To Rentir’s dismay, she gently pried away from his tail and stepped forward. When she rested her hand on the sleeve of Melam’s thick suede coat, Rentir’s blood nearly boiled. He checked his instincts, recognizing the gesture for what it was, even through the haze of hormones: sympathy for his suffering. The pain of losing a brother… Rentir knew it all too well. The cullings of his childhood stood out even among the violence that hounded his adult life. He could not begrudge the man her compassion.
“Thank you,” the male said, looking down at her with his glittering eyes. He cleared his throat hard. “Well. What’s done is done. Let us tend to your injury, Cordelia.”
Some of Rentir’s goodwill soured at the way Melam purred her name.
CHAPTER 21
Rentir’stail gripped Cordelia as they trailed through the winding halls after Melam. When she’d tried to pry it loose, he’d only tightened it around her, shooting her a disapproving glare.
Apparently, aliens are clingy.
It was clear he was concerned for her safety, but she also thought he might be… jealous. Being around him at times felt like being a kid’s first crush on the playground. There was a strange sense of responsibility growing within her. He was so naïve, so forthright. Handling this the wrong way would likely crush him, but what the hell was the right way?
When she pried Rentir’s tail away again, he let it hang between his legs, shooting furtive glances at her that she pretended not to notice.
“Through here,” Melam said in his deep, bass rumble.
A door slid out of their way as he pressed his palm to it to reveal a sterile white medical facility similar to the one at the base. Rentir kept himself between her and Melam as they entered, ushering her over to the medpod on the far side of the room. She studied the buttons he tapped to bring the pod online and pop the glass cover wide open.
Rentir shot a glare at Melam. “Leave us.”
“Rentir…”
Rentir ignored her, pointing at the door. “Out,” he barked.
Melam gave him a wry look, but he did as he was bade. The door slid shut silently behind him.
“What was that about?” she asked.
Rentir turned back to her. His tail waved restlessly behind him.
“Your injury is beneath your shirt. You will have to remove it, or the medpod will do it for you, and it will be of no use to you after that.”
“Oh. Right.” She turned her back to him and tugged the hem of her shirt out of her pants, dragging it up over her head.
Rentir reminded her so much of Felix; he’d always been one step ahead of her.
He’d bring her lunch when she was too focused to hit the cafeteria, grab her coat at the end of the day, and never let her get her own doors. Little acts of chivalry she’d never asked for and didn’t need but couldn’t help appreciating. When she’d gotten chewed out for a failed simulation, he’d cracked open a can of tuna in the mission control room over a long weekend in retribution. Her resolve had died by a thousand cuts—until one day she showed up for work, and she could no longer lie to herself that she felt nothing for him.
He had been her friend, and then her best friend, and then… they teetered on the edge of something more for a year before the doomed flight. She’d been so afraid to take that plunge. There had always been some reason why it was better not to take the risk, and so they danced around each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. She’d been sure he would get tired of waiting, but Felix had treated her like the center of the universe to the very, bitter end.
She had never been able to escape the feeling that it was his devotion to her that destroyed him.
Cordelia shook herself. None of that mattered right now. She needed to deal with the wound in her side so she could get back to looking for the others.
“Hold this.” She draped an arm over her breasts and handed him the shirt.
His gaze was a phantom touch whispering over her skin.
He swallowed hard enough that she heard it as he took the balled-up shirt and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. She sat on the edge of the pod and maneuvered her way in. Only when she was more or less concealed did she let her arm drop.
She’d been ready to jump him last night, but now she felt oddly vulnerable about being nude in front of him. Despite how ludicrous it was given the circumstances and how briefly he’d known her, she was sure he didn’t just want sex from her, and somehow that was worse than the alternative.
“Please remain still,” the pod said pleasantly.
It scanned over her, and a nozzle stretched out of the wall, spraying something with a sickly smell over her wound. She winced and squirmed as the gel in her wound began to dissolve. Her eyes pricked with tears at the burning pain.
“You are experiencing distress,” the pod announced. “Administering sedative.”
