Fugitive (16 page)

   Drusilla yelped as the icy stream hit her damaged skin. "
Whoa, momma!"
she exclaimed.

   "Sorry, Drusilla," Manx said soothingly. "It'll be better in a minute. I've used this stuff in the kit before. It's great at healing up anything short of an—"

   "An—what?" she prompted.

   "Amputation," he replied. "Shouldn't say that, though. It sounds too horrible."

   "It's okay," Drusilla said. "No amputations. The cold water just surprised me, that's all."

   "You must be tougher than you look," he said, scru tinizing her closely. "I've known plenty of women who wouldn't have taken it nearly as well. I'm pleased to see that you aren't one of them."

   "I'm glad you approve," Drusilla said. Looking up at him, she decided that she approved of him too. "Lots of guys wouldn't have reacted as quickly as you did," she added. "I'm glad you aren't one of them either."

   Klog finished hosing off the blood and Manx took a closer look. "This looks worse than it really is," he said reassuringly. "You should heal up just fine in a few days."

   "What about you?" Drusilla asked, still concerned that more of the blood that covered him was his than he was willing to admit. Men, she thought with amusement,
never willing to admit weakness…

   "I'll be fine too," he said. "Then there will be plenty of—what did you call it?"

   "Nooky," Drusilla replied. "Sorry I don't feel much like it now. You should have been here sooner—you would've gotten as much as you could take."

   "That much, huh?" Manx said. "You might be surprised at how much I can take. I think it'll be more a matter of how much
you
can take."

   "Promises, promises," Drusilla murmured jokingly. She didn't want to admit it aloud, but she had an idea he wasn't overstating the matter. He looked capable of satisfying
dozens
of women—dozens of highly
insatiable women.

   Manx dried her with a clean towel and bound a firm pad against the worst cuts after slathering them with ointment. Drusilla felt immediate relief and relaxed, closing her eyes. It was so nice to be taken care of by someone who knew how…

   "Do you have something else to put on?" he asked.

   "Sure," Drusilla replied. "Just help me sit up."

   Manx did as she asked, and though Drusilla's head swam slightly, after a few deep breaths, she felt less like fainting—until she got a better look at Manx, that is. He'd looked pretty darn good from a distance, but up close he was perfect. Tall and lean with long black hair, a light dusting of body hair in the usual places, a broad, muscular chest, strong arms, and the biggest, thickest dick she'd ever seen—hell, even his testicles looked fabulous!—but, unfortunately, he was also liberally doused with blood.

   "I'm sorry," he said, obviously noting her round-eyed expression. "I guess I should have—"

   "Put your pants on?" Drusilla supplied for him. "No need on my account. Like I said before, it's all the blood that's got me bugged."

   "I'll wash up as soon as I've put you to bed," Manx said quickly.

   He might have already been naked, but the sudden thought of Manx in the shower—hot, wet, and devastat ingly handsome—shook Drusilla to the core. Then she pictured lathering him up herself and almost keeled over. "I'm okay!" she assured him, noting his expression of concern. "Just give me a second to adjust."

"Please, try not to do that again," Manx said beseech
ingly. "I feel bad enough as it is."

   "Well, you certainly don't look it," Drusilla muttered. "You look, well, I—I think I'd better leave it at that," she added hastily.

   Taking her by the hand, Manx helped her up from the table, and though Drusilla felt steady enough on her feet, she was sorely tempted to wobble just so he would carry her. He'd obviously done it once before, but this time she wanted to be awake to enjoy the experience. Just the thought of being held in his strong arms made her head spin, but since Manx had seemed pleased that she was tougher than she looked, instead of a show of frailty, she merely allowed him to take her by her undamaged arm and walk her to her room.

   "I'll be all right now," she said as he released her, though the loss of his support left her feeling oddly bereft.

   As he made a move toward the door, the thought of him even leaving the room struck Drusilla with a sudden and marked anxiety. "You're—you're not leaving me here alone tonight—are you?"

   "Not a chance," he said firmly. "I'll be right back."

