VERONICA

Going first into a cave with a rabid beast-man might be the most pants-pissingly terrifying thing I've ever done. It doesn't hit me until we pass by Zolaya and Hassen, and the latter offers me his knife. I decline it, but the sight makes my heart start to hammer in my chest.

This might be really, really dumb.

"I do not like this," Ashtar says in a low voice as we approach the cave entrance. "I can smell your fear-scent."

"If I wasn't afraid, then you'd need to be worried. But we still need to do this." When he doesn't argue, I move forward to the mouth of the cave. It's surprisingly large and triangular, hidden between a few slate-y looking shelves of rock. I expect it to be a shallow cave, but to my surprise, the interior is dark and twisty, with a hint of light deep inside. A tunnel, then, that leads to the cave itself. Yippee.

Fear makes my skin prickle again, and Ashtar growls and steps in front of me, putting a hand on my arm. "Let me go first."

"No," I say quickly, pushing ahead before we scuffle like children on the narrow rocky ledge, jockeying for the front position. "If you go in first, that'll just freak him out. I need to go in first to reassure him that we're not here to harm him."

"I won't let him—"

"I know," I interrupt quickly. "I promise if it even seems like he's going to freak out, we'll back out of there. You have to promise me that you're not going to go dragon, though." I eye the cave. It's tall, but the inside looks narrow as heck. "There's no room, and I don't want you making the mountain collapse on you."

"How am I supposed to defend you if I cannot shift to my battle form?" He bites out, clearly frustrated with me.

I turn and pat his cheek. "You'll think of something, Ash, baby."

"Be sensible, Veronica."

I'm pretty sure the time for sensible was a few hours back. This is the time for heroes, my brain says. My brain is an idiot and watches too much TV. But I suck in a breath and go in anyhow, because I'm needed.

It's a long tunnel inside. I don't know if that makes things better or worse. Better, I suppose, because I'm not right in Gren's face the moment I step under the rocky overhang, but at the same time, hesitantly moving forward footstep by footstep gives me a lot of time to worry that I'm being an idiot and that my throat's going to be ripped out in the next minute or two.

I'm absurdly grateful for Ashtar's hand at the small of my back, and the constant hum of his cootie, reminding me that he's right beside me—and probably pissed as fuck, but he's not going to leave.

We go forward several feet in the darkness, and then there's a low, sonorous growl. It's not like when Ashtar gets irritated and growls at me. This one's far more menacing, more animalistic. And it seems to come from everywhere.

I stop. "Gren?" I call out, keeping my voice low and gentle. "My name's Veronica. I'm here with my mate, Ashtar. We're not coming to hurt you, or to try and take Willa away from you. I know you're wounded and we just want to help you. Can we come in?"

The growling doesn't cease. In fact, it gets louder and louder, and my skin prickles when an angry snarl comes out of nowhere and then goes silent. There's a murmur of voices, and then I hear footsteps in the dark. Ashtar steps in front of me, cautious.

A moment later, a flickering torch appears in the darkness and I see Willa's dirty face, her hair nothing but a tangled, filthy tumble around her face. "You mean it?"

I'm so surprised to see her that it takes it a moment to register. "Which part?"

"The part where you're not going to take me from him?" She moves the torch, studying our faces. Willa doesn't look scared or abused. Dirty, yes. Suspicious, yes. Abused, no.

"We're here to see if we can help. That means healing, and it's all that it means. I promise."

Willa's eyes narrow. "You're not here to rescue me?"

"I guess that depends on if you want to be rescued," I tell her. "Ashtar took me away, and I guess that could be interpreted as 'stealing me,' except I have no desire to be rescued." I give her a rueful smile. "I'm not sure that the big blue guys agree, but I figure there's room enough on the planet for everyone to have differing opinions now and then."

Some of the tension eases from her body and the hunted look leaves her face. For a long moment, Willa just looks tired. She scrubs a hand down her face. "Please, please don't betray my trust."

