Kozav

K
ozav found
his mate and then he lost her. Now it’s time to hunt…

Grace Hall is a nurse, not a doctor. But when five Preor warriors are brought to the emergency room and the doctors don’t do a darn thing for them, she steps forward. Sure, they are aliens with massive wings who turn into dragons whenever they wish, but they still look human-ish. One particular warrior draws her more than the others. His teal wings, muscular body, and pain-glazed eyes have her bouncing between two desires—needing his touch and desperation to heal him. When she’s filled with the knowledge to treat the males, Grace gets to work. She’s going to save the Preor males, even if it kills her. When she loses consciousness after healing them, she realizes it just might.

Kozav sen Aghin, Primary Warrior of the Preor Third Fleet, wakes weaker than a hatchling on the Preor battleship. He’s fully healed yet plagued by a feeling that something is wrong. And something is… Kozav found his mate on Earth and she was left behind—alone and unprotected. Unacceptable. Kozav still carries the guilt for his actions during the great conflict and he is determined not to fail so greatly again. The curvaceous, green-eyed, dark haired human female is his to protect, his to claim and his to keep.

When danger intrudes and someone attempts to take Grace from his life, Kozav is prepared to do whatever it takes to bring Grace back to his side. Even if it means killing one of his own. Or will it be Kozav with a sword through his chest? For Grace’s sake, he hopes not.

G
race would probably lose
her job if she stabbed the woman in the eye. That knowledge didn’t lessen her desire to do the aforementioned stabbing, though. Nope. Her fingers itched to change her grip on the pen, tighten her hold, and then
stab, stab, stab.

She swallowed hard and pushed back her irritation. It wasn’t the woman’s fault.
Deep breath.
Or even her mate’s fault.
Another deep breath.
Nah, the problem was with Grace. Envy turned her into a violent bitch. Not homicidal, thankfully, but a bitch none the less.

A sappy sigh drew her focus, pulling her thoughts away from the need to pluck out the chick’s eyeballs and back to the task at hand. Mainly, verifying the match. As a Senior Mating Representative, it was her responsibility to verify matches via a handy-dandy checklist and out-process the new, happy couple.

Screw it, she was a glorified cashier. And not even a well-paid one. She got minimum wage to perch behind a desk in her agency provided skirt suit with a smile on her face while she wished mates well on their way out the door.

Not before greasing the Intergalactic Mating Agency’s palm first, though. The IMA did a lot of good… for a price. Overhead, right?

Another sound, this one more of a hum, and Grace lifted her head, not even a bit surprised at what she found. The couple—a human woman and her blue-skinned Bellatani mate—were wrapped around each other. Like, literally. The Bellatani had four arms that he used to stroke and pet his new mate. A hand disappeared beneath her skirt while two others worked on the buttons of her blouse and then that fourth disappeared… somewhere.

Now was the time to put a stop to it and not just because she was jealous. IMA had a clear policy about mating during outprocessing.

Grace cleared her throat. “Ahem.”

One of the two moaned.

“Aaaa. Hemmm.”

The moaned response was longer that time. The woman shifted in place and Grace realized the Bellatani’s missing hand was on his pants, fighting to free his erect length.

Yeah, she wasn’t going to ogle an off-worlder. Not today. She normally worked in mating intake, which was
fine
, but today the girl who handled exit interviews was out, which meant Grace had to step in and… she was not a voyeur.

She reached for a nearby tablet, one of the older thicker models that was kept around for just this purpose. Sure, it worked just fine and could access agency data, but its true purpose was for…

She lifted the hunk of plastic and metal and dropped it to the desk.
Boom
.

(It really was big.)

The woman squeaked, the Bellatani roared and Grace smiled. At least she had their attention.

Long, pale fangs unfolded from the alien’s mouth and Grace held it together, not flinching when he hissed. Bellatani talked a good game but generally didn’t touch a female that did not belong to them. Not in anger or passion. Which meant she wasn’t scared. Much.

“Hello, I’m Senior Mating Representative Hall. Congratulations on your match. I just have a few forms to complete before you two can get on your way and enjoy your new lives together.”

