She had just admitted to torturing a male. He tried to growl to warn her away from him as she approached but his throat remained silent. Rage gripped him as he worried that she planned to hurt him too.

“Okay. We’ll do this together.” She was very near. “It’s warmer now that the sun is up so I don’t think you’ll catch a chill. I’d wait a few more hours but I need to reestablish that feeding tube. You’ve lost enough weight.” The covers were pulled down his torso to the beginning of his hips.

Water dripped on him before a warm cloth touched his face. Her ministrations were gentle as she rubbed every inch until she paused at his throat. The cloth left and he heard water sloshing before it returned. She washed his neck and shoulders.

“Don’t worry. You haven’t lost too much mass. It’s hard to weigh you but your ribs are more defined.” She washed him there, down his belly, all the way to the covering across his lap. “I’m a professional. It’s okay.”

The cloth withdrew and he tried to snarl again as she slid the material lower. He could feel air hit his h*ps and knew he wore nothing except something that trailed over one thigh.

“Okay. I said that, didn’t I? This isn’t so bad. I needed to check your catheter anyway.”

He couldn’t move as the female cleaned his skin and he was shocked when timid, small fingers adjusted his cock. She touched him without gloves and he felt his body stir in response to skin-on-skin contact.

“Shit!” Her hand jerked away. “I guess that’s a good sign. Destiny said you never responded when he did that but it’s definitely a reaction to stimuli.” She sounded nervous. “It all looks good. Everything is secure here and, um, I don’t need to reinsert your catheter.”

Her gentle ministrations became a little hurried as she washed down his legs and covered his lap with something light and dry. It tickled a little when she washed his feet and between his toes with the washcloth.

“Your foot jerked.” Excitement laced her voice. “You haven’t done that before! Maybe taking you away from Homeland was a good thing after all.”

The sounds of her breathing drew closer to his head. Wet hair fell across his bare chest when she leaned over him. The locks were cold but warm breath fanned his throat. Something was removed from over his eyes. It tugged a little on his forehead and cheeks.

“880? Can you hear me? Please open your eyes. I removed the taped pads. You’re safe. You’ve been rescued from Mercile Industries. They don’t have you anymore.”

What does that mean? He struggled to see her but everything remained dark.

Fingers rested on his chest and stroked his skin gently. “You just need to wake up. I’m so sorry about what was done to your mate. I know it hurts but you have to come back to the living. You’re young, strong, and have a bright future. There are a lot of people who will help you adjust to life outside the facilities. We all care about you.” She paused. “I care about you.”

What happened to 46? Why is the female sorry? Panic gripped him and he pushed at the fog inside his mind. Memories rushed forth as if a mental door opened that shoved him back into reality.

46 had died. The humans had given her drugs that made her sick then murdered her outside his cage, where he couldn’t protect her. He’d had to helplessly watch her life drain away on the floor in a pool of blood. Howls of grief had torn up his throat as he’d tried to kill her murderers by attacking the cage bars. He’d eventually blacked out from the pain of knowing she was gone to him forever and the indestructible walls he’d battered. He’d failed 46 and had gratefully sunk into the dark pit of despair when he’d lost consciousness.

* * * * *

Disappointment struck Allison when the Species male didn’t open his eyes. He’d moved his foot and his penis had reacted when she’d studied the catheter by touching him there. She’d count it as progress.

She stopped stroking his chest, drew back and reached for a towel to dry the drops of water she’d left on him when her hair had plastered to his chest. Her gaze remained on his face, looking for any sign of emotion. She didn’t even see a flicker of change.

“It’s got to mean something that you had some reactions,” she encouraged him aloud, hoping her voice would register with his subconscious.

She talked softly as she worked on getting him stabilized. She emptied his urine bag, reinserted his feeding tube, and fed him. The liquid diet wasn’t enough for a man his size but it kept him alive and nourished. She had to turn him on his side, not an easy task, to clean his back and change the padding under his hips. Nurses usually did the personal care tasks for patients. She hadn’t had to deal with it since her residency.

The blanket was firmly tucked around his body to keep him warm. She turned away to dump the water into the sink from the bucket she’d used to bathe him. It had sprinkled outside during the night but the sun shone brightly at the moment. It looked as if the storm wasn’t going to be as bad as the weather reporter had predicted.

Guilt tore at her a little as she nibbled on toast, sipped her coffee and sat at the table, regarding her patient. Medical at Homeland would be short-staffed with her gone but 880 was her priority. Ted Treadmont could handle any emergencies. He might bitch about the extra hours but he had the assistance of a few Species who were training to be nurses. It wouldn’t be too taxing for him to cover her shifts.

She’d bet the five candy bars she’d packed that the NSO was looking for her at that very moment. All she could do was hope she’d covered her tracks well enough to buy at least a week to spend with 880. She’d place the call to tell them where they were in seven days if he didn’t improve.