Stranded with the Cyborg (Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance Book 1) by Bristol Cara

Author:Bristol, Cara [Bristol, Cara]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Cara Bristol
Published: 2015-09-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Brock was acting all tough and macho—no act, he was tough and macho—but she’d seen his back after he’d caught fire. His shirt had melted into his flesh. It astounded her he’d managed to trek through the woods. The man had more fortitude than any human being she’d met in her entire life.

She didn’t know what she could do for him, other than pump him full of pain meds, insist he keep the injury covered to minimize infection, and hope against all hope that help arrived as soon as possible.

Thank goodness she’d grabbed an emergency light. She’d found it on the floor near the pod, as if the fake captain had chucked it while making his escape. She’d shoved it into the burgeoning bag.

If she’d thought to grab her PerComm, they would have been rescued already, and Brock would be in the infirmary being treated by trained medical professionals.

Penelope steeled herself for what she would see and clicked on the light.

“Great universe!” She nearly dropped the illuminator. “Brock—oh universe!”

The burns had disappeared, the injury site replaced with fresh, pink glowing skin. How was that possible? A few short hours ago, his back had been oozing, charred clear through the dermis, the epidermis, the subcutaneous fat, all the way to the underlying muscle and tissue.

Pia rubbed her eyes. “Your burns have healed!” Gingerly, she touched his spine, and he stiffened.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

She ran her fingers over his flesh in disbelief.

“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad.” He flexed his shoulder blades as if to shake off her touch. “You were worried for nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing!” She pictured his damaged flesh. She’d seen the flames! He had been on fire. His shirt proved it. Although the sleeves and front were intact, the back panel had melted away. Even if his injury hadn’t been third-degree, he would have been injured some.

“Then how come I’m not burned?” he said.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you suppose that in all the stress of the attempts on your life and the crash landing that you’re not remembering it correctly?” He paused. “If I had been severely injured, I wouldn’t have healed already, would I?”

“But—but—” She snapped her mouth shut.

“My shirt caught fire, but you extinguished it before it could do much damage.”

She squinted. He couldn’t have grown new skin in a matter of hours. Obviously, she hadn’t seen what she thought she’d seen. The pinkness probably came from a mild burn.

Certainty collapsed into confusion and self-doubt. “I’m losing it,” she said. The assassination attempts, the shuttle crash, being stranded, the loss of her mental faculties—she couldn’t take much more. She burst into tears.

“Hey, hey.” Brock took the light from her hand, switched it off, and then hugged her. He tangled his hand in her hair, which was probably as messed up as she was. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not. Because I’m g-going to be like a—a dead…albatross around your neck.”

He chuckled. “You’re mixing your metaphors. It’s just albatross or dead weight.

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