Warrior's Wife (4 page)

“Appreciate the shirt, Sir Galahad. Now it’s my turn to do something for you.” She pitched her voice soft and low for only his ears. A second slit in the tent wall appeared a yard away from the first.

“What are you…” Her protector’s words drowned under the roar of her blood.

Action time. She burst through the air in a flying leap.

“No,” Galahad yelled.

She heard him, but she couldn’t have stopped even if she’d wanted to. Momentum pushed her past fear and smashed her into the first of the three males. She hit below his center of gravity and locked around his hips, determined to hang on no matter what.

The metal monster tumbled backward, taking her with him. He scrambled to his feet. The metal-covered limbs she tried to hold shook her off and batted her aside as if she were no more trouble than a mosquito. She hit the ground in a ball, protecting her bruised head, and kept rolling. She still had her knife, for all the good it did. She’d have to be close and incredibly lucky to do any damage with such a short-range weapon against armored enemies.

Then all hell broke loose.

Crouched back in her favorite corner, she watched as the two sides grappled, both sets fought for an advantage. Three enormous warriors pitted against three equally impressive opponents. Despite the small element of surprise she’d given Galahad’s friends. The evenness of the combatants eliminated any certainty about the winners.

Then metal-clad fingers forced open an alien’s headpiece and fired the small rod against a mouth stretched in a terrified shriek. Features distorted by fear melted.

So that was what the pointy sticks did, instant destruction on a cellular level. Sickened, she dropped her gaze, tucked her head against her knees and took shallow breaths to avoid losing the little food still in her belly. Aside from the thud of fist or boot hitting armored flesh, the occasional grunt, and the drag of harsh breaths, the battle was nearly silent.

As long as she didn’t look, didn’t inhale the sweat or blood she might’ve been alone. Shivers from fear and exhaustion made her clamp her teeth to keep them from chattering. She’d done what she could to help. At least she’d paid Galahad back for his shirt, by tackling the alien. She prayed the good guys won and not just because they’d probably let her fill the Humvee’s tank and gas cans.

Now she totally got what the first set of aliens had wanted and she didn’t have the courage to face the metal monsters again. She needed to get gone.

Her bad leg throbbed. She lifted her head and searched what she was able to scan of the tent. Her cane was nowhere in sight. She’d last seen it back by her camp. A mile made a long walk with abused muscles already cramping.

Two of the combatants spun past, narrowly missing her in a whirl of impossibly fast kicks and punches. Huge and fully armored, both males grappled, seeking a weakness. Their weapons appeared to be useless without at least a small gap in their shielding. How incredibly lucky she’d been to find that small weakness, where the chest piece connected to the groin section, with her first knife strike.

Although she’d spent eight years in the army, she’d served as a nurse—not a warrior. No matter what the aliens thought, she wanted no role in their war, especially not as some kind of prize for the victors.

Gratitude to Galahad for saving her and for the shirt didn’t extend to servitude or becoming his pet. What else would she be to him—to any of them?

Gorgeous as he looked beneath his metal shell, he wasn’t exactly human. None of them were. Ordinary men didn’t move that fast, absorb such punishing blows and deliver equally devastating strikes. Everything about Galahad, his kindness, charm, honeyed voice, strong body and handsome face, made her want to trust him. She fought to remember he was every bit as alien as the tanker boys and she had no idea what he wanted from her.

Covered by their protective shells, any differences between the fighters in either their gear or size were lost on her. Unable to tell whom to root for, she stayed pressed hard against the tent and waited for a chance to escape.

* * * * *

The second the fight ended, Horace gathered the droid pet and hurried to Tori’s side. When she edged away from him, he flinched mentally as if he’d been zapped with a penalty stick. However, she had no way of knowing she was the triad’s destined mate. He halted, flipped up his face shield, crouched and set the artificial dog down within easy reach.

She teetered, caught her balance, bent and scooped up the pet. “His name is Rufus.”

“Do you want me to activate it?”

“Him.” One side of her cut and swollen mouth quirked as if she fought an urge to smile. “Please.” She stooped and put the animal an arm’s length in front of her. Then she nudged the droid toward him before she carefully straightened.

Horace picked up the pet, flipped its on switch and offered her the fake dog again.

Her arms shook as she reached for the droid.

He was dying to enfold her in his arms and declare his endless devotion, but realizing even a gentle hug would aggravate her injuries and she might not be ready to hear how much he loved her, he forced himself to take a step back.

Tori raised the small body close to her face and nuzzled the furry neck. “I should have guessed you were a ringer. You smell way better than any real dog.” Then she lowered her voice. “Don’t worry, I still like you.”

The droid wagged its tail and Horace puzzled over the meaning of ringer, deciding it must be a slang term for imitation or fake. A simple droid had no capacity to worry, but she wouldn’t know that since droids were nonexistent in her time, which was now his time. If the mission succeeded then the triad would remain in the past. The thought of being cut off from his research and the technologic support he’d taken for granted his entire life rocked his confidence.

“Will he follow me if I set him down?” Tori’s question brought him back to the present. She’d survived far larger losses and managed to keep a sense of humor, courage and kindness.

His voice deepened with respect and a rush of lust he hoped she wouldn’t notice. “He should unless his circuits or programming have been damaged.”

She stooped and caught her balance, biting her lip.

He stepped closer and gripped her elbow to steady her. “Please don’t be alarmed. I’m fully qualified to treat your injuries. You’re clearly in pain. Let me examine you.”

“Thanks anyway.” For a few seconds she let him support her, almost as if she were aching for his touch as much as he yearned to caress her. Then she tugged from his grasp and hitched toward the exit.

