Page 24 of Hope Forged
Illan scowled at her calling it sweetheart. When he drew near, its four ears twitched, and the hair along its spine bristled.
“Here.” He handed the med-gun to her. “Press this button and run it over its wounds.”
“Seba’s a he,” she mumbled, studying the med-gun. While crooning to the creature, she moved from limb to limb whenever the device pulsed a light. “This is incredible,” she said, her tone filled with awe while she waved the med-gun over her wrists.
“Keep it,” he said, the blue depths of her mouth disrupting his focus.
She gasped and clutched the med-gun to her chest. “That you would give such a gift…” She straightened. “Seba’s healed. A good turn is not repaid with deception. That’s the Durn way. Your people said they’d retrieve your ship. Call them. Have them collect us.”
“It is not needed.” He activated his O.D.I., using it to hide his expression. Her trust was…indescribable. Not to mention the relief that poured through him. “Ulta, three to port, and do not be alarmed.” He touched her shoulder and buried his fingers in Seba’s fur at his neck.
“What do you mean—” Ulta blinked, having swiveled in his seat to face them as they phased in.
“He is friendly…for the most part,” Illan said, his gaze fixed on a gawking Ziamee.
“How?” She gasped.
“Teleportation,” he mumbled, cupping her elbow and keeping her close. “Summon Brac. Seba likes fish if he wants to charm the beast. Warn the ship.”
“Greetings, strange species,” she said, her wide eyes absorbing everything. “Illan, he’s bronze,” she leaned in to whisper.
Illan smiled. “He is Etterian, and they have excellent hearing.”
She scoffed, sparking his chuckle. “I’m speaking Durn.”
“Welcome to theCeleeri, milady,” Ulta said in accented Durn.
“Elorach,” she muttered, her cheeks darkening. “You could’ve warned me.”
Illan arched a brow. “When I was lucky to get you onto my ship?”
She grinned. “True. How do you know our language?” she asked Ulta.
He waved his forearm. “I have activated the language protocol for Durn.”
She gaped. “I didn’t know that was possible.”
A distant growl made him realize Seba had wandered off. She bolted, the loss of her warmth noted before he rushed after her, half expecting to find another male trapped beneath the beast’s weight.
He stumbled to a halt. In the common, sprawled beside the trestle table, was Seba. Between his giant paws was a gigantichaunch of meat. Brac ran his O.D.I. over the pet, his fascination in his frantic fingers tapping the holographic letters.
“He is beautiful,” he said to Illan.
“His name’s Seba,” she said, spinning on the spot as she assessed the space.
“May we leave it with you, Brac?” Illan caught her elbow and ushered her to the officer quarters leading off the common—only the best for a Durn.
“It’s smaller than expected,” she said, peering into his bedroom, then the cleanser.
He ignored her, heading to the replicator. “Come, let us order your garments.” He sifted through the options, casting glances at her to calculate her measurements.
When the first item formed, she cried out, lunged back, then leaned around him to poke it.
“A tunic,” he said, nudging it off the glass surface. Pants appeared next—a smaller version of Etterian armor. She’d appreciate the pockets and their durability. “Pants,” he said.
After thunking down the med-gun he’d given her, she took the pants and flicked them out, only to hold them against her body. Boots were next. He used his foot beside hers to gauge her size. Metal strips were embedded in the leather to protect the wearer from the dagger’s blade. Replicator-created Maloidian steel was weaker than the real product, but it would suffice.
She blinked at the pair sitting on the replicator. “For me?” she asked, her fingers twitching as if to reach out, but she held herself back.
