He sat perfectly still as I first applied a generous layer of antibiotic cream, the white ointment stark against his green skin. Then I carefully laid butterfly bandages over the cut, pressing the edges down firmly to ensure they'd hold. His skin felt like warm silk beneath my fingertips. Smooth and supple and impossibly soft. Even the millions of tiny scales that covered every inch of him felt incredible—not rough or reptilian as one might have expected, but almost like the finest suede, creating a texture that was mesmerizing and addictive, making me want to keep touching him.
So. Not. Helping. My. Concentration.
I forced myself to step back, putting some much-needed distance between us, and cleared my throat, trying to keep my voice calm despite the heat coursing through my veins. "How's that?"
He tested his shoulder experimentally, rolling it back and forth in slow, deliberate circles, the muscles shifting beneath his skin like tectonic plates. The butterfly bandages held perfectly, white strips stark against his flesh. "Good," he rumbled, and I caught the faintest upward quirk at the corners of his lips. Not quite a smile, but close enough to make my stomach flutter traitorously.
"You should probably go find another shirt," I suggested, trying desperately not to let my gaze linger on the magnificent expanse of his bare chest, or the way the light played across those perfectly sculpted muscles. "For warmth."
And for my sanity, before I did something monumentally stupid like running my hands all over that chest and climbing him like a tree.
Xabat rose to his feet, moving across the room to dig through the racks of clothing, searching for something that might accommodate his considerable frame, while I busied myself cleaning up the used medical supplies, grateful for something to do with my trembling hands.
Now that I wasn't in kissing distance—did I really just think that?—my mind began working better, the fog of attraction clearing enough to let rational thought creep back in.
"So, if Xytol is a Kaelaks like you," I said, wadding up the blood-stained gauze and tossing it in the trash, "is he even on Earth?"
"No." Xabat sighed heavily, the sound weighted with frustration as he pulled a long-sleeved shirt from the rack and held it up against his chest, examining it critically. "I do not know where my brother is."
"But you said you got a message from him?" I pressed, confusion furrowing my brow.
"I did," Xabat confirmed, pulling the shirt on and moving his arms around in a series of test movements. He frowned at the way the fabric pulled tight across his biceps and chest. The pale blue Surfer Dude shirt was clearly too tight. He peeled it off with a grunt of dissatisfaction and tossed it aside, returning to his search. "The message I received from him was the first time I or anyone else had heard from him in years."
"And he didn't tell you where he was?" I asked, watching as Xabat shook his head, his expression darkening.
"He mentioned being held captive in a compound but did not allude to where." He pulled out a red short-sleeved shirt with a cartoon crab emblazoned across the front, brought it to his nose and sniffed experimentally, then his expression wrinkled in distaste, and he discarded it too. Just as well. With his green skin, the bright red would have looked ridiculous, far too early for a Christmas theme.
I finished tossing the used first-aid supplies into the wastebasket and joined him at the rack, my fingers rifling through the hangers as I tried to find something that might actually fit his impressive physique.
"What happened to you and your brother?" I asked softly, glancing up at him from beneath my lashes. "Really?"
Xabat gave a self-conscious laugh. The sound was rough and slightly bitter, tinged with old pain. "What I told you was the truth, mostly. Kaelaks like myself are warriors. Bred and trained for combat from the time we can walk. But some, like Xytol, are born to be scholars instead. From a very young age, we knew Xytol's mind worked differently from the rest of us. While I was in warrior training, learning to fight and survive, he was designing schematics to help build our planet's defense systems, creating technology that would protect our people."
He pulled out another shirt, this one a deep forest green, a couple of shades darker than his skin color, examined it for a moment, then tossed it back onto the rack with a shake of his head. The front of the shirt featured SpongeBob SquarePants, so I didn't blame him. "When the Alliance Council appointed Xytol to the research academy on planet Aristuna, it was a great source of pride for my family, for my entire planet. The research academy accepts only the most brilliant minds in the galaxy. As his brother, it was my honor and duty to escort him to his new post, to ensure he arrived safely."
Xabat's face flashed with such profound sadness, such raw, unguarded grief, that it made my heart ache.
"What happened?" I whispered, almost too afraid to ask.
"Our ship was attacked by the Kerzak when we were en route to Aristuna."
"Kerzak?" The unfamiliar word felt strange on my tongue.
"A brutal, bloodthirsty species. Savage warriors who live for conquest and violence. At least until the new queen took over and began implementing reforms." His face twisted with something dark and bitter, his jaw clenching. "I was a warrior, one of the best of my species, trained since childhood in every form of combat. But I could not protect Xytol. There were too many of them, wave after wave, overwhelming our defenses."
I watched, transfixed, as his fingers ran absently over a scar that traveled horizontally across his chest, a raised line of slightly darker green that I hadn't noticed before. "Xytol was captured. I was left for dead, but somehow survived. Eventually, they took me to planet Ajaxiun, where I was enslaved in the gladiator stables of the Duke's son, Nansar, and forced to fight for his entertainment."
"And you escaped?" I asked, holding out a pale peach short-sleeved shirt for his inspection. The graphic on the front depicted gently swaying palm trees against a sunset sky. Xabat snorted in agreement and pulled the shirt on, the fabric stretching tight over his impressive muscles but still accommodating his frame. It would work, even though it looked like it might split at the seams if he flexed too hard.
"Yes," he said, stretching experimentally to test the confines of the fabric, rolling his shoulders, and raising his arms to check his range of motion. "Nansar planned to use the gladiators in a scheme to murder his father, Duke Ako, and seize power. But thanks to a human female named Willa and her mate Charick, we were able to stop Nansar and expose his treachery."
"A human female?" I blinked in surprise, something uncomfortable twisting in my gut. "Are there—do you know many human females in space?" Why did the idea make me feel so irrationally jealous?
"Yes, I have met several human females since my escape," Xabat confirmed, seemingly oblivious to the green-eyed monster that held me in its grip. "The Duke's mate is a human female, as is our ship's captain. It's why I can speak and read English."
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth, softening the lines of his face.
I studied him for a long moment, my eyes tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, the way the dim light played across the sage planes of his face, casting shadows that only emphasized the otherworldly beauty of his features. My hand moved almost of its own accord, running slowly over his bicep. The muscle beneath my palm felt dense and powerful, flexing slightly at my touch, radiating a heat that seemed to seep into my bones. He was so warm, it felt like standing near a banked fire. So solid and substantial, an immovable force that made me feel safe and small and protected all at once. So utterly alien and yet completely comforting.
