Page 14 of 20% Blood 80%
“Not at all.” His palm floated over his collarbone, covering the two puffy holes.
I licked my lips. The sight of my mark on his pale skin sparked a yearning low in my stomach. A craving for his closeness as much as his lifeforce. The healing effects of his blood curled through my limbs, drawing me closer, connecting us like the velvety smoke of burning whisper vine. Though I shouldn’t need blood again until the new moon, an aching thirst I’d never experienced—one not driven by injury or hunger—strained my shaky resolve. Silver’s vein thrummed in his neck like a blue beacon calling me.
No longer able to control the pull, I bent to brush my lips against his neck.
The haze cleared from his eyes, and he jerked to his feet, jumping away from me. His hands fumbled to cover his lap, drawing my attention to the stiff length tenting his coveralls.
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked.
A hard lump formed in my throat, and I struggled to swallow. Though I wanted to linger on the vision of him dazed and aroused, I owed him an apology, and I needed to make sure he was okay, not ogle his fun zone. I jiggled the container of water in his direction. “Thirsty?”
Silver hustled backward toward the door, still covering his groin. “Thirsty, yep.” His eyes darted to my mouth, but he made no effort to take the container. “I’m good. G-great.” He picked up the shredded pieces of the shirt I’d removed before crawling into bed last moon. At the time, death had seemed right around the corner. “I’ll just wash these and get them back to you.”
“Don’t worry about it. They’re garbage—” The door swooshed closed behind him, cutting me off before I could explain.
Moments later, it opened again, and a trolley rolled into the room. Just a trolley loaded with crates. No Silver. Only his voice slipped in with it. “I found some food.”
“Hang on.” I rushed to the closing door. “I need to apologize.”
I heard footsteps running down the corridor before the door shuttered closed again. Why would he be hurrying to wash my ruined shirt? Earthers were confusing. I sighed. Though, if he was giving me food, that must mean he wanted me around even after I’d stolen his blood without consent.
I drained the water from the container I’d filled for Silver and approached the stack of crates. Though the sweltering temperature made my head swimmy, a newfound energy buoyed my spirits. Thermal Station C no longer felt like a trap, but a fount of possibilities.
“C? Do you have an info packet on Earther behavior?”
If a towel existed among this cargo, I’d be happier than my brother the rotation his younglings were born.
“Good morning, D’alton of Clan Lasting. Human behavior is complex. Can you narrow the topic of interest?”
Black hinges creaked as I opened a lid. Dried meat. My stomach rumbled. Not as satisfying as fresh meat, but I wouldn’t complain. The wrapper crinkled when I ripped it open with my teeth. Savory and salty—saliva pooled in my mouth at the taste. All the while, questions cycled through my head.
Anatomy? Nope, too personal. Compatibility? Reeked of desperation. Blood nutrient composition? Too telling.
Despite knowing C was an AI, I censored myself. Boola were private. It seemed like a breach of privacy to go behind Silver’s back, but I needed something to impress him. Some way to make up for attacking him earlier.
“What do Earthers fear? And if you have anything on ah…mating practices.”So much for filtering my thoughts.
His reaction to me drinking his blood sent my questioning mind spiraling into the bedroom. Though it didn’t take much to drive my mind to the bedroom. It would be stuck there perpetually now, with Silver as my only companion.
I shook my head before my imagination required me to take my d’ink in hand and run my ring up and down it.
Would Silver lose interest if I mentioned I was a soil guardian, like every other potential mate I’d met on D’ulanna? If I’d chosen a career as a warrior, or even run a shipping company like my brother—anything besides growing food—I’d likely have someone to fulfill my increasing mating needs. I twisted the gold ring, shuddering as my thoughts returnedto the drugged expression on Silver’s face earlier. My hand was becoming more unsatisfying by the rotation.
Despite the poor pay and long hours alone, the soil called to me. Caring for the seeds, tending the young shoots and nurturing them as they grew strong and healthy filled me with purpose. They brought me more joy than any of the failed matches my brother had attempted to saddle me with; connections that had never ended with a vitae tie, the blood mate match Boola coveted.
“I will prepare a package and send it to your wristport. It will take some time, as there are many references on these topics. Remember to scan your palm at the terratherm hub so I can track your biometrics.”
“Thanks, C. I will.”
Making quick work of the bins in front of me, I sorted the useful—towels compressed to the size of my thumb, tooth tablets, sani-foam, jerky, seeds, energy paste—from the useless—female hygiene products, underwear that looked like tooth floss and boots three sizes too small. A quiver of arrows and a launcher made my heart skip a beat at my good fortune. If Silver was leaving me with weapons, it meant he didn’t consider me a threat.
Sucking on another strip of jerky, I decompressed a towel and headed to the shower. How did I show Silver that I was an asset? That he could depend on me? I sprayed the sani-foam over my head and scoured my dense curls with my nails, cringing at the mess swirling down the catchment. Pink sand coated the half-digested contents of my stomach. It seemed forever ago that I’d vomited inside my helmet while plummeting to my almost-death in my family’s malfunctioning pleasure craft. I rinsed the rest of my body with a quick sluice of water. Sola’s blaze, how had Silver handled the stench? His nose had been buried in my hair. I shuddered.
I toweled off, searching my mind for ways to impress Silver based on the observations I’d made. He’d been down here for months. His sleeping pod was full of containers covered in green residue. He’d panicked when his oxy tank had run out of air.
He must have been craving red meat as much as me in his isolation. I could hunt. About to slather the now-much-smaller gash in my leg with another palmful of revive gel, I paused. With fresh blood coursing through my veins, the raw red edges had already softened to pink.
Mind settled, I unsealed a black uniform from the crate, eyeing the glowing orange volcano on the shoulder—Thermal Station C’s insignia. It looked like it might fit. A couple tightened notches on the belt later, I smoothed my hands down the sturdy fabric and lifted the collar.
