He hesitated. His torso was a patchwork of human and machine—scars from his military days intermingled with the metallic skin that covered his left hand and extended up over his shoulder and onto his chest. No one other than his fellow cyborgs had seen him without his shirt since the change.
“I need to see the wound properly,” she said more softly, reading his reluctance.
With a short nod, he pulled the torn and bloodied shirt over his head. The cool air of the station hit his skin, making him acutely aware of his exposure. The wound on his side was a set of three parallel gashes, the edges already knitting together but still seeping a mixture of blood and some clear fluid he’d never seen before.
Her sharp intake of breath made him tense, but her face showed no disgust, only concern as she examined the injury.
“These are deep,” she murmured, running the scanner over the area. “And there’s something interfering with your nanites.”
“I can feel it. They’re working slower than normal.”
She set the scanner down and reached for a sterile cloth, gently cleaning away the fluid. Her touch was light but confident, and somehow intimate despite her professional demeanor. He found himself holding his breath as her fingers traced the edge of the wound.
“There’s a residue here,” she said, showing him the cloth. The apparently clear liquid had stained the white material light blue. “Some kind of secretion from the creature’s claws, I suspect.”
“Poison?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But it’s definitely affecting your healing rate.” She reached for a vial of gold liquid. “This should neutralize most biological agents. It might sting.”
The solution did more than sting—it burned like fire as she applied it to the wounds. His muscles tensed, but he made no sound. He’d endured far worse during his conversion.
“Sorry,” she murmured, her face close to his as she worked. “Almost done.”
He could smell the faint scent of her hair—something clean and sweet that reminded him of the hydroponic gardens in New Arcadia. It was distracting in the best possible way, taking his mind off the pain.
“There,” she said finally, applying a synthetic skin patch over the wounds. “That should help your systems process whatever was interfering with the healing.”
She didn’t step back immediately, her eyes traveling over the rest of his torso, taking in the mix of flesh and technology and the numerous scars. He had to fight the urge to cover himself, to hide the evidence of what he’d been and what he’d become.
“Does it bother you?” The question escaped before he could stop it.
Her eyes met his, clear and direct. “What? The cybernetics?”
He gave a sharp nod.
“No,” she said immediately. “They’re part of you. They’re what keep you alive, what make you… you. The scars bother me more because I hate the thought of you being injured.”
She put her hand lightly on his chest, just above where his enhanced heart beat a steady rhythm. The simple touch sent his senses into overdrive, reacting to the pressure, the warmth, and the slight tremor in her fingers.
“Your heart rate is increasing,” she said with a small smile. “Are your systems functioning properly?”
“It’s not a problem with my systems. It’s because you’re touching me.”
The confession hung between them, honest and vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be. Her smile deepened, and she leaned closer, her hand still on his chest.
“Zach?”
“Yes, Cass?”
“Are you going to kiss me again or not?”
She said it with the teasing look that broke through all his defenses. With a low growl, he pulled her against him, capturing her mouth with his. Her arms went around his neck and she returned his kiss eagerly. The taste of her flooded his senses, warm and sweet and intoxicating.
Her hands traveled along his shoulder and down his chest, mapping the line of metal and skin, tracing the scars, finding the human parts of him and making them come alive. The need to possess her, to claim her as his own, almost overwhelmed him, but he pushed it down, determined not to frighten her with the intensity of his reaction.
Her hands moved lower, sliding over the ridges of his abdomen. Her fingers teased the sensitive area just above his waistband, and he shuddered.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” he whispered, his voice rougher than usual, his body already anticipating her touch.
