabbed
a towel hanging near the sink and wet it, and then wrapped it around Krissik’ hand, applying pressure. He hissed and tried to pull away, but she twisted and wrapped her arms around his so that the only way he could free himself would be to hurt her.

Krissik
sighed and leaned against the counter, letting her work. “It is not severe. We would bite harder as children.”

“You guys would bite each other?”

“When we were upset.” He looked up, thinking, and then chuckled. “Actually, I did most of the biting. I was a… persistent pest at times.”

Samantha grin
ned. “Oh, now
that
I find hard to believe.”

Krissik
smiled at her. “Rikist never hurt me, not really.”

“He was a good older brother?”

Krissik nodded. “He had just joined his squad when the attack came, and was out on the front lines. He survived, earning his first medal of valor only to come home to a mewling youth that he was then responsible for.”

“How old were you?” she asked. “When your parents died?”

“
Fourteen seas… Nine years.”

“And Rikist?”

“Seventeen.”

“Where did you guys live?”

He shrugged. “In our parent’s home for a season. Rikist had to take leave from his position to make arrangements, and then sold the home to pay for help caring for me so that he could work. And we then moved here.”

“
Well you came out all right. And Rikist seems to have done well for himself.”

Krissik
nodded. “He has led his troops into many battles against the resistance, and has brought much honor to our house and our parents’ names. His work is everything to him.”

Samantha pulled the cloth away, checking
Krissik’ hand. The marks had stopped bleeding. Krissik was right; the blood made the wound look worse than it was.

“Is that why he doesn’t have a mate?”

Krissik’ hand stiffened in her grip. After a moment of silence she looked up to see Krissik staring at her.

She frowned.
“What?”

Krissik
forced a smile, though it was tight-lipped. “Rikist is past the breeding age to make the jump.”

Samantha used a clean edge of the towel and wiped away the red stains on
Krissik’ skin. “I don’t understand the age limit part. He looks young enough to pump out a kitten or two. He’s got to be what… thirty?”

Krissik
frowned at the mention of kittens, his face confused. “It is not about the breeding ability, it is about surviving the interplanet jump. After eighty seasons the rate of survival drops to below twenty percent. Rikist is almost ninety-three seasons.”

“Why don’t the younger ones bring back the females for everyone?”

He shook his head. “It is not honorable to take a mate from another’s efforts.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “That’s… that’s sad, actually.”

Krissik looked down at his hand in Samantha’s, and reached out and ran the back of his free hand down Samantha’s cheek, a cheerless smile on his lips.

Samantha
furrowed her brow. “What?”

“You do not touch me often on your own accord. I wish you were more comfortable around me.”

Samantha stared down on the bloodied towel. One of Krissik’ clawed fingers under her chin raised her face to his.

“I will do anything to make you happy,” he said softly, his eyes sincere.

Samantha tightened her jaw against the sudden sting of tears. “Then send me home.”

Krissik
’ smile faded, and he turned away, eyes closed. “I have to check in at work for a few hours.”

He
excused himself to his bedroom and slipped on a clean shirt and black coat. He grabbed a glass touch screen computer and roll of drawings from the pile in the corner of the living room and hurried to the door. He braked, turned, and then ran back to the kitchen where Samantha still stood.

“
There is a communicator on the dresser for you, and you can call me any time if you need something. Just press and hold the top left button to dial me directly.” Krissik smiled, and stole a kiss on her lips. “Please see to Rikist while I am gone.”

Then
he hurried out the front door and locked it.

The morning passed slowly for Samantha, occupied with time spent catching up on the news and flipping through Krissik’ glass communicator. She was surprised at how similar the interface was to the smart phones at home—enough that she wondered whether either race had stolen the technology from the other—and she was able to navigate to the GPS function to begin studying the maps surrounding their current location. Though after two hours her eyes hurt with the endless grid of streets that all looked the same and labeled with names she couldn’t read.

A
lunch of a single but monster-sized egg and tasteless fruit later, she still hadn’t heard anything resembling life from Rikist. She cleaned up and sat on the couch, but a vague sense of worry plagued her, and she found herself standing outside his door.

She knocked before sliding the door open
and poking her head in. “Rikist?”