"We won't," I reassure her. I take a step forward, my hands spread. "He's injured, isn't he?"

Her face crumples a little. "He's dying. I don't want him to die thinking he's still someone's captive. Please…"

"He won't," I promise her, and I mean it. I think of Ashtar, and how he'd feel at being betrayed. At being tied up like he was an animal. I can't imagine he'd trust anyone, either. Maybe poor Gren's had a raw deal ever since he landed here. I gaze at her, where she stands in the middle of the cave, blocking the path with her body. She hasn't shown any inclination to move, and I suspect she's still internally warring with the idea of trust. "I'm a healer, Willa. I can heal him…or at least, I can try. But I can't do it out here."

Willa hesitates a moment longer. Then, with a soft, "Please," she turns around and waves us deeper, inviting us in.

Before I can step forward, Ashtar puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. He takes the lead, moving in front of me, and doesn't ask permission. I suspect this is one of those arguments I won't win, so I reach forward and find his hand in the dark, squeeze it tight, and walk a few steps behind.

The cave winds deeper and deeper into the side of the mountain, and then opens up into a large, cavernous room, almost like an atrium. Overhead, there's watery sunlight pouring in amidst the stalactites, and it lights the cave decently, as does the fire blazing in the center. There's a pallet of blankets tucked near the fire, along with a couple of stools. Natural rock shelves off to the side reveal stored supplies in woven baskets along the edges of the cave, safely out of the way of any snow coming in from the overhead opening. It's a large, roomy cave and it'd be perfect to live in if it wasn't so high up the mountain. I can see why Gren picked it to hide away with Willa.

And I notice for the first time since entering that I don't see Gren anywhere. I pause, wondering if there's another chamber when the bed of furs near the fire shifts and moves, ever so slightly.

Oh.

I move closer, and Ashtar remains protectively at my side. "Careful."

Willa pushes past us, returning her torch to the fire. "It's okay," she says in a soft voice. She sits down next to the figure huddled in the blankets. "Gren, friends are here. They're going to help you, all right?"

As I watch, one hand eases from the blankets and grips Willa's tightly. His hand is gray, dark and not as hairy as I thought originally. I study their joined hands, and a prickle moves over me as I realize that his clawed fingertips look familiar. The coloring is all wrong, but…

His claws look a lot like Ashtar's.

Maybe that's common, I tell myself as I move closer. Ashtar tries to block me off again, but I shake my head at him and move to Willa's side. While she's holding Gren's hand, he's not going to do anything. He won't risk her safety.

She gives me a sad look even as he growls a warning, and I put a bright smile on my face, as if this is normal for me. "Hi Gren. I'm Veronica. That guy over there is my mate." I point at Ashtar, who's glowering over the fire. "You can probably hear us resonating, right?" I pat my chest. "That means there's no chance either of us is going to take Willa from you."

"He only knows a little of our language," Willa tells me, stroking his hand. "No one gave him a translation chip." She looks angry on his behalf.

I don't point out that he was probably struggling and thrashing too much for anyone to safely inject anything, but I nod. "Will he attack if I touch him?" My fingertips are beginning to tingle like they do when I sense my healing ramping up. I haven't touched him yet, but it's obvious that he's not well. The little skin I can see is pale gray and the bright cootie-blue eyes are sunken in their sockets. "I want to help, but I have to put my hands on him to heal him."

Willa leans over Gren and caresses his cheek. "Gren, sugar, Veronica's a friend. You trust me, right? Willa friend, Gren friend, Veronica friend."

"Friend," he rasps, and then snarls once more.

"Ignore the snarling," Willa tells me, moving to Gren's other side so she can give me room. "I had an old feral cat back home that would hiss at you even when she showed up for cuddles. I think he thinks it's normal, and no one's ever tried to show him otherwise. He really is a good guy, though. Very sweet. Very caring. He's protected me and kept me safe." She looks ready to cry. "He doesn't deserve to die like this."

