“Who?”
“My dog. Where is she? If you hurt her, I swear to God, I’ll—”
Stark held his hands toward me, palms out. “Your pet is fine. She was shot and injured as well, but did not require the ReGen pod. Her injuries were not as severe as yours.”
“I should be dead.” That was a fact. I knew the moment I was shot that I was going to bleed out right there, my blood soaking into the dirt, the gravel digging into my face like tiny daggers.
“Indeed. I thank the gods you are not.”
His lips were moving, but they didn’t match what I was hearing. “Are you speaking English?”
“No. I am speaking Everian.”
“Then how can I understand you?”
He lifted a hand and pointed to a spot just behind his ear. “Neural Processing Unit. The NPU links to the language centers in your brain, a kind of universal translator. I took the liberty of making sure you had one when I placed you in the healing pod.”
I lifted my own hand, my fingertips locating the bump under my skin. Not there before. Definitely not. “That’s what this thing is? A healing pod? Like inStargate? When the bad Pharoah-bird guy lowers himself into the coffin and is totally healed?”
“I do not know to what you refer, but yes. The ReGen pod can heal most wounds.”
I looked down at the pad I sat on with new respect and caught a glimpse of the partially shattered cover he had apparently tossed onto the floor when he opened it. I looked at the damage, then to him. “Sorry about that. I thought I was in a glass coffin. Buried alive, you know?”
“Rebecca, no. Who would do such a thing?”
I scoffed. How did he know my name? “You’d be surprised. Haven’t you ever seen a vampire movie?” At his blank look I tried again. “How about a mafia movie?” I swung my legs over the side, careful to keep my feet together. I was naked. That was bad enough. He wasn’t about to get a pussy peep show, too.
“No.” His voice was gruff, lower. He stood as if frozen in place. Paralyzed.
My gaze landed on what was left of my clothing—it was in shreds with large burn marks and bloodstains all over it. Wouldn’t be wearing that again. Next to the clothing was my purse, wallet on top and open. So that’s how he knew who I was. I had to assume he also knew where I lived. My date of birth. Shit. My passport was in there, too. Although I wasn’t sure why, since I never went anywhere. Somehow, carrying it around made the dream of traveling the world seem possible.
“May I please have some clothes?”
My request jolted him into action. “Of course.” He left me alone for several minutes. When he returned he was completely dressed. Damn it. He carried an oversized black shirt draped over his shoulder, which he handed to me. “This is the only thing I have. My apologies. I did not expect to find you, and I have not installed an S-Gen machine capable of producing clothing on my ship.”
I pulled the soft material on over my head and inhaled deeply. It smelled like him. Warm and spicy and irresistible. I wanted to bury my nose in it and just breathe. And I wanted him to take off his clothes again. I missed the view.
Once the shirt covered all the important parts, the hem of the much too large top resting in a pool around my hips, he held out his hand. “May I?”
Well, I sure didn’t want to stay in the tiny coffin room. I placed my hand in his and stepped down, off the healing bed, onto the floor.
4
Rebecca
My bare feethad never felt anything so smooth and—“It’s warm.”
“Yes, mate. I heated the floor for your comfort.”
“You what?”
“If you prefer, I am happy to carry you again.”
“Again?”
“When you were injured, I carried you here, to my ship.” His hand settled at the curve of my back, low enough to make me want to press my body to his and see what happened. “You are very small. It is no burden to hold you in my arms.”
Was that eagerness in his voice? Me? Small? Was he on drugs? I was well above average in every department. Height. Weight. Backside and cup size. Yet he towered over me, the top of my head not quite reaching his shoulder. I felt small. Feminine. I believed him when he said he could carry me.
