Snatched

Alexis & Drake

Her grasp of the language wouldn't be perfect—it was preferred that she learn willingly and when in sync with the robotic teacher in the lesson room—but it would have to do.

She was resting in their bed, her body stretched out along the mattress. She was calm and breathing slowly, her hands soft and open. The medical team had given her a light sedative, enough to calm her down but not enough to make her unconscious. Even now, she opened and curled her fingers.

The helmet covered her head, the images in her visor blocking his view of her dark eyes. Drake sat on the edge of the bed, watching. She was still wearing her Rictorian clothes. She hadn't showered. At least she'd been eating. Her brain scan had come back clear, which was a relief, but it didn't change the fact that she hated him. No. Feared him. Hopefully knowing enough of what he said would change that.

He hoped hard.

Drake dared to press his hand into hers and to his surprise she closed her hand around it. Lifting her knuckles to his mouth, he kissed them. It had been almost five hours since her return. It wouldn't be long before the sedative wore off and she would take off her helmet and he could talk with her, communicate with her where she could actually understand what he was saying. He couldn't wait to hear her speaking Zibon. To actually see her personality. To know her thoughts and fears. To know why she was so scared and angry.

He smoothed his thumb over her fingers. They were so little. So small against his own. He threaded their fingers. She'd been so light in his arms when he'd carried her back. Miktar had offered a trolley to push her on, but Drake had refused. Any excuse to touch her. To hold her.

And now they were together again, in the quiet.

Her hand twitched against his. Her breathing caught, then released. Her head jerked a little. Drake waited, gripping her hand more tightly. She jerked gain. She made a noise. Her feet pointed. Then she pulled up her right knee. For a moment she didn't move, breathing normally. Then she slid her hand out of his and reached for the helmet.

She touched it, then scrabbled at it. Jerking upright, she reached beneath it and yanked it off her head, throwing it across the room. It was heavy and crashed loudly against the little table. Looking flushed, she was breathing hard, her black braids fluttering against her breaths as she clawed at the mattress. Slowly, she turned her head and looked directly into Drake's eyes.

'Do not be afraid,' he told her.

Her eyes widened with shock. Then they narrowed and she gritted her teeth.

'I only want to help you,' he said.

She hissed something at him in Rictorian.

'My name is Drake. What is yours?'

Her nose pinched up as she sneered. Then she started to laugh. It wasn't a nice laugh, a mocking laugh, but at least she wasn't screaming.

'I am not going to hurt you,' he continued. He was holding his breath now, so stiff that his neck and back were aching, his body twisted awkwardly as he watched her. Any sudden move and he could ruin everything.

She turned towards the rest of the room, then back to Drake, glaring at him.

'Are you hungry? You must be hungry.'

He stood and went over to the meal bench, feeling her eyes upon his back. He picked a meal for her. Poured out a glass. Turning, he put the tray of food on the table, then turned back to the monitor and selected his own meal. He took it and put it down on the table opposite hers.

He looked at her, clutching his splock. 'Are you coming?'

She was still glaring at him but he could see her defences folding, her eyes flicking towards her plate. He lifted her cloche and put it aside, then began to eat, watching from the corner of his eye as she reluctantly stood. She rocked on her heels for several moments before finally coming over. He'd chose the most aromatic food he could find—and it was working.