Humility
“Shit!” Humility said staring down at the alien with her knife sticking out of his chest. “Fucking shit!”
She’d just killed her new husband. What was she expected to think when she’d heard the roar in the jungle and saw some creature barreling down on her? She knew exactly what she’d thought. She thought that the little fuzzy rodent pig-like thing that she’d managed to catch and dress was a baby and Mama was heading her way. How was she to know that her Mahdfel mate had chosen that moment to holler and come tramping through the bushes?
Humility hovered over him, not sure where to check for a pulse to determine if he was still alive. Thankfully, she didn’t have to. His chest was still rising and falling, if a bit raspy. She’d probably managed to hit part of his lung.
First aid, alien style. Number one was not to pull the knife out. If she pulled it out, he’d probably bleed to death. Cauterize and sterilize the wound. Keep him warm. Fire and water she had. But she didn’t have her knife to cut any bandages, considering it was imbedded in her victim.
Lovely.
“This whole adventure keeps getting more and more-”
She grabbed her backpack and pulled out the little tin foil square that folded out into a blanket. Unfortunately, he was too tall to be fully covered, but she managed at least to get his legs and up to the wound. She laid him out straight. He was a mass of muscle with smooth green skin. She didn’t think he had any hair at all. Perfect pecs, ridges running along his arms, and now that he was passed out, a look of serene peace on his chiseled features. No horns, no tail. Just a mass of nipple-tingling male handsomeness.
Sex with this beast would be… Humility got hot just thinking about it.
“That’s if he lives, you dolt,” she said, cutting off those thoughts.
Humility turned her attention to the fire that she’d started to roast dinner. It was small, but the coals were coming along nicely. It would do to heat a knife if she could figure out how to get hers out of him without him bleeding out.
Wait a second - he was a warrior and had a knife of his own! Humility pulled the blanket back and looked at the toolbelt he had slung low across his hips, right along the edge of the tight black shorts he wore. They didn’t leave much to the imagination, and she couldn’t help letting her eyes settle for a second on the bulge in the front. There were rumors, so many rumors, about the grand size of alien meat, but she had dismissed them as gossip and propaganda. Humility was definitely rethinking that decision.
His knife was beautifully carved and shaped out of some thin light metal. It was also wicked sharp. She put it into the coals of the fire then wrapped the meat that she had been roasting in leaves of this planet’s version of a plantain or banana. She’d eaten one yesterday and figured if she wasn’t dead yet, then the leaves were probably safe. Once the knife was heated, she’d put the package in the coals and let it cook through.
She checked to make sure he was still breathing before she went to look through her clothes to find something that might make do for a bandage. Without antibiotics, alcohol, or disinfectant, Humility would have to rely on him waking up long enough to tell her where camp was or how he could call for help.
Of course, there was no guarantee that he’d ever wake up, or that he’d not be in the mood to stab her right back when he was able. All thoughts toward romance had probably been quashed the moment her knife went into his chest. He’d void their contract and send her home, if she were lucky and probably kill her if not.
Either way, she didn’t want a death of anyone on her conscience. Best to heal him up and hope that he’d realize it was just one big misunderstanding.
Finally, she deemed the fire had heated his knife hot enough. Humility knew that now was not the time to get squeamish. She took three deep breaths then quickly pulled her knife out of his chest before stabbing him with the burning one.
His scream caught her unawares, but she didn’t falter. She tossed his knife to the ground beside him and covered the wound with a t-shirt. She sighed with relief when she saw he wasn’t bleeding through it.
His eyes were open, but they had a glazed, rather unaware quality to them.
“I’m cold.”
He sounded surprised. Humility lay down next to him, wrapping her leg over him while still managing to keep one hand pressing the t-shirt to his newly cauterized wound. She pulled the blanket around them.
“S’better,” he told her. His hand pulled her to him and his eyes closed once again. Humility fell asleep listening to his steady heartbeat.