There’s something warm around my hand. Most of the pain in my chest is gone, thanks to the Sylerian the Kordolian medics have injected into my veins. They’ve put me on an infusion, too. I don’t know what it’s for—they still haven’t explained anything to me—but at least I’m feeling better.

The urge to cough out my damn lungs is gone. A dull pain has spread throughout my body. It’s worst in my hips and knees, but at least the Sylerian has taken the edge off.

I get the feeling I’ll live.

The warmth around my hand tightens. Large, callused fingers are caressing my palm. I squeeze and he squeezes back, enclosing my hand in his strong, rough grip. He’s careful not to disturb the infusion port they’ve inserted into the back of my hand. The port has a node that monitors my blood and sends information back to the medic’s analysis machines.

My eyes flutter open and the dimly lit room comes into soft focus. Like all the rooms onboard Silence, this one is dark and oblong-shaped. Although they’ve added lighting purely for my benefit, it’s still claustrophobic. Over time, I’ve gotten used to Kordolian architecture, but this so-called ‘isolation chamber’ feels more oppressive than usual, probably because it’s so small and spartan.

I get why they’ve put me here, though. I could be infectious, although my dear husband doesn’t care one whit about that.

Tarak’s sitting on the floor beside my sleeping pod, resting his head on its soft surface just beside me. He threads his fingers through mine. I caress his soft hair with my other hand, tracing little circles through his cropped locks. My fingers graze the subtly raised points where his horns are supposed to be, and I wonder if he’ll ever be able to grow them back.

“In peacetime,” he always tells me whenever I bring up the topic, as if that point in time isn’t too far away.

“Hey,” I murmur, wondering if this is all just a pleasant dream. “That was quick. I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“You cannot expect me to stay away when you’re sick, my love. That would be… unacceptable.” He lifts his head and looks up at me, his crimson eyes glittering with their usual intensity. “Were you feeling unwell before I left? You should have told me.” His words are soft, but there’s a stern note of censure in his voice.

“Honestly, I felt fine. This all came on so suddenly.” I try not to sound worried, but this whole situation has me spooked. Suddenly, I feel vulnerable, even with the Big Bad by my side.

This isn’t one of those times when he can just pull out his vicious Callidum blade and vanquish our foes. This is sudden, insidious, and unexpected.

And it’s bad, bad timing. My fierce Kordolian mate is supposed to be sweeping up the scattered ashes of a fractured Empire, and this comes along. Damn this fragile Human body of mine.

“I am here now,” he murmurs. He’s trying to be reassuring, but his voice is low and edged with tension. His eyes are slightly narrowed, and his features are more severe than usual.

The differences are subtle, but I know my husband too well. He’s stressed. Frustrated. Tired.

He needs a long, slow massage, and then some. I could use some of that, too.

“The sooner we get you out of this cursed isolation, the better. I do not like the fact that you are separated from our daughter.”

“Be patient,” I say, massaging the back of his neck. It’s a mass of rigid muscle and hard knots; he’s so damn tense. “Let the experts do their thing. Besides, I left Ami with the girls. They’ve spent enough time with us that they know all her quirks. She’ll be fine.” Although I sound like my usual confident self, my chest aches a little. I hate being separated from my Little Monster.

Tarak responds with a dissatisfied grunt. I get it. He’s used to being in control, and when he can’t immediately fix a problem, it throws him way off-kilter.

He’s a total control freak. It comes with the territory.

A gentle chime echoes throughout the dark chamber, and moments later, the door opens, its interwoven black tendrils disengaging to reveal the medic, Joran. There’s something in his hands; a cartridge of some sort.

There’s a small decontamination airlock between this chamber and the outside world. Joran would have donned his protective suit in the airlock as he stepped through. It’s a flexible, armor-like outfit, complete with a helmet and transparent face-plate, and it’s black, like just about everything the Kordolians make. I suspect their lack of appreciation for color has something to do with living on a lightless planet, or maybe they just like black for its sexy-cool factor. Whatever the reason, the getup makes the Kordolian medic look more alien than ever, and I’m reminded once again that I’m a long, long way from home.

Tarak isn’t wearing a protective suit, and I can’t imagine him possibly needing one. As Joran approaches, Tarak squeezes my hand in silent reassurance, making no attempt to move from my side.

The commander of Silence is sitting on the bare floor with my hand resting on his neck. It’s such a casual, intimate position; the kind of thing couples do behind closed doors when they’re chilling out together. When Tarak does it, he reminds me of a barely-tamed lion.

Joran regards us with a wary look. He clears his throat nervously as my husband watches him in that silent-still-scary way of his.