"He's not going to," I reassure her, though I don't know if he'll die or not. I'm going to do my best, but…it might not be enough. Not until I see how he's doing. Very carefully, I reach toward the blankets and peel them back. They feel sticky and heavy, and as I do, a smell washes through the cave. Ashtar makes a choking sound, and I know this has to be killing his sensitive nose.

I study the creature—no, man—in front of me. His gray body has patches of fur kind of like the blue guys have the hard, bony plates. He's got it on his horned head, on his shoulders, and like a pelt covering most of his chest and his, ah, nethers. It's also matted to his chest and looks utterly filthy. That's not the problem, though. The problem is the sheer number of animal bites that cover his body. He looks as if he's been bitten everywhere—all up and down each arm, chunks gouged out on his chest, and even his torso and legs have massive wounds.

And the bites are horribly, grossly infected. The skin around each one is puffy, the bites open and leaking all kinds of terrible, smelly things. Ugh. I'm horrified as much as I'm fascinated. "What happened?"

"Snowcats. A lot of them. They were hungry and thought I was dinner. Gren saved me." Willa sniffs hard and presses her lips to Gren's hand. "I was out hunting and didn't even realize that I'd wandered into a den of them. I'd be dead if it wasn't for him. So the others can call him any kind of monster they want, but he's been wonderful to me."

I flex my fingers, hesitating before I put them on Gren. I'm not entirely sure where to touch him that's not been bitten and mauled within an inch of his life. "Is that why he stole you? Because you two resonated?"

"Stole me?" WIlla looks surprised. "Everyone thinks he stole me?"

"He didn't?"

"No! I freed him, and we left. Why would I want to stay with people that treat him so badly? He was scared and they tied him up like he was an animal. I wanted to help him and he didn't want to be alone." She shakes her head. "No one stole me."

Well, this is awkward. "I see. We can tell the others about that. Maybe it'll change their minds. Did you two…have you…" I chew on my lip, trying to think of the best way to ask, then just decide to come right out with it. "Are you guys resonating?"

"No. We're just friends. I think he could use someone that has his back." She gives me a defiant look. "Does it have to be sexual?"

"I don't imagine it does, no. I was just curious." She's awfully defensive for it to be “just friends,” but I'm certainly not going to pry. "Seems like there have been a lot of misunderstandings. We'll do what we can to help and then we'll talk to the others, won't we, Ashtar?"

My dragon-man crosses his arms over his chest and looks defiant. "No one is taking us anywhere we do not want to go. I did not escape one master to have new ones."

Atta boy. I'm filled with a rush of pride for my sexy dragon and want to get up and smother him with kisses. Instead, my cootie just flutters in my chest like the world's loudest butterfly and I beam happily at him, trying not to get affected by his nearness. Now is not the time for my cootie to think about mating. Unfortunately, it does every time I think of Ashtar, and it's getting harder to tune it out…or maybe I feel less and less like actually ignoring how it makes me feel.

Time to focus. I turn to Gren, who I remember as strong and terrifying and see nothing but someone who's been misunderstood and afraid since arriving here. Heck, maybe he's always been misunderstood. I offer him my hand, palm up, and he snarls again, baring saber-tooth-like large fangs at me.

"Gren," Willa says, squeezing his other hand. She shakes her head and puts a hand on his sweaty, gross chest, unafraid of his reaction. "Veronica is a friend. Willa friend, Veronica friend, Gren friend."

He looks at her, nostrils flaring. My god, he's so ugly, but she looks at him with patience and pride…and a lot like how I look at Ashtar.

"Friend," he manages, after a time. And he slowly uncurls one claw-tipped fist and offers me his hand.

I carefully take it…and I'm immediately struck by how “wrong” he feels. It's something more than the infection, which pulses and aches all throughout his physical form. It's different. Fascinated despite myself, I latch onto the healing “feeling” and follow it in, pushing my mind into Gren's body.