The Bellatani still glared, the woman blushed, and Grace flicked her finger across the desk to display the first—of many—form. “Now, sir, if you’ll place your palm here…”

And so it went. One couple in, ten thousand credits collected, one happy couple out. Over and over again.

She reminded herself she was happy for all the others who matched. Really, for the most part, she
was
happy. Except when she got home at night, said good-bye to her mother’s carer and then watched her mom sleep. Sleep that would be interrupted by bouts of coughing or bone-shaking shivers around one and again at four.

Last night had been bad and the morning hadn’t shaped up any better. To top it off, she had two long shifts. First at the Intergalactic Mating Agency and then she had to head to…

More moaning.

Dammit, they were going at it
again
. She should have remembered that about the race. The second they encountered their mate, it was all about getting horizontal and they didn’t care where or when. Vertical could work because many of their males were extremely strong. Plus, they had the extra arms thing going on.

Grace picked up the tablet and dropped it, the three of them repeating the same events from moments before. She ignored the hiss she received and kept her attention on the human woman. “If you’ll first place your palm here, confirming your willingness to mate with…” she glanced down at the now-flickering tablet. “Riz’ta Sico’rolqir, we can get you two out of here.”

Beings matched with off-worlders had to agree to leave the planet. No print, no mating.

The woman slammed her hand down, shaking the desk with the force, before plastering her lips on her new alien mate.

“Great, if you two have any questions, feel free to call the eight hundred—”

They vanished from sight, ignoring her completely. And really, it was good that they didn’t stick around. Her next shift four blocks over started in ten minutes and she still had to change and get to work. She pressed a few buttons and her station powered down, screens going blank while the entry and exit doors locked. She hefted her bag over her shoulder, grunting with the weight. The duffel held her world. Uniforms, toiletries, and books if she had a break at any point and had time to study. Study times were few and far between but she always held out hope. She’d better her education. She’d earn more money. She’d be able to—

A low beep from the internal office door notified her of a visitor. When the panel slid away without her auditory response, she knew exactly who’d come to visit. In strolled her boss, Michael Sethton—creep and sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. Too bad she didn’t have the balls to blow the whistle. Mainly because she needed the job. She couldn’t afford to lose it and it was more than the money she’d miss out on.

So, she dealt with
him
.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sethton.”

He grunted and gave her a small curl of his lip. She wasn’t sure if it was a leer or a snarl, but it didn’t matter all that much. She was disgusted by him regardless.

“I thought I asked you to call me Michael.” He strolled forward, gradually moving into her space and not stopping until mere inches separated them. “Grace,” he whispered her name, leaning in as he released the word with a breath.

She fought the urge to gag. Because gagging led to vomiting and vomiting on her boss probably wouldn’t go over well. But really, would it kill him to chew on a sanitooth tablet after eating onions? “Right,” she rasped and swallowed hard, pushing back the bile. “Sorry.
Michael.
” Yeah, she was so gonna spew. “Good afternoon.”

He hummed, gaze darting around the room, missing nothing, and finally landing on the strap of her duffel. “Going somewhere?”

“Work.” She gave him a strained, tight smile.

“You’re at work.”

“And now I have to go to my other job. My shift today was until—”

“I know when your shift ended,” he curled his lip. “Why do you continue demeaning yourself in that… place.”

Demeaning herself?
That
was demeaning herself and her job at IMA wasn’t?
Delusional, party of one.

He wouldn’t understand and she wasn’t about to explain it to him. Again. So she gave him an excuse he could understand. “The more money I can save—”

“I already said I’d,” he stroked her bare arm, fingertips ghosting over her skin as a shiver of repulsion overtook her, “
take care
of you—”

She pretended he hadn’t interrupted her. “The more I can do for my mother.”

“And your mother.” He removed his touch and waved his hand away as if taking care of her mom was nothing. As if it didn’t cost half her credits each month.

“Unfortunately, I can’t take you up on that offer.”

Michael was whip fast when he needed to be. He wrapped his meaty fingers around Grace’s bicep, squeezing tightly until she winced. “Do you think you’re too good for me?”

Yes.
Yes, she was.