“What is the diagnosis, medic?” Finally, Tarak breaks the awkward silence. “You’d better have good news for me.”

“We’re still working on narrowing down the exact diagnosis.” To his credit, the medic’s voice is steady. He’s every inch the cool, calm professional. “It’s proving to be a bit more complicated than I’d thought. I can’t tell you much now, because I don’t want to tell you anything incorrect or misleading. Please be patient. I’ll have more information for you soon.”

The muscles in Tarak’s neck flex and harden. “She has my black nanites inside her. Contrary to what is supposed to happen, they haven’t devoured her. Instead, she’s developed a tolerance to them. Can I not just give her another transfusion of my blood?”

Joran goes a little bit pale. “Th-that wouldn’t be a good idea right now.”

“Why wouldn’t—”

I gently squeeze the back of Tarak’s neck. “Listen to the medic, love. This is his area of expertise, not yours.” I keep my voice low; my words are little more than a breath. To my relief, Tarak responds with a low, assenting grunt.

“Patience is not something I have a lot of right now.” One of his ears twitches. “I expect answers, medic, and I expect them soon.”

Joran’s face goes funny, as if he’s making an active effort to bite back a retort. “Y-yes,” he says. He meets my eyes, holding up the cartridge-thing. “I need to add this to the infusion. Your serum protein levels are dropping. This is a highly concentrated plasma-protein preparation. It’s freshly made.”

“Made?” I blink, reminding myself that I know next-to-nothing about Kordolian medicine. I know they’re capable of godlike feats of healing, but I still don’t understand how they’re able to heal me when I’m Human and all their theory is based on Kordolians.

“Your genomic map is stored in our systems. After analyzing your genetic data, it wasn’t difficult to synthesize the necessary proteins.”

“O-oh.” I struggle to process that information as he fiddles with the infusion machine, attaching the cartridge to it.

Tarak watches him closely. Joran fumbles the cartridge as he tries to clip it into the machine.

“Let him do his job, love,” I whisper under my breath, knowing that he can hear me perfectly well. “Terrifying him out of his wits isn’t going to make this process go any faster.”

A soft growl escapes my husband. He’s still ridiculously tense, and his irritability almost makes the air around us crackle. “Why is she still in isolation? Is all of this,” he gestures towards Joran’s protective suit and the entrance to the airlock, “really necessary?”

The cartridge slides into the infusion device with a satisfying click, and Joran looks down at Tarak. “It’s definitely infectious,” he says quietly. “You’ll have to de-contaminate when you leave.”

“I’m not leaving until she’s cleared.”

Joran offers Tarak a small bow. “With all due respect, Sir, we don’t know how long it will—”

“You’d better have answers for me soon, medic.” Tarak’s voice could freeze oceans.

“Patience,” I whisper. My fingers trace up-and-down his neck. The infusion machine clicks and starts to pump the protein stuff into my veins. Joran backs away, appearing more than a little uncomfortable.

“I’ll return as soon as I have confirmation of the diagnosis,” he says.

From deep down, I summon a smile. “Thank you, Joran.” I feel a little bit of sympathy for the poor medic. Zyara is one of the few Kordolians who can stand toe-to-toe with Tarak in his own domain and get away with it. I’ve even seen her overrule him once or twice on medical matters.

My dear husband is a terrible patient. Impatient, demanding, and stubborn, he seems to have a particular aversion towards any kind of medical facility, and this in a man who never shies away from anything.

Joran disappears through the qualum doors, leaving us alone together. Amazingly, the plasma-protein infusion seems to be helping the deep ache in my joints, although the Sylerian has me feeling a little bit woozy and detached from reality.

Thank Jupiter Tarak’s here. His grumpy, irritable, indomitable presence has a soothing effect on me, almost making me forget how desperately I want to see my daughter again.

And as always, despite the fact that I’m undergoing treatment, I feel a little bit… aroused.

“Hey, Tarak.” I sit up slowly, pushing the soft black sheets aside. “Remember when we first met?”

“Mm?” His eyes are closed. He’s running his bare hand up my leg now. The rough pads of his fingers brush the inside of my thigh. “What about it?”

“What on Earth possessed you to jump into the stasis tank with me?” Knowing what I know about him now makes my memory of that incident all the more remarkable.

He’s not the impulsive sort. He isn’t rash. He isn’t warm and fluffy or particularly considerate to others, with the exception of Ami and myself.

But for some reason, he’s been saving me from danger ever since we first met.

“You were cold,” he answers simply. “I felt I could do something about it.” As always, he’s scant on detail. The next thing I know, he’s moving, rising fluidly to his feet and sliding into the decidedly one-person sized pod. All of a sudden, he’s beside me, wrapping his naked self around me.

