His Human Vessel (Zandian Masters 5)

When he returned to her side, he held a syringe. “I misspoke earlier. You do require a shot today.”

She nodded quickly because she deserved whatever pain he gave her. She deserved a lot worse than the prick of a needle.

He jabbed it into her flank and injected her with whatever he deemed necessary. She wasn’t going to ask the contents this time. There was none of the intimacy of being held over his lap this time, only the quick, practiced movements of a physician with his patient.

Her chest ached.

Daneth removed the needle and lifted his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

His apology stabbed her heart. She was sure which was worse—the heaviness in his voice or the irony that the one time her arrogant doctor lowered himself to ask her forgiveness, she didn’t deserve it.

“Is everything all right?”

“The implantation does not appear secure, and hormone levels are not where I expected them. I’m going to monitor you closely over the next few days. Hopefully, I can encourage the correct environment to support the embryo.”

She didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed to hear the pregnancy attempt wasn’t over yet, and the confusion, the not knowing only increased her nausea. “I don’t feel well.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

Daneth caught her in his arms before she managed to hit the floor. “What do you mean you don’t feel well?”

“I need to throw up.”

He set her back down and handed her a receptacle, which she filled with her breakfast. “Baby,” he said softly when she finished, sympathy dragging out his tones. “I’m sorry. It was probably the hormones. I’ll get a washcloth.” He returned with a warm, wet towel, which he used to wipe her mouth and face. “Come, sweetness. Let’s get you into bed.”

She couldn’t bring herself to protest the tender treatment she certainly didn’t deserve as Daneth scooped her into his arms and carried her to his sleepdisk.

She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.

What had she done? Her very soul was ripping from her body.

She wondered if she’d made a mistake. A horrible mistake.

~.~

Daneth knew Bayla’s scent was wrong the moment he woke the next morning. He’d noticed she didn’t smell as sweet the planet rotation before but had convinced himself he was imagining things. But, now, as she lay sprawled out like a sleeping goddess on his sleepdisk, he couldn’t deny the slightly metallic scent to her flesh. No being with that aroma could maintain a pregnancy. Gathering her to his chest, he crooned softly in her ear as he picked her up and carried her to his lab. “Sorry to wake you, beautiful girl. It’s all right.”

“What is it?” she croaked, rubbing her eyes. He eased her onto his table. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink from slumber, and her dark waves fell across her face in messy perfection.

“I need to check you again.” He put on his gloves, lubricated the probe, and inserted it into Bayla’s warm body. The hologram verified what he already knew in his heart. The embryo had failed to implant. No sign of it appeared on the projection.

A great weight descended upon his shoulders.

“What do you see, Master?” Bayla whispered, eyes wide.

“It didn’t take.” He dropped his head into his hands, the disappointment too huge to conceal.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice wavered. When he lifted his gaze, he found her lower lip trembled and tears glistened in her eyes.

“Bayla,” he choked, his throat closing. “It’s not your fault, sweet girl. I don’t know what went wrong.” He stood and sighed. “I suppose I should check your hormone levels again. The cocktail I gave you must not have been the right formulation for your particular body.” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t understand it.”

Bayla lay still as he collected a fresh sample of her blood and tested it. Like the previous planet rotation, the sample did not show the rise in hormones he had expected with a pregnancy, even when he’d augmented them with synthetics.

Veck.

Well, at least he had one remaining egg. He could try to create another embryo. It would be his last hope.

~.~

Guilt crunched like broken vows in her belly. It scratched at her skin, rasped in her throat.