“What have you tried?”
“Who are—” The medic cyborg glanced at her, at her white jacket. “Thank the stars. You’re a medic. During the escape, she was shot.”
The male gave her more details than needed, the words tumbling out of his mouth.
She listened, examined the wound. Having been a medic on battlefields, it took her a mere moment to reach a diagnosis.
“Arteries have been severed.” She kneeled on the floor, searched through the medic pack, found a sealing device and medical sealant. “This should be enough to reconnect the major arteries. That will give her better odds of survival.”
Illona sanitized as much of herself and the sealing device as she could with a cleaning cloth.
“What do we do?” Malice surprised her with that offer. Her big cyborg loomed over her.
Valor stood beside him.
They were both willing to help, and she was grateful for that. She required their assistance.
“Hold her still.” She assigned that task, harnessing their tremendous strength. “Ensure our patient doesn’t move during the operation.”
Malice grunted and repositioned himself above the female’s head. He pinned their patient’s shoulders to the floor.
Valor secured her feet.
“This will take a long duration.” Illona glanced at the medic cyborg. “I’ll take the first round of healing and talk you through it. If you feel comfortable, you can take the next round.”
Saving their patient would require the efforts of both of them. The process was slow, and the work was intricate.
“My skill level at repairing humans is low.” The male admitted his lack of experience.
“That’s okay.” She bent over the female. “My skill level is high.”
“My medic is vastly understating her skill level.” Malice’s voice was edged with a toe-curling possessiveness and a chest-heating pride. “It is greater than high. If she can’t repair the human female, no one can accomplish that feat.”
A small smile curled Illona’s lips. Her cyborg valued her role as a medic.
That meant the universe to her.
She rolled back her shoulders, applied herself to her task, and hoped her skills were enough to save the female.
Illona lost track of time. She worked on her patient until her back ached and her fingers felt numb. The female slipped from consciousness midway through the process.
Patch, her J Model medic trainee, learned quickly and alleviated some of the strain on her. But he was inexperienced and nervous, and she had to supervise him.
She rolled back her shoulders. Her joints cracked.
“You’re damaging yourself, female.” Malice frowned at her. He released his hold on their patient. It was no longer needed. The sealant was done, and the human female wasn’t moving anywhere. “Come here.”
“Can you tidy the female?” She relayed that task to Patch. “That will decrease the risk of infection.”
The J Model nodded. “What are her odds of survival?”
She’d spent enough time with her cyborg to know the male expected a number calculated to four decimal places, but she hadn’t their preciseness and she was too exhausted to attempt to match it. “The odds are good.” All the major arteries and some of the minor ones had been reconnected. “But nothing is ever 100.0000 percent certain.” She blew out her breath. “We help who we can.”
Fuck. She sounded like Medic Anahit, her mentor.
Her eyes widened. That was because she was a mentor, Patch’s mentor.
“When she has been tended to, we’ll examine the other females.” Their wounds didn’t appear to be life-threatening, but they should be looked at. “And—”
“Female.” Malice’s rumbles grew louder. “Come here.” He held out his hands. “Now.”
She was tempted to argue with him. Her patients came first. But she was so very weary and that could lead to mistakes and—
“Now.” Her obstinate C Model bellowed that word. His voice bounced off the walls.
The females behind her whimpered.
“You’re scaring beings.” Illona shuffled on her knees toward him. She was too tired, too stiff to stand.
“They should be scared.” Malice grabbed her wrists and hauled her onto his lap. “You should be scared.”
He wrapped one of his arms around her, securing her to him, and retrieved a cleaning cloth.
“You were skilled at repairing the female. You saved her life.” His pride in that accomplishment warmed her all over. “But you pushed your fragile human form too far, damaging it.”
He ran the cleaning cloth over her hands, swirling the fabric into her knuckles, tidying her with a cyborg thoroughness. And she didn’t fight that care. She melted into his form, savoring the touching, his heat, his presence.
“In the future, you will replenish your energy sources when I deem that to be necessary.” Her grumbling cyborg