On and on and on it went.
Until her little body did not press back against his. Until her arms clung only weakly. Until her eyes had drifted closed, but not from bliss. Asier lifted himself up, and her feeble grip failed. Her arms slid from his shoulders.
A sliver of awareness pierced through the unthinkable, animal haze of lust. He looked down at her still form.
Lyra was dying.
Chapter Ten
A bolt of fear shot through him. It did not dampen the consuming need to rut, but it gave him a second clarity. He pulled back, pulled out of Lyra’s body.
She remained still and quiet. She was covered in his bite marks. Deep punctures, crusted with blood, on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her back.
He’d been marked by her as well, but her teeth had only bruised him, leaving black half moons on his chest, his arms, his throat.
Her skin, once lustrous velvet, was taut and colorless. Dark shadows ringed her eyes. Her lips were pale and dry. Her body was streaked with the dried remnants of his seed. Her thighs were still slick with it.
Despite the fear, the realization of what he’d done, the pheromonal trance was still upon him, still urging him back inside her body.
He fought through it. He knelt beside her and gathered her gingerly into his arms. Holding his breath, and moving with an unsteady gait, he carried her to the medbay.
The ship was small, with only one quarantine cell, but it would be enough. He laid her on the medical table, backed out of the cell, and blindly set the quarantine for the first timescale offered by the computer. A heavy glass partition slid down, sealing her inside. The cell was impenetrable, and would not open until the quarantine expired. It would keep him away from her. It would keep her safe.
He opened the trauma program and initiated the human physiological mapping.
Thank the seven moons he even had the programming for humans in his medbay. The vast majority of Scaeven ships did not. They should never need it. But in his work chasing down human traffickers, it’d seemed prudent to have it installed, just in case. The computer chirped and inside the cell, medbots emerged from bulkhead hatches on articulated arms.
Asier sagged, bracing himself wearily against the quarantine glass. Inside the cell, the medbots were checking her vitals, scanning for injuries, installing an IV to give her fluids and electrolytes.
The computer chirped at him.
PROGNOSIS: FAIR
Fucking hell. What had he done? He slid to the floor, clutching his head in his hands.
When she opened her eyes, Lyra found herself flat on her back, staring up at an empty black ceiling. A vent mounted into the overhead created a gentle, continuous updraft. On three sides, she was enclosed by black bulkheads. But to her left, a wall of thick glass. Where was Asier? And where was she?
She tried to sit up, only to find herself held down by soft bands strapped across her body. She reached to unfasten them, and found an IV in her arm.
What in the flying fuck?
And then she remembered, dimly, the unrelenting clutch of her body on his, the collision of flesh, the roll of hips, the taste of skin and sweat and…
Using one hand, she unfastened the straps. The surface she lay upon was a padded medical bed, single-wide, but obviously meant for bodies much larger than hers. She sat up slowly. There was no dizziness, no nausea, no pounding headache. Except for the IV in her arm, she could’ve believed she’d simply fallen asleep and been carried to a bed. But obviously, something had gone very wrong.
She turned towards the glass, looking into the white sterility of what could only be a medbay.
And there was Asier—on the ground, his back slumped against the glass of her enclosure. Instead of the tactical jacket she’d become so used to, he wore a plain black shirt, smoothly woven, with short sleeves, revealing massive, muscular, iron-skinned arms. His trousers were a darker gray than his skin, cuffed at the ankle over sturdy black work boots. His silver-bright hair was neatly plaited and tied at the back of his neck.
“Asier?”
He sat bolt upright, twisting to see her. When he saw she was awake, he surged to his feet. “Lyra? Are you alright?”
She nodded and slid off the bed, coming to the glass to look up into his stricken features. His golden eyes gleamed in an alarming way.
“Are your eyes glowing?” she asked, forgetting about everything else.
He blinked, and then blinked again. The glow dulled to where it could be mistaken for the reflection of the ship’s lights. “Probably,” he said. “Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine. You’re going to have to elaborate on the glowing thing.”
A smile pulled ever so faintly at the edge of his mouth, and then died away. “It’s an emotional response,” he said. “To pain. And grief.”
Lyra frowned up at him, worry and confusion combining to make her heart pound. He’d been driven to the Scaeven equivalent of tears? “Are you okay? What’s happening? Let me out of here.”
Outside the glass, a digital chirp sounded. Asier looked away from her, examining something she couldn’t see from her side of the glass.
“Your heart rate is increasing,” he said. “Are you certain you’re—”
“Asier!” Lyra pounded a fist on the glass. “Let me out of here right now and explain what the hell is going on!”
Asier hesitated, regarding her soberly. “I can’t let you out. You’re under quarantine. The ship won’t open your cell for another three zeitraums.”
Quarantine. A prickle of fear ran down her spine. “Why? How long have I been in here? Have I caught something?”
Asier pressed his palm against the glass as if he could reach through and touch her. “You’re healthy. You’ve been asleep for less than a single zeitraum.”
Then it’d be four zeitraums in total… she’d be under quarantine for nearly three Earth Standard days.
“I put you in there to keep you safe,” Asier continued, his voice becoming heavy. “From me.”
Lyra’s brow furrowed. “What—”
“I couldn’t stop, Lyra.” His other hand pressed to the glass. He stared down at her, his face a mask of agonized self-recrimination. “I almost killed you because I couldn’t control myself. I just… I couldn’t stop.”
She wanted to reach up and touch his cheek, smooth the haunted grimness from his face. She settled for pressing her palm to his giant one, with three inches of quarantine glass separating their skin. “We couldn’t stop, Asier. I couldn’t control myself either.”
“And yet I’m not the one who needed medical intervention.” His scorn was directed entirely at himself, but Lyra couldn’t help but feel ashamed of her delicate human fragility. He was indestructible compared to her. He was an iron monument and she was a wet napkin.
“What happens when the quarantine is up?”
Asier sighed. “There are two possibilities.”
Lyra raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“We’re still on course towards the merchant station on the edge of the human boundary. From there, you can board a Ravanoth vessel headed for human territory. It may be a patchwork journey, but you’d eventually make it to your home.”