Mastered by the Zandians (Zandian Brides 3)

I turn my attention to the humans. The mother and child slave are in shock, but it’s our little warrior who needs the most help.

She’s panting and pale, her shoulder a mess of ragged flesh, bone showing. Blood soaks her tunic, dripping on the floor. Sweat beads her brow and she shudders, over and over. I hate that she’s human—so fragile, despite her courage and skill.

I grab an intact medi-pack, thankful that Dr. Daneth gave us advanced training on emergency medic actions. “I’m going to put this onto your wound.” I open it quickly. “It’s got painkillers and antibiotics, and a proprietary medicine which will speed the healing.” I unfold the device and push the button to activate the SmartSys.

“All right.” Her voice is weak. I grab her wrist; her pulse is thready.

“Veck.” I lay the pack onto her shoulder and she winces, but then her eyelids flutter and she breathes out. “Is it working?”

I peer down, unable to tell.

Domm appears beside me, the downward slash of his brows telling me he’s as concerned as I am. “Is she all right?” He’s already ejected the body of the Ocretion into space.

I shake my head. “I’ve put on the pack.”

Domm squats. “Looks like it’s activating.” The flexible, thin LED panel on the front flashes messages. “Healing started. One percent complete. Medicine administered.”

As we watch, the numbers change. “One point five percent complete.”

“I think she needs more help.”

I take her hand. “What’s your name, little warrior?”

“Mirelle,” she croaks through dry lips and her eyelids flutter closed.

“Mirelle, hang on. We’re taking you back to Zandia and you’re going to get medical care there.”

Her lips move, but her lids don’t open. I can’t tell what, if anything, she’s trying to say.

I look at Domm, raise my eyebrows, but he shakes his head. “I didn’t catch it.”

He motions to me, and we step away from the little female. He speaks in an undertone. “She’s pretty much an enemy capture at this point. Giving her medical treatment is voluntary.” But his jaw clenches. I can tell that he doesn’t see her as any ordinary capture.

I growl. “She helped us escape.”

“After she caused the problem in the first place,” he points out.

“I know.”

“I don’t know what King Zander will do with her.” He crosses his arms like he’s angry, but his gaze is on Mirelle, concern still etched on his face.

There’s something about her that’s irresistible. Clearly, I’m not the only being who feels it.

“I want her.” I’m staking my claim, yes, but also measuring his interest.

My best friend shows no surprise. “Yes. She’s perfect for us.” We both watch as her chest barely rises with her breath. “If she lives.”

Her face gets even more pale and she coughs, but it’s like her whole body can’t handle it.

Fear tears at my chest, more fierce than any I’ve experienced in any battle. Worse, even, than the invasion of the Finn, when I was forever parted from my family at just four solar cycles. Why should I fear for this tiny rebel, a human whom I don’t even know?

It doesn’t make logical sense, but the need to protect her, to help her somehow, overwhelms me.

I sit beside her, leaning my back against the wall, and talk to her unconscious form, as if my words are a scaffolding holding her up in the air so she doesn’t fall. So she doesn’t fly away from us forever.

She coughs—a death rattle—and something seizes in my chest. I touch her hand. She’s getting colder.

“She’s still fading.” My voice is loud with concern. “We need something more. We’re running out of time.”