His heavy, even breathing
let her know he was still sleeping. She ducked her head to leave, and then her curiosity got the best of her and she stepped further into the room.

Rikist lay on his back,
one arm above his head and the other just in the waistband of his torn pants. He snored lightly through parted lips, his face slack and peaceful despite his strong lines and the jagged scar on his jaw. Krissik had done a decent job bandaging the wounds with a new transparent, skin-like dressing, and securing the leg brace over padding to support Rikist’s leg.

Her eyes watched the steady rise and fall of his bare chest as she approached the bed.
She gently laid a hand on Rikist’s brow, testing his skin; even without checking his temperature it was obvious he ran a high fever.

Samantha
left and dampened a washcloth in the bathroom with cool water, and then sat on the edge of the bed and patted away the layer of sweat on his brow and neck. Her fingers brushed against his hairline, pushing a stray lock out of his face. She smiled, admiring the masculine set to his wide brow and thick eyebrows. His lower lip pouted naturally, and offset the harshness of the slight cleft and scar in his square chin.

Rikist
groaned and licked his lips. His bloodshot eyes struggled to open and he sucked in his breath when he noticed Samantha. His brow knotted.

“W
-where’s Krissik?” he managed after two attempts to speak.

“Work. He said he would be back in a few hours.”

Rikist coughed and grimaced, and looked to the glass of water on the nightstand. He started to sit up, but Samantha’s hand on his shoulder stilled him.

“Here.” She
picked up the glass, and then helped tilt it to his lips. A thin line of water dripped from the glass down his neck, and she used the edge of the washcloth to wipe it up.

Rikist sighed and rested his head back. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

Samantha lifted one eyebrow and studied him. “How does your translator work so well?”

“What do you mean?”

“Kris’ speech is clipped, his words limited by the translator. And he doesn’t use contractions or understand my figures of speech... You don’t seem to have any problem with them.”

Rikist settled further back into the pillows. “It’s not my translator.”

“Then what?”

He pointed to his lips.
“I’m multilingual.” He smirked at her shocked expression and closed his eyes. “I travel much—” Rikist said slowly in accented English—“a lot. I have traveled a lot… in the past. For work.”

Samantha grinned; happy to see his lips match his words.

Now I don’t feel like I’m in some crazy foreign monster flick…

“To Earth?”
she asked.

“A long time ago.”

“This is amazing. I’m… I just feel so much better knowing there is someone else… Do you think you could speak English when you’re around me?”

“
I am out of practice, you’ll have to have to correct me,” he said, slipping back into his native tongue. One eye slid open to peer at her. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, why?”

“I am starving.”

Samantha crooked an eyebrow
, fighting a smile. “And are you expecting something?”

“You
to earn your keep.” 

Her jaw dropped
. “What happened to you being off limits from the bitchy mate?”

“I never called you a bitch.” His lips quirked, fighting a smirk. “That is you self-
assessing.”

Samantha
fought the sudden urge to sock him square in his wounded thigh. She lifted her chin and smiled and then turned on her heel and left.

Rikist stared after her. “Hey!”

Samantha reappeared and set something large and cold onto Rikist’s stomach. He gasped and fumbled to grasp the round weight. He held it up, and then glared at her.

“Why did you give me an uncooked egg?”

“Your breakfast,” she chirped in an overly-merry tone. “Served like your attitude—raw.”

Rikist’s
eyes narrowed, and the muscles in his jaw bulged as he clenched. Then he smiled, showing a hint at dimples, and used the tip of one claw to tap a hole in the top of the large egg, and then tilted his head back against the pillow and put the hole to his lips. He poked a second hole into the top of the egg and sucked.

Samantha grimaced at the slurping sound of the egg sliding into his mouth, but could not drag her eyes away from the his Adam’s apple
as it slowly bounced in his muscular neck as he swallowed. She licked her lips as he sucked the last drops of the egg from the large shell; the tip of his long tongue licking the tiny hole clean.

Rikist eyed her when he was through, and then held out the round shell with a wide, pleasant smile
as if he hadn’t known he was putting on a show. “Now, if you are done pouting, can I get some real food?”

Samantha glowered down at him
and snatched up the hollow shell. “Sure. When you get your ass up and make it.”

