Page 12 of Down to One
Attraction in the Middle of Nowhere
Blaze
You are an idiot, Blaze, I tell myself. Did seventeen years in the foster care system on Earth teach you nothing?
I’m in the middle of nowhere with a strip of metal as protection against a seven-foot gladiator built bigger than any linebacker on Earth. He’s a killer. He outweighs me by a hundred pounds, and he just ripped off the tiny strip of cloth covering his junk. And, yeah, he waited for me to get injured so he wouldn’t have to run fast to catch me.
I can’t see much of the rough terrain, but I can see Mr. Macho’s cock. His name is Titan, doesn’t that mean huge? It should have been my first hint.
“Come here,” his voice is low and rough.
I hobble back toward where we came from, but don’t get more than ten feet before he’s got my upper arm in his iron grip.
Although I excelled in my rigorous sniper course, I can’t say the same about hand-to-hand combat. I wriggle and pull and attempt a few takedowns, but I can’t slip free.
My knee barely connects with his balls before he lifts me up and almost slams me against his upthrust knee in a move designed to break my back. I watch his eyes open wide, as if his behavior surprised him.
Just as fast as he grabbed me, he sets me down so hard my teeth clack together in pain.
“I was going to bind your ankle. My loincloth happens to be the only clothing I have. Forget I tried. The offer is officially off the table. Keep up or don’t. I don’t care.”
He strides off faster than his previous pace.
“Shit,” I say as I hobble after him. “What was I supposed to think? We’re not exactly besties. You ripped your clothes off the moment we were alone.”
“Just because I kill for a living,Slayer, does not make me a monster. I’m not a rapist. Forget it. I won’t try to help you in the future.”
He takes off again, his loincloth thrown over his shoulder. I follow as best I can, trying not to yelp every time my ankle takes another jolt. Maybe I’m crazy, but I think he’s slowed his pace.
“Titan,” I say when I finally catch up with him. “If you’re, uh, not going to use that loincloth, think I could borrow it?”
He stops, turns, and inspects me longer than we have time for. His blue alien face is hard. Harder than it was back in that gymnasium.
He’s got thick plates on his forehead and cheeks. They aren’t unattractive. They accentuate the masculine planes and angles of his face. His lips are plush and a deep shade of blue. Before our journey, I noticed how good they looked against his blue/green skin. His hair is blue/black in the pale moonlight. It was impossible to miss his piercing blue eyes in the bright lights of the gym. He’s kind of handsome, in an alien way.
“I’m waiting for an apology,” he says, his voice harsh, demanding, his gaze not leaving mine.
This male is a mountain. He kills people for a living. He admitted he might throw me to the wolves if the going got rough. But I think he was offended by my assumption that he was going to assault me.
“Titan, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” my voice is filled with sincerity.
He scoffs and tosses his head, the alien equivalent of an eyeroll. “You can’t hurt a gladiator’s feelings, little female. I don’t have any.”
My traveling companion is a liar. I must have hurt his feelings, or he wouldn’t have demanded an apology.
He kneels at my feet, one foot flat on the ground so his knee is bent at a ninety degree angle, and then pats his thigh. After I remove my boot and place my foot on his flesh, he wraps the rag in a figure eight around my ankle and the arch of my foot. The amount of tension he uses is perfect. He’s probably done this a hundred times.
There’s something bizarrely intimate about this. One of his hands is on my calf, steadying me, the other is wrapping and lifting in turn. His hands are surprisingly gentle.
I almost lose my balance, so I grab his shoulders. He has plating here, too. It reminds me of a pliable shell that baby turtles have. The rest of his skin is like thick suede over steel. It’s a compelling combination of formidable and sexy. I shake my head to banish that thought.
The moment he ties off the end of the fabric, he rises and heads west, seeming not to care whether I follow or not.
I quickly shove my foot into my boot and secure the binding around the ankle. If I didn’t have the bad habit of leaving the bindings loose, the sprained ankle would have never happened in the first place. I make sure the bindings are tight now.
The wrap and tighter binding on my boot help stabilize the sprain and will reduce the swelling, but even using the steel bar as a walking stick, every step sends a shock of pain through me. I clamp my lips together and follow as closely as I can.
I learned how to fight early in life. I had a few foster homes that weren’t bad, but more than my share were just in it for the money. Food wasn’t plentiful and if you wanted to eat, you had to create a place toward the top of the family pecking order.