Ah. He’s gone insta-naked again. This exo-armor of his— which is constructed of an infinite number of tiny nano-machines that are responsive to the user’s mental commands—certainly has its perks.

“You were cold back then, just like you are now,” he whispers, and I realize that my bare feet are like glaciers, and my fingers are like icicles. I press my hands against his bare torso and I’m instantly rewarded with an infusion of heat. “Humans do not respond well to the cold.”

“Not here,” I protest. “They’re monitoring my vitals. They’re watching everything.”

They’ve probably picked up on the fact that my temperature’s just risen, along with my heart rate. Delicious warmth spreads down into my core. If Joran’s half-smart, then he would have figured out my predicament by now. The thought of someone else knowing what we’re up to makes me blush.

“I know,” he murmurs as he wraps his arms around me. The hard-edged tension I sensed earlier bleeds into his voice a little bit. A strange energy surrounds him; it’s warm and frantic and tender and savage all at the same time. “You torture me as much as you fulfill me, my amina. It has been a bit too long.”

He’s right, of course. I can’t remember how long it’s been since we last fucked. Days? Weeks? It’s not for any lack of interest. It’s just that he’s been tied up in this whole destroy-the-Empire thing, and I’ve been holed up here on Silence looking after our very energetic, very adventurous, very inquisitive daughter.

My desire skyrockets as his erection presses firmly against my lower back. “See what you do to me?” His voice is strained. “I will be here with you for as long as it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But…” My mind races. With all that’s happening on Kythia, he’s most certainly needed elsewhere. “The selfish part of me wants you to stay, but don’t you have a military coup to supervise? You’re a… unique and powerful individual in this part of the Universe. I shouldn’t be getting in the way of your responsibilities.”

“Abbey.” Tarak pulls me into him. My back is to him, and he engulfs me with his body, wrapping his hard torso and big arms around me. He twines his legs between mine. “Why do you think I am trying to disentangle myself from everything involving Kythia? Why do you think I am trying to step back from my command post?” Frustration seeps into his voice. He’s full of of dark energy and pent up desire, and I probably need to do something about that.

“Because you’re tired,” I say gently. “You can’t fix the Universe on your own, handsome.”

“I can try,” he argues in his typical, stubborn way, “and I would probably succeed, but that’s not the reason for all of this. You are the reason. You and our Ami. Everything else becomes insignificant.” He plants a slow kiss on a particularly sensitive spot behind my right ear. Next, his lips are on my earlobe, and he’s grazing my soft skin with his fangs. “Goddess, how I want to fuck you, my sweet Human. I will wait, though, because nothing is more important to me right now than finding a cure for whatever is making you sick, and I don’t want to hurt you or make this thing any worse.”

I shudder. It’s a good kind of shudder, the kind you get when something incredibly pleasant is happening to you. “I’m not that fragile.”

“Patience, my love.” His voice is full of irony as he turns the tables on me. Sneaky, sneaky man. “Fight this thing for me. Get better, and this will be your reward.” He presses the hard length of his cock against the curve of my ass.

“O-oh,” I moan. “You’re so mean, General. I’m practically an invalid here.”

“You’re not that fragile, and I command you to get better.” He sucks on my earlobe. “Think of it as fair, considering my waking thoughts are invaded by you. You’re driving me insane, and I suspect that the symptoms of mating fever are even beginning to return.”

The thought of my mate being driven to distraction because of me is a little unsettling. Ordinarily, I’d just jump his bones and be done with it, but I’m stuck in an isolation chamber with monitors and lines attached to me, and people are watching us.

Oh. How much can those medics interpret from outside the pod? I don’t really want to know. As for Tarak, he probably wouldn’t care. He’s shameless like that. He can walk around naked in public on freezing cold Kythia and think nothing of it.

This sweet, impossible, stubborn man of mine. Having him here with me makes all the difference.

The Sylerian coursing through my veins must be making me a little bit high, because all of a sudden, my aches and pains fade away, and I don’t think it’s just because of the plasma-protein infusion. Being surrounded by naked, larger-than-life Tarak in a cramped medical pod is the quickest way for a woman to feel invincible.

I close my eyes and let his overwhelming presence soothe me as he wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tight. It’s as if we’re both hanging in tortuous stasis, marinating in each other’s lust. I’m sick and untouchable as I wait for answers, and he’s on the verge of being consumed by mating fever. We’re like tinder and flint; all it takes is a little friction, and there’ll be fire.

That’s how it always is with us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.