Grav had never fired his weapon in the line of duty. He’d practiced at the MEC range as required, but that was the last time he’d drawn his weapon.
Which made the prospect of repatriation terrifying. With Drek dead, he’d become a nobody and could be assigned to combat. If he faltered on the battlefield, he’d be executed by his own comrades. Weakness jeopardized the entire unit.
He was a disgrace—he needed no further confirmation than the sharp pangs of guilt he felt for not telling her the invasion had been aborted, and the major danger had passed. He shouldn’t feel any guilt for the omission. He owed his loyalty to the empire, not some human woman.
But it bothered him to withhold information that would ease her mind, allow her to regain some semblance of a normal life.
However, if she connected with others of her race and told them, the situation could be perilous for him and his fellow Progg. If the surviving humans regrouped, they could stage an ambush. A gun was no match for a vaporizer, but as long as the Progg didn’t see the shot coming, the humans would prevail.
Whoever had attacked him had taken his weapon and comm device. His assailant wouldn’t be able to use either—both were programmed to him—but it left Grav with no means to receive communiques from the GM.
Not that there had been any in the preceding months. But the crisis had to be settled by now, didn’t it? Without his device, his only hope of getting off Earth was to reconnect with another Progg.
As soon as she left again, he’d get to work on the chains.
Meanwhile, he’d enjoy her company. When she wasn’t probing painful emotional wounds, he looked forward to the time spent with her. Her appearance fascinated, her voice entranced—even when she was angry, which was quite often—and her scent beguiled. Earth was a cesspool of noxious odors, but Laurel wasn’t one of them. He felt inebriated by her scent.
Intensely curious, he wished to learn more about her parents, her siblings, her life before the invasion. The next time they spoke, he would steer the conversation in that direction. Besides, getting her to talk about herself would prevent her from probing into his life.
He realized he would recall his captivity with great fondness.
Chapter Ten
Grav dipped into a deep-knee bend, careful to avoid dislodging the chain attached to his arm. He’d been doing what he could to stretch and exercise—marching in place, doing lunges and knee bends, and cautiously flexing his arms.
A clap of thunder reverberated through the cave, and he jerked, unmooring his arm from the bedpost. The loose plastic tie went flying, landing next to the bed, but out of reach even with one arm free. Hurriedly, he grabbed the last tie from under the mattress.
In his haste to reattach the chain before she caught him, he accidentally reattached it the right way—rechaining himself to the bed.
“Pikur zok vinik okum!”
Now, he had to start all over. Worse, if she noticed the tie on the floor, he’d be screwed. Even if she didn’t realize the implication, he needed the tie to connect his arm to the bedpost once he freed it again. Could he maybe reach the tie with the ladder rung?
All he could do was hope she left before she noticed.
On another crack of thunder, Laurel appeared. He averted his gaze from the telltale tie. “It’s raining like a mother out there,” she announced.
He’d experienced the area’s weather. Rain often poured down in a deluge, drenching him in seconds.
“I’d planned to go to town again, but that’s out,” she said.
Pikur zok vinik okum!He grimaced.
“Tired of my company already?”
“Not at all,” he countered. “I was hoping we could talk some more.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“You,” he replied.
“Me?”
“I’d like to know more about you.”
She planted her hands on her hips. Today, she wore a pair of tight blue pants that molded her limbs and a rather attractive long-sleeve shirt printed with some sort of vegetation. Flowers, he decided. “Why should I tell you anything?” she asked.
“Maybe to build empathy for your people?”