“Of course not. I’m just independent. You know that. I want to do things myself. I don’t want to be a burden to anyone.” She fluttered her lashes and widened her smile. Her comm beeped, letting her know it was time to hit the streets if she wanted to make it to work on time. The cash from IMA was nice, but that wasn’t why she kept the job. Intake at IMA gave her opportunities other places didn’t. The check from her other job kept them fed. “And now it’s time for me to go.”

“I’m not done,” he growled.

“Then we can finish this tomorrow. I really have to go.”

“I don’t like
independent
,” he said the word as if it was a curse, “women.”

And I don’t like you. So we’re even.

But she didn’t say that no matter how much she wanted to. Mainly because her comm beeped once more, the tone insistent.

Grace skirted around her boss and bolted for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Sethton!”

She didn’t bother to wait for a response.

The second she hit the hallway, she broke into a run, racing down the long stretch and to the side exit. She hit the door at a brisk pace, sending it swinging wide, and she burst onto the busy sidewalk. She turned right and then left, passing another couple of blocks until finally jogging onto her street. When sirens reached her ears, the familiar flash of lights filling the area, she doubled her speed.

Whatever had just come in, came in hot and needy.

Her comm buzzed, but these tones told her it was all hands on deck and she needed to get her ass moving.

She did exactly that, hefting her bag higher on her shoulder and putting on speed. She bolted around pedestrians, knocking more than one aside when they just wouldn’t move their asses. People were dying and these dicks were sipping their quaranta mocha half-caff whatever drinks.

She didn’t have time for them. Not when someone
needed
her. By the time she’d reached the building, she’d already pushed her IMA attitude from her mind and adopted the one she needed next.

Grace burst through the double doors of East Fortuna Medical and right into… chaos.

G
race didn’t pause
in her stride, gaze surveying the emergency room intake with a quick glance while she rushed to the nurse’s station. She whipped her bag off her shoulder and tossed it over the desk, uncaring where it landed on the other side.

“What do we got?” Five sets of eyes swung to her, faces white and pale. Her team, normally on the ball and ready to roll, looked more than a little shell-shocked. She clapped her hands, snapping them out of whatever daze captured them. “Well? Who’s dying first? Move it, people.”

At East Fortuna, she was in control. There was no jealousy or heartache, no boss hitting on her. Simply
work
. Work that was damned satisfying. Hard work. Long hours. But still
work
. Work that made her money she could tuck away for her mother’s care.

Grace’s right hand—Brooke—spoke up first, running through what had the emergency room in an uproar. “Three hovobikes against five Preor. E-meds brought them all here. Surgeons are on the humans, but no one knows what the hell to do with the Preors.”

“Leave the name of the E-meds on my desk.” God save her from fucking idiots and God help the E-meds when she was done with them. If they weren’t going to take an alien Preor to Preor Tower, the least they coulda done was drop them at Ujal Station Tau on the beach.
They’d
be able to actually help them.

“When is Preor med getting here?” She strode to the end of the high counter, reached around and snatched two gloves from the box along with a stack of gowns. One bonus to treating Preors instead of humans was that the Preors couldn’t catch human diseases and humans couldn’t catch theirs. She’d change gloves as often as necessary and keep cross-contamination to a minimum, but sterile procedures could take a backseat for the moment. “What curtains?”

“Hovobikes are in one through—”

“No, the Preors.” Hovobike assholes were being taken care of by doctors. The Preors weren’t. Oh, her staff probably did what they could, but they were staff. Without a guiding hand—or a screaming boss—they tended to flounder and it looked like the Head Nurse from the last shift hadn’t stuck around until Grace arrived. These guys were smart but unsure a lot of times.

“Here.” Brooke gestured down the long hallway to the five curtains closed at the very end. Grace shook her head and Brooke whispered a few more words. “Everyone’s afraid of them.”

Okay, in all honesty, Grace could understand some of the hesitation to tangle with a Preor. The Ujal, when they first came to Earth, had been weird enough. They were humanoid aliens that turned into—essentially—mermen in ocean waters. They’d arrived with a bargain, let them live in Earth’s seas and they’d clean up the environment. Win-win since the planet was steadily turning into an inhabitable blob.