There's so much going “wrong” that it takes me a moment to settle in. It's overwhelming, because he's so very alien compared to even my dragon-man Ashtar that I don't know where to begin. It's like Gren's body is a symphony of musical instruments that are all off-key and being played as loudly as possible, each individual hurt trying to out-loud the last. I flail helplessly for a moment, feeling pummeled from all sides by his wrongness. Then, I feel it—one bright, shining thing in the chaos.

His cootie.

I follow it like a beacon, mentally sinking deeper into Gren's body. I let my cootie connect with his, and as they hum to each other, they begin to “speak” and share information. His cootie is strong, surprisingly strong. It beats in time with his heart, fighting like a warrior against the infections that crowd in.

It's strong, but it's tired. It pushes back against one infection, and another rises. Fluid has pooled in his chest and it's like dominoes—one problem is fixed and three more cascade. But they all feel…fixable. Doable. Like they're not the problem, not really. So why is his cootie so tired?

I link my cootie to his and coax it to work on the infections, tackling one piece at a time. Soothe away the pain in this bite right here, with the deepest, most jagged wounds. Mend torn muscle and broken veins. Help blood flow and push out the bad gunk that's determined to crowd in. With my cootie helping along, Gren's cootie grows stronger by the moment, pulsing harder and faster. It wants its host to survive. It wants that more than anything. But the feeling of “wrong” keeps surging forward, and even as I help with the infection, I keep circling around the feeling, trying to figure it out.

For some reason, I think of his claws again. The moment I do, a familiar feeling creeps through me. They're drakoni claws. They don't just look like them, they are them. Fascinated, I dig deeper and find his genetic material, and the “wrong” feeling hits me again. So does the drakoni feeling. I sift through his cells—at least, I think they're his cells—and find all kinds of conflicting information. This part's human, I think. Another part over here is whatever species the blue guys are. There's several bits from aliens I've never seen or heard of. And of course there are drakoni pieces in here. It's like they took bits from a bunch of different species and pushed them together and made a man.

And they did a shitty job with it. Even now, I can feel that, biologically, his systems aren't doing so well. Some of the pieces don't match up and can't function properly together. This is what's overwhelming his cootie. It could handle the bites. It could handle infection. But both of those things added in with the fact that it's got a full-time job just trying to keep his Frankenstein-bits working? It's too much. No wonder he's going under.

So I get to work. I find bits and pieces that feel like jagged edges and smooth them down. I think of Gren like clay and mentally work over the rough bits and the cracks, over and over again, until they disappear, lost in the perfection of the whole. I fix one piece, and then another pops up, demanding attention, and I turn towards it. Over and over, this chain continues, and I lose all sense of time and space. The world begins and ends with Gren's cells and organs, his blood and bone and tissue, and making them all sing together. He can be an orchestra, I tell them, but everyone has to play in tune.

And they don't want to listen, at first. But with enough coaxing and smoothing, my cootie and his cootie are able to pull things together. This time, when his body's systems sing out at me, they're not pretty, but they're not broken, either. They're working together instead of against each other.

The infection's still there. Bites, too. But I'm out of energy and I feel drained right down to my soul. I know I've spent too much effort working on Gren even after I promised Ashtar I'd take care of myself, and now I'm too tired to sink back into myself. It feels like too much effort.

I just want to fade out into nothing, because bodies are work.

My cootie sings and hums at me, though, keeping me from sliding away into nothing. It begins its resonance song and I think about Ashtar. My sweet, protective Ashtar who's both flirty and possessive. I need to go back to him because we haven't really completed resonance yet. Not truly. The thought of him helps me pull my mind free from Gren's body, and as I leave it behind, I hear his cootie start up in a song of its own.

Not a healing song, a mating song. Now that the broken parts are mended, his cootie wants more than just surviving. It wants a mate. And even as I slide back into my own body, I know who the mate is.

Willa.

I can't wait to share the news with Ashtar.