Page 17 of Klaz

She shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

I snorted. “And now?”

Cinta glanced around the cramped pod. “Well, the accommodations leave something to be desired.”

A chuckle escaped before I could stop it. Cinta’s eyes widened in mock surprise.

“Was that... a laugh? From the mighty Klaz Renka? I’m shocked.”

I scowled. “Don’t get used to it.”

Cinta’s smile faded. She reached out, her fingers brushing my arm. “You’re hurt.”

I looked down. Blood seeped through my torn shirt. “It’s nothing.”

She snorted. “Right. Because getting stabbed is no big deal.”

I shrugged off her concern. “I’ve had worse.”

Cinta rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you have, big guy. But let me take a look.”

Before I could protest, she was lifting my shirt. I hissed as the fabric pulled away from the wound.

“Sorry,” Cinta murmured.

Her fingers probed gently around the injury. I tried to ignore how good her touch felt, focusing instead on the pain.

“It’s pretty deep,” she said. “We should bandage it.”

I grabbed her hands. “Save the supplies. It’ll heal.”

Cinta frowned. “That’ll take days, maybe weeks.”

I remained silent, watching her face. After a moment, understanding dawned in her eyes.

“Vinduthi heal faster than humans,” I said gruffly. “It’ll be fine in a few hours.”

Cinta’s fingers were still on my skin. She traced the green markings on my chest, sending a jolt through me.

“Fascinating,” she murmured.

I caught her wrist, pulling her hand away. “We need to assess our supplies.”

Cinta didn’t move, her wrist still in my grip. Her hazel eyes locked onto mine, a challenge burning within them.

She licked her lips, and I tracked the movement, like a hunter after the tastiest of prey. “Right,” Cinta said softly. “Supplies.”

With visible reluctance, she looked away, breaking the spell.

I released her wrist, my hand suddenly feeling empty. A growl rumbled in my chest, low enough that I hoped she couldn’t hear it. What was wrong with me? I’d known this woman for mere hours, yet she’d burrowed under my skin like no one else had in years.

I clenched my fists, willing my racing heart to slow. We were trapped in a damaged escape pod with dwindling oxygen. This was no time for... whatever this was.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” I said gruffly, turning to the small storage compartment.

Her fingers danced over the latches, popping them open with practiced ease. I watched her methodical search, admiring her efficiency despite our dire circumstances.

“Not much here,” she reported, pulling out a small medkit and a few ration packs. “Some emergency water, a couple of thermal blankets. No weapons.”