Unfortunately, that offer had come too late for Grace’s mother.

She yanked her mind away from that thought. No dwelling. She had a job to do—fix Preors.

Preors were extremely different from humans and yet somehow the same. They walked on two legs, had two arms, and their faces were similar, but they also had two dragon’s wings. And could sorta turn into dragons. And by sorta, she meant that they did turn into dragons. So… yeah.

Now she had five in her emergency room that needed care.

She glanced over her shoulder, meeting the stares of her staff. “Glove up. We got shit to do.”

“But the doctors—” The newest nurse, whose name Grace couldn’t remember, tried to speak, but she cut the woman off.

“The doctors are tending the humans and we’re all the Preors have.”

“We don’t know their biology.”

Grace nearly rolled her eyes. “They can mate with humans. I’m operating under the assumption that they’re not so different we can’t stick a needle in their skin or press a nanopad to a bleeding wound.” She snapped her fingers. “Let’s do this, people.”

She didn’t wait to see if they did as ordered. They’d listen. They’d help. They’d heal.

Except when Grace whipped open the first curtain, she wondered if her mind was writing checks her medical knowledge couldn’t cash.

So much blood. Flesh torn from bone. A wing at an odd angle.

She didn’t make eye contact with the patient. Not when she needed to eval the others. Squeaking steps on tile reached her ears, the pace increasing with every heartbeat. Good, they were moving.

“Brooke, take curtain four. Assume human anatomy and give me a list of what we’ve got!” She wrenched on the next curtain, exposing yet another Preor. He looked bruised and battered, but no visible signs of bleeding. “Get me imaging down here. Color’s not good.” Though green could be a thing for Preors. “Carla, triage.”

And on she went, flinging curtains aside, giving each male a cursory glance before moving to the next. She was doing well, too.

Until she got to the last one. The one occupied by a teal Preor. She hadn’t noticed the colors of the other men, but this one… caught her attention. Dark blue-green hair, crystal-like, pale wings, and shimmering teal scales that slithered over his skin. She noticed something else, too.

The blood that poured from a chest wound and the pain-laced eyes that collided with hers.

“Grace, this one’s got four lungs and two spleens? I think,” Carla called out to her. “I think there’s internal bleeding in… somewhere.”

Grace approached the wounded male. Not man because Preors were
males
. How did she know that?

“Grace I think I found the lung that’s punctured and maybe one of his spleens? But—”

“Lungs are called
luuq
. If it’s only one, he’ll be fine until the healers can get here,” she responded without hesitation, no doubt in her mind that a Preor’s lungs were called
luuq
and that they could survive without one or two until assistance came. Losing three was tricky but as long as they didn’t shift or try to fly, they’d be fine. “Focus on his spleen—
ewae
. If both are damaged, we need to prep him for surgery.”

“Grace…” Brooke’s tone was timid, soft.

Grace didn’t spare her a glance, not when she drew nearer to the downed… she narrowed her eyes and stared at the straps that crossed his chest, at the insignia on the one that laid over his right shoulder. The Preor Primary Warrior.

How…

She didn’t have time for questions. Really. Not when the male on the bed jerked and twitched, eyes closing while a deep moan escaped his lips. She stopped hesitating and went into action, reaching for safety scissors from a nearby tray as she approached. “Help me strip him. I don’t like the look of his leg and color’s changing.”

And not in a good way.

Grace whispered the warrior’s blessing while she snipped his chest straps. She still wasn’t addressing the fact that she knew Preor. Or that if someone removes a warrior’s straps, they should say the blessing in honor of the warrior.

She peeled one
katoth
strap away and then the other, blood flowing freely from a wound that’d been hidden by the tanned hide.

“I need a kit over here and a dozen NPs!” Possibly more than a dozen nanopads. She ran her fingers along his side, feeling the ridges and textures that made a Preor’s body different than a human’s. “Fuck. Something punctured one of his…” what was the word for kidney? “
koiy
and it needs to come out. Someone scrub up.”

