As Ava watched him deposit his bloodstained clothes in the clothing sanitizer and hang their towels in the lav, fatigue hit her like a sledgehammer. She wasn’t used to battle or moving at exceptionally fast speeds or exerting preternatural strength. Those disgusting nutrient cubes must not provide her with enough carbs or whatever Immortal Guardians needed because her legs suddenly felt like jelly.
She sank down on a seat.
Jak’ri returned and sat beside her to check the console.
“Anything?” she asked.
“No incoming communications and no craft in pursuit yet. Maybe the Gathendiens still think we’re heading toward Mila 9.”
“I hope so.”
Slumping in his seat, he offered her a tired smile and took her hand, twining their fingers together. “I haven’t thanked you yet.”
“For what?”
“For saving my life.” He shook his head. “I never would’ve made it off that ship if it weren’t for you.”
“Ditto.”
“That didn’t translate.”
“It means I wouldn’t have made it off that ship if it weren’t for you.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m not so sure about that.”
She wanted to say something more, to tell him how sorry she was that Ziv’ri wasn’t there with them, that they hadn’t been able to save him, but worried that would merely compound the grief he must already be feeling. Until they’d searched the other holding cells, they’d had hope that Ziv’ri was still alive and being kept in a coma or some other state that would prevent her from communicating with him.
Now hope had fled.
Jak’ri glanced at the console once more. “We should probably get some rest while we can. I think initially heading toward Mila 9 will only divert them briefly. Eventually they’ll realize we’d never make it that far and start searching for habitable planets nearby.”
She nodded.
Jak’ri pressed a button on the side of the bank of seats.
The backs of all four slowly lowered as footrests at the opposite end rose, providing them with a nice-sized bed on which to rest since there were just the two of them.
Jak’ri stretched out on the makeshift bed and extended one arm along the empty space beside him to form a pillow for her.
Ava lay down beside him, curled into his side, and rested a hand on his bare stomach, careful not to touch any of the healing incision sites that might still be tender.
His arm came around her, nestling her close as a deep sigh wafted from him. “We’re going to survive this, Ava.”
She nodded, trying to muster up some optimism.
“When we do,” he continued, “I’m going to take you to Purvel. And on a sunny day, we’ll climb to my favorite meditation spot, dive from the cliff, and swim in the Runaka Sea you’ve only seen in our dreams.”
How she hoped that would happen. “I can’t wait.”
Tucking a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face up. His silver eyes met hers for a long moment. “I can’t either.” Then he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.
Her heart leapt. Her pulse began to pound. And the simple touch carried so much tenderness that tears threatened once more.
Ending the kiss, he smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Get some rest,” he whispered.
She nodded. “You, too.”
Relaxing back against the faux bed, he closed his eyes.
Though fatigue clawed at her, Ava remained awake, her mind racing.
Jak’ri slipped into sleep within minutes. Perhaps it was his military training, which she hadn’t even realized he’d had until today. Or maybe just the utter exhaustion engendered by being at the mercy of the Gathendiens for weeks or months on end.
Once she was sure he was out for the count, Ava sat up and stared down at him.
His brow was furrowed, as if all his suffering had followed him into dreams.
Tears threatened once more as she fought the urge to run her fingers through his hair and soothe him. She had only known Ziv’ri for a short time and wanted to bawl her eyes out over his loss. How much more anguish must Jak’ri be stoically enduring from losing his brother and best friend? Because Ziv’ri was clearly his best friend.
Blinking the moisture back, she slipped off the reclined seats and crept around to the medic bag. Ava tried not to make a sound as she knelt and stealthily searched the contents for what she needed.
There. Two bags of blood.
Her blood the Gathendiens had drawn before inadvertently triggering her transformation.
Plucking them out, she cradled one in each hand. They were still cold. Odd. The packaging resembled that of the plastic or silicone bags used on Earth. Yet it maintained the correct storage temperature despite having been removed from the chilly compartment at least an hour earlier.
Ava stared at them. If these things could stay cold, perhaps she should only use one and save the other for later. This was all she had.
“Maybe just one,” she whispered and glanced at Jak’ri to ensure he still slept. She wouldn’t want him to wake up, see her with a bag pressed to her face, and think she was drinking her own blood.
And, too, she might be procrastinating a little.
Or a lot. This was all very new to her.
Just do it already. She’d seen Eliana infuse herself on more than one occasion. She could do it, too.
Drawing in a deep breath, she shifted the bag closer to her face. Fangs slid down over her eyeteeth. And wow it felt weird. That was definitely going to take some getting used to.
Ava cautiously touched a finger to the tip of one fang and found it sharp enough to prick her skin. Grunting, she brought a bag to her mouth and sank her teeth in. Within seconds, her fangs began to siphon the blood in and carry it directly to her veins.
She shivered as the cool temperature seeped through her. Then her body seemed to make some sort of adjustment and she was abruptly comfortable again.
Awesome. She’d heard that Immortal Guardians could control their body temperature, but she hadn’t realized it was an automatic kind of thing.
In no time at all, her fangs emptied the first bag.
Ava set it aside and waited a moment.
Shouldn’t she feel better? She’d assumed it would be kind of a quick thing. She would infuse herself and bam, her injuries would instantly begin to heal.
She glanced down at her arms.
But none of the marks the removal of freckles had left appeared to be getting any smaller.
Perhaps the transformation itself had taken so much out of her that she needed more blood initially.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Two bags then.”
She sank her fangs into the second one, again letting them siphon the blood directly into her veins. And suddenly she didn’t feel so exhausted. The pain in her abdomen that had constantly plagued her since the Gathendiens performed their damned surgeries eased. A lot.
When she glanced down at her arms, her eyes widened. The raw spots where freckles had been removed shrank as she watched and metamorphosed into pale pink scars. Had she not been holding a bag of blood to her teeth, her mouth would’ve fallen open.
She glanced at her bare legs and saw the same thing. Every visible wound closed, shrank and formed pale scars.
The second bag emptied.
Ava set it down, then reached for the hem of her over-large shirt and tugged it up so she could inspect her stomach.