The creature's spiked hair embedded itself deeply into my flesh, leaving behind angry red welts and a trail of drying blood.
Awesome.
I need to clean it better than that field rinse.
The sleek black suit that clings to my body like a second skin offers some protection but hinders access to the wound. I close my eyes, picturing the suit peeling back just over the affected area.
I assume it's made of nanites, since Drasuk says I have a bunch of the little robots.
Maybe they'll respond to a direct command.
"Open," I murmur, focusing on the area around the embedded hair spikes.
Nothing.
Frustration bubbles up. Maybe it only responds to spoken commands in English, or genali, the language it was programmed in.
I think back to the pod I woke up in and remember I didn't use my voice.
Fuck. How could that possibly have been only yesterday?
I sigh, picturing myself reaching up and pulling my shirt over my head. This triggers a response. The familiar buzzing sensation fills my ears as the top half of the suit dissolves into its nanite form.
I wonder if it retreats into my skin or simply compacts. I shudder when I imagine the former.
I don't want to know.
Either way, here I stand, suddenly naked from the waist up, the cool air sending shivers down my spine.
This is ridiculous.
I can't just stand here exposed. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Drasuk watching me, his amber eyes gleaming with something I haven't seen in them before.
My cheeks flush.
"Are you even less protected than I thought?" he rumbles, his voice a deeper rumbling of rocks than usual. "I thought the black hide was your natural skin protection."
"Stop looking, hand fornicator," I snap back, immediately regretting the childish insult.
It didn't translate properly, and judging by his expression it's another amusing moment for him.
"Hand fornicator?" he echoes, the spines along the top of his head betraying his confusion.
Or at least I'm beginning to make that association.
"Ugh," I groan, burying my face in my hands. "Never mind. Just... don't stare."
"Your hands or mine?"
"I'm not answering that, Drasuk."
"Definitely yours, then. They are small, but I'm sure you would make up for it with enthusiasm," he quips back, a sly tone in his rumbling voice.
My jaw clenches. As always, he is infuriating and enjoying any sign of discomfort.
When will I learn not to show it?
I ignore the part of my mind telling me I like it and try a different approach. "Hand fornicate off. Stop fornicating with me."
