The Vanished Specialist (The Lost Planet 2)

They file us in, one by one, and with each step closer to the yawning doorway that will lead me to my fate, my chest squeezes tighter and tighter. I know mentioning my need for an inhaler will fall on deaf ears, so I try to control my breathing, remembering the techniques my mother taught me.

“Relax, Emery. Listen to the sound of my voice.”

The sound of her words is faint, has gotten more and more so in the years since she passed away, and it does little to drown out the sound of the others’ weeping or the guards’ sharp directives. My breath wheezes and spots dance across my vision as the line of us moves closer to the door.

I don’t know where we’re going and I wouldn’t dare to ask, even if I could get the words around my labored breathing. The last one who tried to speak got a vicious backhand for her troubles. I have enough problems without drawing attention to myself.

“Breathe, little one. You have to breathe.”

It’s my turn. The guard beside me shoves me through the doorway and my lungs seize as I stumble forward. A scream catches in my clenched throat and I fall.

I jolt awake, my lungs and body both aching. A pair of strong arms are around me and I glance up at the concerned—or at least I think it’s concerned—expression of the alien who took me from where I was resting. My legs are wrapped around his waist, his hands warm at my back. I must have fallen asleep on the trek from the rooms where Aria was keeping me.

He shifts all my weight to one brawny arm, somehow managing to balance as he walks, and brings his free hand to press against the juncture of my throat. “Breathe, little one. You must relax or the commander and his mate will surely rekking send me to The Eternals, skinned and butchered like a rogcow.”

I struggle to do as he directs, my stubborn lungs fighting me with every inhale. I was dreaming. It was just a dream. I focus on the sound of his soothing words to clear away the cold press of fear.

“That is it,” he says, adjusting me again until I’m snug against his chest. “We are almost there.”

The one the others call Calix is the only thing about my new reality that doesn’t frighten me. He should. He’s nearly seven-foot tall with ghost-white skin and jet-black, close-cropped hair. His size alone should be intimidating, even if he weren’t an alien. But he also wears glasses that are currently balanced precariously on the edge of his nose and there’s a tablet stylus tucked behind one of his pointy ears. If he were an awful alien or monster, he wouldn’t look so…normal. Something about him put me instantly at ease, more so than any male I’ve ever come in contact with—this planet or elsewhere.

“There? Where are we going?” I ask breathlessly. My cheeks are raw with the remnants of my tears. I want to scrub away the sign of my weakness, but I can barely hold on to his neck as it is.

His arms tighten around me. “I am taking you to my lab. You will be comfortable there and it will give us time to heal you. Do not worry, my lilapetal, I will not fail you.”

The farther we get from the bustle of the main building, the more my chest eases. I take comfort in his presence. Enough that my breathing begins to settle as I become distracted by the melodious lilt of his voice. I could listen to him talk forever. “Lilapetal?”

The length of his long, clawed fingers tangle in my hair in soothing strokes, then return to my waist. “A flower, delicate, one of the only to survive the harsh climate here on Mortuus. It is elegant and beautiful, but strong. It reminded me of you the moment I saw you.”

“That’s so sweet of you to say.”

We reach a door and Calix shifts my weight to wave an armband. The door opens with a swish and we stride through.

“Good solar, Calix. How may I assist you?” a digitized female voice greets.

“Silent mode,” he grunts out. Then to me, he says, “Uvie. She is a computerized program that we use when we need assistance with our duties. I will not require her assistance this solar.”

Opposite the doorway, I see our reflection in a row of tall glass-fronted cabinets. Even from a distance, I wince at the reflection of my pale face. It almost blends in with the snow-white color of his skin. My hair hangs in limp strands, the once bright blond locks knotted and unwashed from the long stay in the cryotube and then in the sub-faction, as they called it, barely able to move once I was woken up.