“Nurse Hall?” Ugh. Doc Dick. “We have patients who need your care.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

She could practically feel his revulsion ripple through the air, caressing her with its sticky, disgusted fingers. He didn’t consider the Preors “patients.”

Her assumption was confirmed with his next words. “
Human
patients.”

Grace spun on him, curling her lip at the doctor who ruled the ER with a speciesist iron fist. Well, not today. Something inside her gave her the strength to deny him. She was probably losing her job anyway since she was a nurse and not a doctor, but she couldn’t allow injured to go untreated.

“Unless you’re here to help, leave.”

The doctor straightened his spine and stared down at her. “You are not a surgeon.”

“No, Dr. Richards, I’m not, but I know a fuck of a lot more than you do right now.” Yeah, she still wasn’t addressing that whole thing. Better to do her job and ask questions later.

Like how she knew what to do, what to say, where to snip and tug to remove his
koiy
without damaging the delicate tissues of one of his
hyots
.

Without another word to Richards, she returned to her task, calling out orders and getting the team moving once more. The doc stood there, mouth hanging open and eyes widened in surprise.

Carla wiggled around him, trying to get into the space without dropping her burden and Grace snapped once more. “If you’re not going to help, get out.”

“You can’t—”

“Just did.” She held out her right hand, the left gently exploring the area around the largest wound. “Laser scalpel.”

It appeared. Hell, everything she asked for, appeared: scalpel, sealer, nanopad, and bandaging. She answered questions over one shoulder and then turned and yelled orders over the other.

The second she finished with the teal Preor, she moved to the next and then the next. They all switched gloves and scrubbed between patients, making sure there wasn’t cross-contamination in any way. The Preors didn’t have blood types in the same way that humans did, but there would be biological reactions to introducing incompatible blood. Infusion of incompatible blood could kill a human; it gave Preors a fever.

And when she thought of any harm coming to a Preor—her teal Preor—at her hand… She shuddered. She also decided she wasn’t going to address the “her” part of that thought.

Grace turned from the peach Preor she’d finished working on, the color reminding her of a Tampa sunset. She’d worked through the row in order of severity and he’d be fine. The delicate bones in his wings would have to be set on the Preor ship, but the repair would easily be completed by the
ryaapir
. Right. The med tables on the ship could repair his wing and that was called a…
ryaapir.

When this was over, she really needed to figure this shit out.

For now, she shuffled to the next patient, swaying on her feet. Small, firm hands gripped her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze before directing her to the next curtain. Carla held her upright, but Brooke laid out what she’d need. The others were there, too. Scurrying around, cleaning up after Grace while she did her job. Fuck that, the doctors’ job.

When she finally shuffled to a stop beside the last warrior, she gave him a small smile, meeting his pain-glazed eyes. “I’m sorry I took so long to get to you. Let’s see what’s going on.”

Shouts down the hall reached her, words that were alien, yet not, filling her ears. Dr. Richards’ voice joined in, proclaiming his innocence and blaming everything on Grace.

If any of your people die, it’s not the fault of this hospital.

Pussy bastard son of a whore. No, wait, that was an insult to a whore.

The thud of boots pounding on tile echoed off the hallway’s walls, booming through the space and overriding the monotonous beeps of her machines.

But she had a patient and no matter the identity of the newcomers, she’d do what she could for him. “Tell me where it hurts.”

There was just too much blood smeared on him to tell.

“Nurse Hall!” She ignored Dr. Richards. “I demand you—”

His voice cut off suddenly and she almost thanked whoever silenced the man.

“Healer Hall?” The tone was respectful—strong without being condescending or irritating. Considering other people merely breathing inched into her “fuck off and die” irritation zone, that was saying something.

The patient under her care reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I am well, Healer Hall. Our healers can assist me now.”

She slowly turned, balance a little iffy at that point. She wasn’t sure how long she’d rushed around or how long she’d fought off the speciesist human doctors, but she sure as hell felt the exhaustion dragging at her. A Master Healer stood before her with a few other second and third healers lined up behind them. Yes, they could more than care for her patients.

Of course, instead of thanking them for coming or updating them on the status of each male, she insulted them. “Took you fucking long enough.”

Then she passed out.