He shrugged.
“It only took out my primary heart. Drake Monstrum have a secondary heart too, down here.” He pressed one hand to his abdomen. “When the primary heart goes out, the secondary one takes over. So that’s what happened.”
“I wish I would have known about your freaking extra heart!” Iyanna told him, her voice shaking. “I…I thought I’d lost you! Dra’vik, I felt…there are no words for how I felt when I thought you were dead. I can’t…”
But she couldn’t go on, because tears were stinging her eyes again. The memory of that terrible moment of loss—of knowing that she would never seen him again—was too much.
“Aw, little girl—I’m so fuckin’ sorry I scared you!” Dra’vik looked at her anxiously, like he wanted to comfort her. “Wish I could hold you right now, but I’d burn your skin off,” he rumbled.
“I…I believe it.” Iyanna sniffed and twisted her head to blot her wet cheeks on the shoulder of her golden jumpsuit, since her hands were full with the flower pot.
But the motion hurt the place where Baronet Sin’estor had hit her and she winced and gave a little cry of pain.
“Gods, little girl, are you all right?” Dra’vik stopped walking and crouched down to get on her level. “No, don’t touch me—just let me see your face,” he commanded.
Iyanna tilted her chin up obediently, letting him examine her wounded face in the light from the arching street glows above them.
“Fuck!” Dra’vik’s face grew dark. “What the hell did that bastard do to you while I was down?”
“He pistol whipped me—hit me with his gun, er, his blaster,” Iyanna said. “And he tried to…to rape me…” She shook her head, emotions rushing through her so fast and hard she almost felt like she might be carried away by them, like a drowning swimmer in a turbulent river. It made her glad of the heavy flower pot in her arms—it gave her balance and grounded her.
“He didn’t do it, though—did he?” Dra’vik asked anxiously. When she shook her head, he blew out a breath of relief that felt like a draft from an open blast furnace as it bathed her face and fluttered through her locs. “Thank the Goddess,” he growled. “But just the fact that he tried makes me want to kill that fucker all over again!”
“Forget about him—he’s dead. You made sure of that.” Iyanna shivered, remembering the flailing, screaming torch the Lix’dorian drug dealer had become. “Right now, I just want to get out of here. I’ve never been anywhere I felt so vulnerable—so in danger of getting attacked every single minute I’m here. And I’m so damn tired of it!”
“Don’t blame you one fucking bit, little girl,” Dra’vik growled. “And we’re going back to the spaceport right now—I promise. Only…” He grimaced. “I’m afraid we’ll have to walk. It’s going to take me some time to cool down—I can’t do any kind of public or private transport right now—I’d melt any seat I sat on and burn anyone who brushed up against me.”
“I’m sure you would,” Iyanna told him. “I can feel how hot you are and you’re not even touching me. How are all your clothes not melted off by now?” she added, looking at his vest and trousers and boots.
“Oh, Drake Monstrum make certain all our clothing is heat treated to withstand temperatures of up to one million vezzlars,” Dra’vik explained. “Sorry—I don’t know how to convert that into Earth units.”
“That’s okay, I’m sure it converts to ‘a hell of a lot,’” Iyanna said dryly. “Look, do you know the way back to the spaceport from here? Because I don’t mind walking but I don’t want to go around in circles—especially not carrying this damn heavy pot!”
“I know the way—I have it right here.” He tapped his temple. “Not a problem, little girl. It’s a bit of a walk, but that should give me time to cool down enough to get on the shuttle.” He looked at her anxiously. “And to heal you, too—I hate leaving you in pain.”
Iyanna sighed. The right side of her face really did hurt—a hot, insistent throbbing like the pulsing of a rotten tooth. But there was nothing to do but go on.
“It’s all right,” she told the big Drake. “I can manage until you cool down enough to heal me.”
“It’s a long walk to the spaceport—want me to carry the plants?” he asked.
Reluctantly, Iyanna shook her head.
“Better not—you already broke one container with your heat and we don’t have any backup pots lying around here. I’m assuming this was made in some kind of kiln…” She nodded at the gray clay pot with the transplanted pleasure plants. “But I don’t know how high a temperature it can stand. Besides, being too close to too much heat probably wouldn’t be good for these guys.” She nodded at the plants. “And they’re already not looking so good.”