Planet Athion: The Complete Series by Angel Lawson
15
Mercy
I don’t knowwhat to expect when I walk out of the bath, but it’s not the sight of Dimka in a tight shirt and thigh-hugging shorts. His muscular, blue-tinted legs stretch to the floor—his feet bare. There’s a scattering of freckles along the bridge of his feet.
He looks up when I enter, a round bowl in his hands.
There’s a shift just outside the door and I glance over. Alex is in similar garb, hanging his storm uniform on a hook on the wall.
“Excuse me,” he says, skirting past me into the bath.
Kai is nowhere to be seen, which leaves Dimka and I alone for the moment. I’m hyperaware of my clothing. A utilitarian gray tank made of fabric similar to their own, along with tight-fitting leggings.
“The storm suits are unwieldy,” Dimka says suddenly.
“What?”
“Just explaining our lack of clothing. The storm suits are heavy and uncomfortable.”
“I understand.” I tug at my shirt. It’s way more form-fitting than my medical scrubs. “Mine was full of sand.”
“I prepared a salve, if you’d like me to administer it. I think it will decrease the healing time.”
I lift up my clean but raw hands. “That would be great.”
He gestures to the table and we both sit. Again, I search the small room. “Where’s Kai? Surely, he didn’t go back into the storm?”
“No. There’s a small room over there.” He nods behind me. “There’s a data and tech monitoring device. He’s tracking the storm and notifying the Custo of our whereabouts.” He stirs the mixture and scoops up a small amount of paste, then gently applies it to the wounds on my knuckles and wrists. The medicine feels cool against my skin.
“I was covering my face,” I say in explanation. His eyes flick to the wound on my cheek. I touch it self-consciously. “Well, trying to at least.”
“We don’t have these storms where I’m from, but we do have something like your hurricanes or typhoons. With those we have catastrophic flooding, but this mixture of twister and hail is fierce.”
“How long will it last?”
“Kai will know better but often at least twenty-four hours.”
A day. I could be in here with these men for a day. I’m not sure my will-power is that strong. Not when I can see the hard muscles of their bodies and sitting in relative ease, with no one else watching or waiting.
I swallow and say lightly, “Wow, that’s a long time. I definitely wouldn’t have survived that long out there.”
“We wouldn’t have let you stay out there that long, you can be sure of that.” He gently rubs a bit of salve on my cheek, his thumb holding a moment too long.
It’s a declaration, I see it in his eyes. In the way he touches me. I don’t breathe, wondering for a moment if I’ve forgotten how. The tension is cut by the sound of a door opening and I turn, seeing Alex enter the room.
“Thank you,” I say to Dimka. “It feels better already. I need to get this recipe from you for my mid-wifery.” He lifts the bowl and carries it across the room. “How did you get so good at this?”
He turns to the small sink. “In the Pits I had to learn how to take care of myself and others. Injuries were a daily occurrence and there was no time for infection or pain.”
I have a million questions about that world—he’s told me some, but I didn’t want to ask specifics. I’ve tried not to stare at the scar on his neck but I wonder how he got it—what kind of awful device made such a ghastly wound, but I sense his hesitation. Dimka is a private, quiet man. I don’t want to scare him off. Alex must sense this too because he breaks in and says, “I think there’s some food in the pantry. I’ll get something together.”
“What do you need me to do?” I ask, standing from the table.
“Rest,” Dimka says. “You went through a harrowing experience. We’ll prepare dinner and Kai should have more information soon.”
I feel like I should argue but exhaustion travels my limbs. When Alex gestures to the couch I move to it, stretching out in a way that doesn’t put pressure on my wounds.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
“I know you’re used to helping everyone, but we’ve got this,” Alex says.
My body instantly relaxes when Alex stands over me holding a fuzzy blanket. I accept it and curl into the soft warmth, falling asleep to the comforting sound of the men in the kitchen, safe from the storm above.