   His smile reassured her completely, and the pain of her injuries and the horror of being attacked faded swiftly as they were replaced with the comforting prospect of being able to sleep in Manx's arms. The odd thing was that even though they hadn't actually met until tonight, he didn't seem like a stranger. Now if she could just get the nerve to ask Klog for that whipped cream…

***

Manx stood under the hot spray of the shower, wincing as the water hit the scratches on his chest. The bleeding had already stopped and, as he'd suspected, most of the blood that covered him had, indeed, belonged to the wildcat.

   His mind jumped from his injuries back to Drusilla without missing a beat. She was everything he could want in a woman: warm and completely accepting of his apology. She hadn't ranted at him for nearly getting her killed—was more concerned for him than she was for herself—and she was even more beautiful than he'd realized. When he'd taken her by the hand, it was all he could do not to gasp out loud because even her
hand
felt right to him. He'd never met a more perfect woman; it was as if she had been created just for him.

   Not that Manx had ever believed in such things. Never one to rely on anything but his own wits to remain alive and free, he had always believed that a man's life is what he makes of it himself, and waiting for some preor dained destiny to come to his rescue was foolish. If fate had been standing by to lend a hand, it would have been pointless to escape from slavery and then work to keep one jump ahead of the Nedwuts who pursued him. But when he considered the astronomical odds against the likelihood that he and Drusilla would ever meet, he had to accept the possibility that some higher power might be responsible for her visit to Barada Seven.

   And if this
was
part of a greater scheme, he was certainly pleased with how it was turning out. That wildcat might have ruined Manx's plans for the evening, but neither of them had been seriously injured and Drusilla wasn't going to make him leave—at least not yet. He could smell her reactions to him, and though he could sense strong elements of pure sexual attraction, he knew there was more to it than that. There were traces of love in her scent—she might not be saying it out loud, but he could almost feel the warm tendrils of her affection surrounding him. He'd never inhaled such an intoxicating aroma in his life.

   Some of her feelings toward him might have been influenced by gratitude for saving her life—she might have felt the same way toward anyone in that situation— but Manx had been the recipient of gratitude before and knew that this was different. He truly had found his mate at last; he was sure of it.

***

Alone again, reality struck. "I just met him a few minutes ago, and now I'm going to sleep with him?" Drusilla mused. "I've never done such a thing in my life."

   Even though she'd spoken the words aloud, she didn't really expect a reply, but Dwell answered her promptly. "Should I lock the door?" he asked.

   "Probably," she replied. "He is awfully sweet though. Zef was right. I do like him—a lot. But I hate to seem too easy."

   "Easy?"

   "The kind of girl who jumps in bed with every guy she meets," she said. "I'm not like that—never really had the chance to be, but that's beside the point." Gingerly strip ping off her tattered robe and gown, she dropped them in a pile on the windowsill. "Guess Klog might be able to fix those. He seems to be able to do everything else."

   "Yes, Klog is quite capable," said Dwell.

   Drusilla stood in front of the mirror, surveying the damage. "That looks even worse than it feels," she said. "Though that ointment he put on it is pretty good stuff. Wonder where it came from?"

   "It was brought by the Terran trader who supplied the food for your stay," Dwell said. "Its origin is unknown to me."

   "Mm-hm," Drusilla replied absently. "I'll have to ask Lester about it." Crossing to her dresser, she pulled open a drawer and took out a fresh nightgown. Unfortunately, the fact that she was completely unable to raise her right arm made it impossible to put it on. She figured she could do it with Manx's assistance, but since he was in the shower, she decided to wait. Crawling into bed, she did her best to remain awake but eventually drifted off to sleep.

***

After his shower, Manx dried himself thoroughly and then slid into bed beside Drusilla—and let out a groan as he was instantly aroused by her provocative scent.

   "Are you okay?" she murmured sleepily. "You're hurt worse than you're admitting, aren't you?"

   "I'm just fine," he replied. While this was true in a sense, it didn't take into account the fact that his balls felt like they were about to rupture.

   Drusilla tried to stifle her yawn—but failed miser ably. "I don't want you to think I'm bored or anything, but even though I'm feeling much better, I'm pretty tired. It's been an interesting day."

   This was putting it so mildly that Manx couldn't help but grin. "That's all it was? Just 'interesting'?"