He frowned, worried about her leg and puzzled by her illogical reaction. He’d returned the pet to her, assured her of his competence and asked politely for her cooperation. Yet she refused his help. He concluded she didn’t trust him. Frightening her further would not achieve a positive objective. Aware she was a trained nurse, he tried an alternate approach. “How about I provide the medical supplies and you clean your wounds?”

Tori turned her swollen lip and bruised cheek toward him. Her stunning hazel eyes narrowed in skepticism. “Where are you planning on getting these supplies, slick?”

Slick was not an adjective anyone had ever used in reference to him. Did she intend it as a term of affection or as sarcasm? Unable to determine her state of mind, he went with a literal interpretation of her question. He patted his thigh. “Personal replicator. Antiseptic, gauze packs, tape and ice pack coming up. Anything else?”

“No, that’s plenty.”

“How about a broad-spectrum antibiotic and a cellular growth booster?”

“You have something that does that?”

“Absolutely.” The nanobots Nigel had calibrated for her would do all that and more. For once he practiced discretion by not blurting a treatise on the details of the science behind the bots.

She narrowed her beautiful eyes again as he picked up a premeasured dose. “How about you hit yourself with a little of the serum first?”

Horace blinked at the waste of precious bots. “If it makes you feel safer.”

She nodded.

He whipped out an injector, inserted the vial and pressed the syringe against his thigh. “Okay?”

“Let’s give it a few moments.” Tori focused on her wristwatch’s second hand. “Go for it.”

He reloaded then injector, inserting the bots in the fleshy part of her upper arm. “You’re favoring your left leg. I would be much happier if I examined you.”

“The limp is from an old wound. All of the recent stuff is minor.”

“If you say so.” Too conscious his prissy tone made him sound like the geek he was, he refrained from further grumbling about the difficulty of diagnosing internal injuries or concussions on oneself as he unfastened one side of his leg armor and activated the replicator. As each of the supplies materialized, he set them before her.

Her hand brushed his when she reached for a gauze pack, she didn’t jerk away from the small contact. In fact, she laced her fingers with his. “In another time and place I would’ve fallen hard for you, slick.”

Disappointment must’ve shown on his face, because the corner of her mouth turned up for an instant then she frowned. “It’s nothing personal. You are totally adorable and you smell way too good to resist. I have to keep my distance.”

He didn’t think she was serious. However, he wasn’t certain if she’d intended to make a joke or to discourage him with biting wit. Neither possibility gave him any hope she’d softened toward him. A few seconds’ reflection emphasized how completely ineffective his skills were when it came to winning her acceptance. He would try harder. For now he set aside his failure and concentrated on how to improve her health.

She placed the droid on the ground and slowly lowered herself until she rested next to the pet. The simple act of sitting down clearly caused her pain, but she didn’t make any complaint.

While she doctored her own injuries, he watched. The very slowness of her actions told him she’d suffered multiple contusions, possibly sprains and one or more rib fractures. He winced with every stretch and reach, biting back sympathetic moans and hovering like the anxious bio-geek he was.

Tori was a dream he never knew he had come true. Smart, brave, beautiful and she was the woman fated to become his wife. And she wouldn’t let him clean or bandage a single cut. Finally he blurted, “We’re here to protect and serve you.”

“Uh-huh.” She poured antiseptic on a gauze sponge and began carefully dabbing at her split lip. “What planet are you guys from?”

For a few seconds he analyzed her question. Once again there’d been no hint in her tone or expression that she was joking or frightened. Her curiosity had no logical stimulus, but seemed sincere. “Earth, why do you ask?”

“Replicators aren’t exactly standard equipment even for the most elite special forces troops. Since the pandemic, technological advances don’t happen. So why not tell me where you’re really from?”

“There’s no reason for me to mislead you. We’re from Earth, though not from this particular era,” he assured her absently, distracted by using his built-in scanner to search for internal damage and bot activity. Technically a scan wasn’t an exam. However, he didn’t ask for permission she would be unlikely to grant. So scanning was an invasion of her privacy. He knew how that felt. Mechs were monitored without ever being consulted or granting permission. Their minds were the only thing the techs hadn’t found a way to tap. He hated the constant surveillance that stole their privacy and dignity. Yet he preferred to risk her anger rather than letting her walk away with a life-threatening injury he’d failed to diagnose.

She glanced away from him to wet another gauze sponge.

He took advantage of her inattention to do a deeper internal search. Her vagina and anus readings were normal, ruling out rape. He swallowed the lump of dread that had clogged his throat. Her leg, one rib, and several bruises already showed elevated cellular repair levels. The bots were on the job. He’d done one thing right.

The skin around her eyes tightened as the antiseptic seeped into a deep cut. “You’re time travelers, huh?”

“I should stitch that for you.”

“Nuh-uh, are you avoiding answering my question?”

“Yes, I mean no. I’m not avoiding your question.” Damn he’d be tripping over his own tongue next. “We were inserted into your time from what may become your future, so yes we’ve traveled through time.”

Her expression held obvious doubts. Communication with Tori held unsuspected challenges. Discouraged by his dismal lack of social skills, Horace studied his boots, avoiding her searching skepticism. His poor performance in winning her confidence shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He’d almost failed the seduction course both Gideon and Marcus passed without effort. With practice he should improve, but unless he won her confidence soon he’d endanger the entire mission, to say nothing of breaking his own heart.

He parted his lips to try again. A deafening boom shook the ground and put an end to his awkward attempts at conversation.

“The restorers have these coordinates. Another team of cyborgs will arrive soon. We need to leave soon.” Gideon spoke aloud, clearly for Tori’s benefit.

Horace held out a hand to her.

She rubbed her temples then shook her head. “You guys take off. I’m heading back to my rig anyway.”