Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
It occurred to me that the little human in my arms was more important to me than either of the females I had signed contracts with in the past. In fact, she was more important to me than anyone in my life—perhaps too important for just a pet. Was it right to assign such value to a creature who I had bought just for casual companionship? Right or not, it seemed I had done it—was doing it even now. I couldn’t stop touching her—couldn’t stop wanting to hold her close and make certain she would be all right.
You care for her too much, whispered a little voice in my head—the voice of reason, no doubt. She’s more than a pet to you and that’s not right. She is of a lesser species.
I pushed the voice aside and promised myself to think this problem over later. But for now, I was completely focused on little one. I had to get her back in shape.
And then we would talk about what kind of punishment she was going to get for scaring me to death like this.
THIRTY-EIGHT
ELLI
It took a few days for me to completely recover from my little adventure in the sub-zero temperatures of O’nagga Nine. It seemed like I just couldn’t get warm again—or I would get warm and then my body couldn’t hold the heat and I would start shivering and my lips would turn blue. Also, all my muscles ached, probably from being so tense while I was paralyzed.
Sir thought it might have to do with the after-effects of the Sweeper’s poison. He kept giving me warm baths and feeding me warm drinks—which was basically just the nutritional gel cubes melted down to liquid form. If I had thought they tasted bad at room temperature, well, they were completely vile when heated up to a liquid. But I was too sick to protest so I just took my medicine like a good pet and did my best to get better.
When he wasn’t bathing me or coaxing me to drink the nasty nutritional gel liquid, Sir was holding me close to his big body, to try and share his own body heat with me. We spent a long time together in bed under his big silver bedspread with me cuddled close to his broad chest, soaking in his warmth and breathing in his masculine, spicy scent. He murmured to me and rubbed my back, telling me he would never let me go—that soon I would be feeling well again.
I hadn’t been taken care of like this since I was little and had the flu and my mom was so worried she slept on a pallet beside my bed and checked my temperature every hour. Sir treated me so gently and there was such tenderness in his deep voice when he spoke my name but I knew that sooner or later I was going to have to pay for my unauthorized trip. The consequences were coming and the thought of that made me uneasy.
At last, on the third or fourth day after we left O’nagga Nine, I woke up feeling significantly better. I yawned and stretched and reached down to stroke Sir’s candalla, which was curled protectively around my leg.
“Good morning,” I told it. “If it is morning.”
“Close enough.” It was Sir’s deep, rumbling voice that answered me, though his tail twitched appreciatively when I stroked it.
“Oh, you’re up?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“As you see. Lights low,” he added and the blue gloom of his bedroom was replaced with a soft, golden glow. Sir propped himself on one elbow and regarded me seriously. “How are you feeling, little one?” he asked.
“Much better, I think,” I said cautiously. “My muscles don’t ache anymore and I don’t feel cold either. See? No goosebumps.”
I held out my arm to show him.
“Hmmm.” Sir stroked my arm with his big, warm hand, sending shivers down my spine. As much as he had touched me in the past three or four days, none of those touches had been sexual. And now that I was feeling better, I found that my libido was waking up again too.
But it was my stomach that actually spoke up about how much better I was feeling. It growled angrily, making a gurgling noise that made me gasp and put a hand to my midsection in embarrassment.
Sir smiled at me.
“It seems to me that someone’s hungry.”
“Yes, I am—I’m starving,” I said, which was true.
Sir frowned.
“You’re definitely looking malnourished—you have hardly any curves left, little one. I think we’d better get you some nutritional gel cubes.”
“Oh please, not those again,” I begged. “I don’t think I can take anymore of them—not after having to eat them as that thick, slimy soup for the past three days!”
Sir shook his head.
“I’m sorry, little one. What would you like?”