Nanny For The Alien General by Athena Storm
Serafina
Once I’ve got the Kiphian in my bed, I allow myself the briefest of moments to rub my burning shoulders.
There were several moments in the trip from the lake to my cabin where I wasn’t sure I’d make it. The guy was seven feet of muscle. I’d managed to quickly construct a stretcher and tied him to it with some impromptu rags I’d made from tearing up the shredded sleeves of his shirt. Even so, the journey had nearly exhausted me. The children had to help me move him from the stretcher to the bed.
Now the two kids are huddled close to each other, sharing some leftover soup and bread from my dinner. They watch me solemnly with wide eyes from over the soup bowl. I note that their concern for the man seems… clinical.
I can’t focus on that now. I’ve got to see to this guy’s plethora of wounds.
He’d clearly been attacked by the same beasts that were going after the fishermen. I can’t imagine one of the villagers being able to sustain this many bites and live, however.
Unfortunately, just finding all the bites proves to be a challenge. He has deep golden skin with wine-red Kiphian tattoos all over. Just when I think I’d found a wound, I realize it’s a tattoo. Just when I pass over what I think is a tattoo, I realize it’s a wound.
One thing that is very clear, however, is that I need to act quickly. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat and his body is burning despite the fact that he’s shivering. Blood loss and extreme exposure – I fear he might even have hypothermia – are taking a toll on him.
I need to get him out of these wet, torn up clothes. Yet, for some reason, my fingers hesitate over the buttons of his shirt. I shake my head and purse my lips. It must just be that I’ve never worked on a Kiphian that I’m suddenly frozen, I reason.
I strip off his shirt and it’s nearly impossible not to notice just how ripped the guy is. Not an ounce of body fat. He’s a mountain face of chiseled muscle. I take his soaked pants off, too, and I’m conscious of the fact that I’m intentionally avoiding looking anywhere… intimate.
Since when are you a priss? I wonder as I toss the clothes, really little more than rags, aside. How many naked men have you treated in your life, and you never saw any of them as anything other than a patient in need. This is no different. Well, it’s a little different. The most fit and attractive guy in Tilleli is nowhere near as ripped as this Kiphian.
I remind myself that he’s just a patient, and force myself back to business.
Now that his body is exposed, it’s easier to pick out the wounds from the tattoos. I administer my salve and apply the bandages. Then I take all the blankets I have and bundle the Kiphian up tightly. I grab two ion heaters and put one near his feet and one near his chest.
Stepping back, I rub a hand across my sweaty brow. I’ve done all I can. Now, it’s a waiting game, hoping that the salve protects against any potential infection and that his fever breaks soon.
Let’s just hope that Kiphians are as strong and resilient as they’re always bragging they are.
I turn from my patient and look at the kids. The boy is staring wide-eyed at me, focused on my forehead.
Crap. I realize my hands are still stained with some of the Kiphian’s blood and that when I rubbed my forehead I got some on it. I step to my water basin and scrub up, washing my face as well.
Then I ease myself into a seat across from the kids. They’re huddled close together, and the girl has an arm around the boy’s shoulders.
“Is our daddy going to be OK?” the boy asks softly.
OK. Daddy. Siblings. Good to know.
“I think so,” I tell them. “What’re your names?”
“Bellana,” the girl says. “This is Emex.”
“I’m Serafina. You’re lucky that I’m the one that stumbled on you three. I’m a healer. So don’t worry, OK?”
“We just want to know he’ll be able to get us home,” the girl says flatly.
That takes me by surprise. It’s not the concerned sort of response I’d expect from two kids.
I glance back at the sleeping Kiphian. Even unconscious, I can’t help but feel there’s some sort of… distant air about him. It’s strange what a patient’s body can tell you. And his is telling me all sorts of things.
“I guess your mom is probably home worried?” I ask, turning back to the children.
“Our mom is dead,” the boy says. There’s a bitterness in his words.
“I’m so sorry, Emex,” I say. I instinctively reach a hand across the table. The boy just stares at it. After a moment, the girl takes it. I look her in the eyes and she offers me a tight-lipped smile.
“You look exhausted,” I say to them. “And I’m pretty beat, myself. How about we put you two to bed?”
The mention of bed causes Emex to yawn, his mouth open wide. Belanna looks at me, appearing to be somewhat appalled by her brother’s gaping maw, which she covers with one of her hands.
I note the upright way the girl sits. Her sudden focus on manners. There’s a formal breeding to her that seems to align with the important air surrounding their father. A father they’re clearly not that close to.
“C’mon,” I say, rising from the table.
The Kiphian is taking up the whole of my one bed. In fact, he’s so large he’s almost spilling out of it. So I take the kids to the sofa and find what remaining blankets I have for them.
“Sorry it’s not more cozy,” I say.
“That’s all right,” Belanna assures me politely. “Thank you for helping us.”
“You’re a very nice human,” Emex says sleepily, his eyes already slipping shut.
“I’ll take that as high praise,” I say, before shutting off the lamps.
I check on my patient one last time. His fever has, to my relief, begun to abate. Then I settle in for the night, as well.
With all my comfy spots occupied by Kiphians, I settle into a kitchen chair and use a shirt into a dofer blanket. Fortunately, I’m so tired myself, I’m able to relax despite the awkward setup.
Awkward physically and awkward situationally.
There’s going to be some things to deal with if he recovers, I think before drifting off.
