Page 10 of Bikar

But what’s even more disturbing is the fact that his hand appears to be fusedintothat damn data block, and he’s got some sort of cordsplugged into his back!

This is so far outside my comfort zone it’s not even funny.

Whatever this idiot has done, it’s clearly killing him. His body is jerking erratically every few seconds, and the color is leeching from his vibrant turquoise skin. Bikar is a moron, but there are people who love him dearly and would miss him if he were to die.

Not that I’m one of them.

Definitely not…

Right?

Taking the last step forward, I’m right beside him and can see he’s in worse shape than I initially thought. The wounds from the beating he took from Murgul—Vrog—haven’t healed, and now his life force seems to be rapidly draining out in front of me. The tics and muscle spasms are getting worse, almost like he’s on the verge of a seizure.

“Right. Well, I can’t say that technology was ever my thing, but I’ve always heard folks say, ‘Have you tried turning it off and back on again,’which normally involved unplugging the machine. So… let’s try that.”

Great, now I’m talking to myself again.

Moving around his chair, I carefully avoid the sharp spikes that cover his entire back, give the slits that hide his wings acurious glance, and tentatively wrap both hands around two of the cords plugged into his back via some sort of port-looking things. The only thing I can compare them to is a cell phone charger. Gently, I pull them from his back and only gag a little at the squelching sound they make when they release.

Seconds later, I have all six of them out, and I can see that his large body has stopped twitching, but the blood is still flowing from the various places on his face. “Okay, well, at least you’re not jerking around like a marionette anymore.”

My eyes fall next to the data block in his hand. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but the little brick-looking thing isinsidehis hand. Like his body partially absorbed it. “How the hell am I supposed to get that out of you?”

Glaring at his stupid, unconscious,handsomeface, I try to suss out how to help. “Fuck it. This will either work or it won’t.”

Taking a deep breath, I reach out and grab the tangible edge of the data block and sigh in relief when it slips out of his hand, becoming fully corporeal the second it loses contact with his skin. To my relief, his color instantly starts improving.

Holding it up between my index finger and thumb, I look at it warily before carefully laying it down on the console in front of us. Wiping my hand on my pants, I shudder. “Nasty thing. Odd that something so small could cause so many problems.”

Turning back, I take a moment to really look at Bikar. His personality is… overwhelming to say the least when he’s conscious, so now that he’s not actively dying, I decide to take my time checking out the alien that’s allegedly meant to be my one true love.

His face is… interesting.

A full black beard hides small horns along his jaw and matches the waist-length hair he keeps tied up in a topknot, similar to photos of samurai warriors I saw in history books from the local library back home. Small braids with beads andornaments are also scattered throughout his tresses. Peering closer, I see that the tip of his left tusk is gone, and his nose has a distinct break in the middle, creating a definitive crook in the once clean line.

Snickering at the damage Einar clearly refused to heal, I resume my perusal. Dual curved, two-point horns emerge from a thick, armored brow that protrudes slightly over his eyes, creating a bit of a recess to protect them from potential damage. Looking at his horns, I have to admit they’re fascinating. Einar, Murgul, and Bikar are the only three of the brothers who have them, but they’re all different from one another. Einar’s are massive, Murgul’s deadly, and Bikar’s… well, they’re almost pretty. As if they’re more ornamental instead of utilitarian.

Running my gaze down his arms, I’m surprised to see the backs of his hands are covered in scales the same color as his skin but are edged in a pretty shimmering gold. The ends of his fingers have barely noticeable slits in them, and I realize he’s got claws just like Murgul does. His pants-covered lower limbs are shaped like mine instead of the ankle joint bending backwards like Murgul’s, and his feet are covered in a massive pair of combat boots. Raising my gaze back up, my eyes land on the pitch-black mating collar that I’ve been studiously avoiding.

The bold, flowing black lines disappear beneath the waistline of his pants, and I fight off a blush at the thought that it might go lower. I’ve never seen a naked human man, and my mind can’t comprehend what Bikar might look like without clothes. Tracing the marks back up his torso, I see there isn’t much of his chest, abdomen, and neck that isn’t covered with curving symbols. Leaning closer, I realize that the thick band around his neck extends up into his dark beard and disappears over his shoulders to his back.

“See something that you like, little Starshine?”

The sardonic question in his roughly quiet voice makes me freeze in place, and apprehension surges through me when I realize he’s awake. Raising nothing but my eyes, I see two slits of blazing gold staring at me contemplatively.

CHAPTER 10

BIKAR

Iforce myself to remain motionless. The tic Bambi realized I regained consciousness; the faint scent of her curiosity was overshadowed by nervousness, now bordering on fear. Slowly, she steps away from me, tugging at the end of her long-sleeved garment as she moves. Her subconscious need to ensure she’s covered makes my hearts hurt, and rage burns simultaneously for my little mate.

Einar—frackin rule follower—refused to tell me what it is that she hides, much to my extreme annoyance. However, it does not take much in the way of deductive reasoning skills to figure out she wishes to hide her form from prying eyes.

Especially from the male gaze.

I have noticed that she adjusts her garments far more when in the company of males than she does when it is just her and her friends. Modulating my tone, I try to interject some humor to put her at ease. “I appear to have miscalculated a few things this rising.”

Her adorable little eyebrows lift so high they might escape the confines of her face before they slam together into an incredulous frown. Little five-fingered hands fist and settle onher delectably curved hips in indignation, and she practically shouts at me. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”