   "It was only the day that was interesting," she replied. "Now, you, you're—" Drusilla paused, letting out a deep sigh. "
Fascinating."

"I'm glad you think so," Manx purred.

   "Hmmm," she murmured. "Mystery men are so intriguing."

   "Not really," said Manx.

   "Oh, don't spoil it," she begged. "Let me enjoy my fantasy before you tell me you just got lost on the way to the market."

   Manx chuckled softly. "That's not exactly how it happened, but it isn't far off. I got lost on my way home."

   "I know," Drusilla said. "Dwell told me about your planet being destroyed. Are you the only one left?"

   "Maybe," Manx replied. "A group of us were to be sold as slaves, but the Nedwut bounty hunters have been after me ever since I escaped. They've nearly caught me several times, and I've got a better nose than most. I have no way of knowing if any of the others are still alive."

   "I hope they are," Drusilla said. "It would be hard to be the only one left. Maybe you'll find them someday."

   "Maybe," Manx said again. "The odds are against it, though. It's a very big galaxy and even if they
are
alive, they could be anywhere."

   Drusilla turned over to lie with her head on his chest, but stopped suddenly. "You got scratched up pretty badly; I'm not hurting you, am I?"

   "No," Manx lied. She wasn't hurting his chest, but his dick was killing him. He shifted onto his side so that he was facing her with her head resting on his arm, but it didn't help at all, and might have made things worse.

   "You didn't dry off very well," Drusilla remarked.

   Manx knew exactly what she was referring to because he could feel it too. "Um, it's not that," Manx said, not quite sure how to tell Drusilla that she was not only making his cock hard as a rock, but dripping wet as well. "It's something I really can't control—well, actually, I
can
, but... "

   Drusilla giggled. "You mean you wet the bed?"

   "It's not that kind of control," he said dryly. Manx picked up the movement from her laughter, not only with his arms, but the head of his cock, which, of course, made it drool even more. He fought the urge to slide it over her soft skin, seeking all manner of wonderful places to hide it in. He knew he ought to back off a little, but he had an idea that doing so just might be the death of him.

   "Ah," Drusilla said archly.
"I
understand. Your dick is dripping. Is that it?"

   "Yes, it is," Manx replied. "And if you don't mind my saying so, it's all your fault."

   "Mmmmm, nice," Drusilla said, shifting closer to him. "I haven't done that to anyone in a long time."

   "Then you must have spent a lot of time in the company of fools," Manx said roundly. "And, believe me, I am
not
a fool."

   "Hmm," she said, smiling. "Where's Klog and his whipped cream when I need him?"

   "Whipped cream?"

   "You know, to make you taste better."

   Manx nearly came unglued but managed to gasp, "I should taste good without any help from Klog."

   "Really?"

   "So I've been told."

   "Mmmmm, I should probably start with your lips, you know."

   "You can taste any part of me you like," Manx said. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

   "That I can taste any part of
you
I like." Manx's purring intensified and he couldn't help it; he leaned over and kissed her. It might have had more to do with scent than actual flavor, but she tasted like love.

   "Oh, Manx," Drusilla sighed against his lips. "Where have you been all my life?"

   "Not where I should have been, obviously." Manx trailed kisses from her lips to her cheek and down her neck. Then he froze as he realized something he should have known from the first moment he lay down beside her. "You're not wearing anything."

   "Didn't want you to feel under-dressed," Drusilla explained. "Which means that with you around, I may never get dressed again." Laughing softly, she added, "No, actually I couldn't raise my arm well enough to put my gown on."

   The fact that she was naked made it even more difficult for Manx to keep from mating with her right then, but the thought of hurting her stopped him cold. He was fairly certain that he could do it without touching her injured side, and even if he did, it wouldn't hurt for long since she'd probably forget the pain in the next heartbeat.

   This wasn't just wishful thinking or cocky self assurance, either; he knew the effect that Zetithian males had on women. As a boy, he'd learned that it was part of the female nature to remain aloof and Zetithian females were highly selective; getting close enough to one of them to mate was extremely difficult. However, he also knew that even the most resistant females could be won over completely, and once they mated, it was for life.