But one problem remained. Trist was mine, and I would never leave him. “Can you carry him?”
Trist protested, but both Brax and I ignored him this time. “Of course,” Brax answered. I sighed in relief.
“Good. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I helped the remaining three children load up with small bowls full of flour as Brax hoisted Trist to his shoulders in a modified version of what I called a Fireman’s Carry.
Trist was fading in and out, calling my name. I kept myself calm and focused on how much I loved him, how happy he made me. Good thoughts. Only good thoughts. It was my turn to protect him, even if it were to keep him calm through our collar connection.
“Let’s go.” Brax turned to Var. “I’ll lead. Lady Treval behind me. Then the children. You guard our backs.”
“Yes, sir.” Var didn’t even try to argue. That little warrior deserved some kind of freaking medal for this. And as Lady Treval, assuming we survived, I’d talk to Commander Zakar myself if I had to, and make sure he got one. The girls, too.
14
Trist, Battleship Zakar
* * *
I never imagined being slung over the shoulder of a Trion trying to save my ass in battle. I hurt everywhere, but at the same time, not one specific spot was more painful than another. The haste with which Brax moved to get me to the med unit jostled my destroyed body, knocked the air from my lungs. The pain wasn’t as bad as when I was first hit with the plasma bomb, but only because my skin had been burned off and no doubt the nerves were dead. Black dots filled my vision of the floor as well as Brax’s ass, both of which made me want to pass out. I felt blood trickle down my leg, warm against the chill of my skin. I was dying. I was a warrior. I was prepared for my demise.
But not now. Not today. Things weren’t set in place. As primary mate, I hadn’t seen to Miranda’s protection. To give her the second she deserved. She required.
I would die and she would be alone.
I was the worst of mates because she was not protected. She would not be cherished. Instead, lost and alone. Every male would be a threat. Everything would be a threat. There would be a challenge for the right to claim her. Another Prillon would take what was mine…
I heard voices, shouts. Commands. I saw feet and legs moving quickly, even from my upside-down position. I noticed the color of the walls, thought how they matched my family’s colors. I loved green.
“I need a ReGen pod. Now!” It was Brax’s voice, but with a snap of command to it that made him sound almost Prillon.
“Hurry, please. He’s been badly injured.” I recognized that soft voice, the one that lit up my life as bright as that fucking plasma bomb. Miranda. My mate. Even through my blurry haze of consciousness, I could feel her fear, her desperation. I wanted to ease her mind, but I couldn’t, not because I couldn’t move, but because I had not found a fucking second.
I was nudged off of Brax’s shoulder and laid onto something soft. I groaned at the shift of muscle, the grind of bone on bone.
“Bleeding from the peroneal artery,” Brax stated. “Tourniquet applied. Burns to forty percent of his body, specifically anterior chest and abdomen. Maximum pod time required.”
“We should remove his clothes,” someone said.
“Put him under, now. The burns have bits of fabric in them. If we try to heal him this way, we will only make things worse.” Brax’s voice was one of command and brooked no argument. I’d never heard that tone from him before. He sounded like… a commander. A warrior.
I opened my eyes. Blinked until things came into focus. I lifted my arm to Brax, who was scanning my body with his eyes as if they were a wand and could heal me.
An actual wand, in someone else’s hand, passed over my face. I felt no improvement, therefore, it must be only an injury scanner. I saw the curved lid of the ReGen pod move and one of the medical officers came at me with an injector I knew would knock me out. I lifted my hand to stay his course.
“Wait,” I said, my voice almost a whisper. I repeated it, using almost all my energy to make it loud enough to be heard over the calm chatter.
Brax whipped his head around to stare down at me.
“Shut-up and do what you’re told, Trist. We need to get those clothes off you. The pod is going to close. You will heal.”
I shook my head, then winced. “Not yet.”
He leaned down, gave me his penetrating dark gaze. The look of not only a doctor, but of a warrior in his own right. “Yes, now, or you will die and Miranda will be upset. That is not acceptable, Prillon.”
If I could have chuckled, I would have. Here we were, back to arguing as we had upon his arrival.
“Here.” I reached up with my other hand and tugged at the black collar wrapped about my wrist. I’d put it there to keep with me until I found a worthy second. Only then would I remove it. I hadn’t thought it would be Brax. Hadn’t expected him to be worthy of the honor.