"Your brother," I said, the thought suddenly occurring to me as pieces clicked together in my mind. "Xytol. Is he...?"
"Yes." Xabat nodded, his expression growing thoughtful. "He is Kaelaks, as I am, born under the same twin suns of our homeworld."
Kaelaks. The word felt strange in my mind, foreign and exotic, and yet somehow fitting. I tried to picture Xytol, another seven-foot wall of green muscle and coiled strength.
"Are there..." I hesitated, suddenly feeling small and provincial, like a second grader asking about the world beyond her own small scope. "Are there many species out there? In the stars?"
Xabat's expression softened considerably, the worry melting away to be replaced by something almost wistful. "More than you can count," he said quietly. "Thousands upon thousands, each unique in their own way. The universe is vast,Harper. And it is full of life—civilizations, cultures, and wonders you cannot even begin to imagine."
Seth would have been happy to hear those words, would have peppered Xabat with a million excited questions. The thought sent a pang through my chest, bittersweet and sharp, like pressing on a bruise that hadn't quite healed.
Xabat stood abruptly, his movements careful and controlled, wincing slightly as he rolled his injured shoulder. "I will go to the other end of the building so you will feel safe."
I rolled my eyes, reaching out to lay my hand on his bicep, stopping him mid-turn. "Don't be ridiculous. You're injured. Sit. Let me take care of you." The skin under my fingers felt no different from all the other times I'd touched him—warm, alive, real. Though this time, now that I was looking, really looking, I could see the millions of tiny scales that made up his flesh, each one catching the light like microscopic emeralds, creating an iridescent shimmer across his skin.
Those purple eyes studied me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of fear. Finding none, he agreed with a jerky nod of his head and lowered himself once again onto the pile of beach towels.
I settled on my knees, positioning myself so I could reach his injured shoulder. Even seated, Xabat was a head taller than me. The crazy thing was, I wasn't afraid. Not even a little. Not of him, not of what he was, not of the impossible reality he represented. I'd felt safe with him from the very beginning, from the moment he showed up at the beach house, dripping with rain. Nothing had changed. He was still Xabat. Still the guy who had fought not once, but twice to protect me.
Logically, his being a Kaelaks was no different from someone being Swahili, Russian, or Japanese. Different, yes. Unfamiliar. But still a thinking, feeling being with hopes and fears and dreams. Still him.
The man who'd protected me and taken care of me, who'd risked his life to keep me safe from dangers I hadn't even known existed.
Green skin didn't change any of that.
"Your... um... shirt needs to come off," I said, gesturing awkwardly at the blood-stained fabric clinging to his torso. Heat rose in my cheeks, a flush spreading across my face that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the sudden awareness of just how close we were, how intimate the moment felt.
Xabat huffed out a breath that might have been amusement, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Then he reached down, grasped the hem of his shirt with both hands, and pulled it over his head in one smooth, fluid motion that made every muscle in his torso ripple and flex.
Oh!
Oh my!
My mouth went completely dry, my tongue suddenly feeling thick and useless as I stared at his bare chest, unable to look away. The sage skin did absolutely nothing to diminish the devastating effect of all those muscles. If anything, the exotic coloring made them more defined, more striking, throwing every ridge and valley of his abs into sharp relief, highlighting the thick, corded muscles of his shoulders, emphasizing the powerful, broad expanse of pecs that rose and fell with each breath. He resembled an ancient warrior carved from living jade, all hard planes and raw, coiled strength.
I swallowed hard, my throat clicking audibly in the quiet room as I tried desperately to remember how to breathe. This was absolutely not the time to be ogling him like some hormone-addled teenager. He was hurt, bleeding, and in pain. I needed to focus on that, needed to be competent and helpful.
But God help me, he was gorgeous in a way that defied description, that made me want to memorize every line and curve of him.
My fingers itched to touch him, to trace the defined lines of those muscles with my fingertips, to map the topography of his body with my palms, and feel the warmth and solidity of him under my hands. Heat flooded through me in a dizzying rush, pooling low in my belly, spreading through my limbs like liquid fire. A feeling that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with pure, undeniable want.
Get it together, Harper. Focus.
I doused a gauze pad with antiseptic, the sharp, medicinal smell cutting through the fog in my brain. "This might hurt," I warned, my voice coming out slightly breathless as I lifted the gauze to his shoulder, my hand hovering for just a moment before making contact.
The wound wasn't quite as bad as I'd expected, though it still made me wince in sympathy. A jagged gash cut across the curve of his shoulder, maybe an inch long and wickedly deep, the edges raw and angry-looking. Dark green blood had dried around it in crusty rivulets, creating abstract patterns against his skin like some macabre artwork. Fresh blood, more viscous than human blood, still seeped sluggishly from the center where the cut was deepest.
I pressed the gauze gently against the wound, and Xabat hissed sharply through his teeth.
"Sorry," I murmured, dabbing as carefully as I could manage. The antiseptic foamed an odd pinkish-green as it mixed with his blood, bubbling and fizzing against his skin. "How deep did the knife go?"
"I've had worse," he rumbled.
I didn't doubt it for a second.
I worked as gently as I could, cleaning away the dried blood to get a better look at the damage beneath. The wound wasn't life-threatening—I was certain of that much—and I didn't think it needed stitches. Thank God for small mercies. I had no idea how to stitch up a human, much less an alien. Did his physiology work the same as a human's? Would his tissue heal the same way? Would butterfly bandages even hold on his scaled skin, or would they just slide right off?
"Okay," I said, more to myself than to him, trying to project confidence I absolutely didn't feel. "I'm going to close this up with some bandages."
