Page 4 of The Hunter's Mate
I open the medical kit and sift through it, looking for sutures, healing salve, and a bandage. I have not ever experienced first contact with an ignorant species before; this is new to me.
Not only that, but the Heavenly Host has instructed us to obscure the truth.
“I am an agent of the Heavenly Host,” I say.
“What’s that?”
Does she know nothing? Now that I think of it, she may have left her village quickly enough that she did not get any Hyperborean transmissions.
“The force that has invaded your lands,” I say. “My mission was to follow any escapees into the swamp, and to return you to your rightful place amongst your people.”
She scowls, her little brow furrowing. “I don’t have any people.”
I cock my head at her. “Humans are being moved to safety inside angelic compounds as we speak.”
“Yeah, those are not my people.” Her eyes dart down to her thigh, where I’ve moved the supplies. “What are you doing?”
“I’m treating your wound,” I say. “You were mauled by a wild animal.”
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” she breathes.
“If I do not clean this, you may die.”
“Then I’ll die,” she hisses.
I narrow my eyes at her. “You will not.”
In one fluid movement, I cut the leg of her pants to bare her pale skin from just below the hip on her left leg. She screams in anger, but I hold her back with my left hand on her shoulder as I clean the ugly wound. She thrashes against me, finally going still and letting out short gasps when I place a line of sutures over the wound. They have a numbing, euphoric effect—and I can sense that she feels it when her breathing slows.
The bandage goes on next, clinging to her skin. I allow myself a single look at her muscular leg—then I pull down a silken sheet and toss it over her, knowing at least that humans have an overblown sense of modesty.
I…respect her.
It is an uncomfortable feeling.
I have hardly ever known humans as anything but servants, and the Boreans claim that they are a primitive species in need of aid…but this female fights me like a true warrior.
I have to admit she intrigues me.
“So what’s your plan?” she asks. “Heal me up and then give me to the…what—angels? I don’t fucking believe that for a second.”
I squat in front of her, my tail flicking across the floor behind me. “What are your doubts?”
“I don’t believe they’re angels,” she says. “I don’t believe this is the rapture, especially now. In fact…I think this is a goddamn spaceship.”
I click my claws against my knee. “For all you know, your human ‘angels’ are extraterrestrials.”
“But they don’t have lizardmen working for them, unless the kooks on the internet were right this whole time,” she says. “You’re a fucking alien.”
Humans aren’t supposed to be intelligent. They’re supposed to be little more than animals; that’s what the Hyperborean Empire has always said.
But she knows what I am.
And to me, she is unreadable.
Unknowable.
“You should get some rest,” I say. “You were injured. I can draw a bath if you wish to clean yourself up—”