Then she turned on her heel and left
, leaving the gaping alien behind. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.

Something fell with a clatter
down the hall. Samantha nearly choked. She wiped water from her lips and set the glass down. She strained her ears against the silence.

Rikist cleared his throat.
“Samantha?”

“What?”
she sighed.

“I…
” Rikist paused. “Can you come here?”

“I’m busy.”

“Please?”

That made her eyes widen. She tapped her fingers on the counter, considering, and then walked to Rikist’s room. She leaned against the doorframe
with her arms crossed.

“Yes?”

Rikist lay on the side of the bed, his upper body propped up on one elbow and good leg half off the mattress. Samantha’s eyes followed the long sweep of his shoulders down to his waist. She swallowed, and followed the line of white fur up the center of his abs, between his wide pecs, and up to his waiting face.

He
stared at her solemnly. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Samantha tensed. “And?”

He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and then sighed and closed his eyes. “I… I could use a hand.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

He glared at her. “Are you going to make me beg?”

Samantha grinned.

“Fine.” He growled. He reached for the empty glass beside the bed with one hand and the band of his pants with the other. “Can you at least bring me a clean glass of water when I’m through then?”

Samantha made a face
and stepped back. “That’s disgusting.”

He growled
and slammed the glass down on the nightstand. “We’ll I’m not about to piss my sheets. So if you’re not going to help then I need some other way—”

“Alright, alright,” she shouted. “What do you need?”

“I can’t reach my crutch.”

Samantha glanced to the side of the bed where the crutch lay fallen on the floor away from the nightstand where it had been propped. She realized he had probably knocked it over trying to
stand.

She bent and picked up the crutch and held it out. “Here.”

Rikist took it, and used it to leverage his upper body into a sitting position. He grunted with effort, and then swung his wounded leg over the edge of the mattress. His eyes rolled and he swayed, and despite herself Samantha leapt forward and steadied him. She froze with her arms around his broad shoulders as his warm breath rushed against her skin, and she realized their close proximity. She stepped back, holding his arm at length.

“You OK?” she asked.

Rikist blinked and then nodded. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath and heaved himself to his feet. He stumbled off-balance, and Samantha helped hold him still.

“Put your arm
on my shoulder.” She sighed. “I’ll help you.”

He shrugged her off. “I can do it myself.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“If I need your help, then I will ask for it.”

Samantha seethed.
I should kick that crutch out from under the bastard and toss it across the room.

“You know you put a whole new meaning to the phrase; when you marry a guy you marry his family.”
She stepped back and put her hands on her hips.

Rikist glared at her, and then focused on his feet as he slowly stepped forward. His hand on the crutch
began to shake halfway across the room, and he finally slowed to a stop just shy of the door. His breath came out shaky, and he leaned against the wall.

Rikist glanced over his shoulder,
a drip of sweat on his temple and his eyes pleading.

Samantha didn’t need prodding, and she quickly stepped up beside him, taking his
right arm and resting in on top of her shoulder. Together they hobbled across the short hall to the bathroom, Samantha grunting under his weight with sweat dipping down her lower back as she led him to the toilet area.

He looked at her expectantly
when he stood inside the small room.

Samantha shook her head and slipped out from under his arm. “I am
not
holding you upright while you pee.”

He
grinned sideways, flashing fang; a welcome sight amidst his pale skin and sunken cheeks. “Don’t worry. I don’t want you in here.”

Samantha helped him lean his shoulder against the wall, and then stepped
out and shut the door. “When is the last time you took your pills?” she called through the wall.

“I’m due.”

“What are you going to give me in return if I make you lunch?”

The
toilet flushed, and the door slid open as Rikist finished buttoning the top of his pants. He shot her a suave, crooked smile that Samantha was sure would have made her swoon if he didn’t look like he had one foot in the grave. In English, he said, “Pleasure of my company?”

Samantha shook her head, but couldn’t resist a smile. “I think I’m getting the short end of the stick on that one.”

Rikist’s smile stretched to both ears, dimples deep on his cheeks and his sharp fangs glinting in the overhead fluorescent light. “Hardly.”

“How so?”

The translator kicked in. “I can give you inside information on my brother.”

Samantha grinned back. “Now that sounds like a deal.”