Hanna and the Hitman - Honey Phillips Page 0,28

if it is possible, any protection the Hothians currently enjoy from Imperial rule will vanish.”

“Imperial rule?” A startled laugh escaped her lips, and she immediately looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It just sounds like something out of a movie.”

“A movie?”

“Fictional entertainment on a screen,” she explained. “You have those, right?”

“Of course. We call them vids.”

He could feel the sickness still waiting at the back of his brain, like an arslan waiting to pounce, but he had things to do before it emerged. He swung his feet to the ground and forced himself to his feet. His knees shook with an entirely unacceptable weakness, and Hanna started to dart toward him. He growled, and she stopped, immediately twisting her hands together.

“I hate not being able to help you.”

The ache in his chest that he had experienced before when she expressed concern for him returned. No one helped him. He had learned early to help himself.

“It is my job to take care of you,” he muttered, then softened his tone at the look on her face. “It is my privilege as a warrior.”

He spoke the truth—it was a warrior’s privilege to care for his mate—but he had to remember she did not belong to him.

Using the walls to support his body, he made his way first to the sanitary facility and then to the pilot’s console to check their course. Thankfully, although he remembered little about their departure, he had apparently been sufficiently coherent to set the autopilot correctly.

“Could you show me how to use the food machine?” Hanna asked shyly. “It made this green thing before, but it made me feel sick.”

He closed his eyes in horror. “That bar is designed to feed livestock. No wonder it did not suit your system.”

The machine was simple enough, and she picked it up quickly, but before they could eat, a wave of sickness swept over him. When it retreated, Hanna was staring at him.

“You changed again. I thought you were better.”

“I told you the truth before—the only cure is to return to Pardor.” He managed to stand, then started wobbling toward his bed. If he collapsed out here, she would no doubt try and get him back to bed, and he didn’t know if he would be strong enough to resist her touch.

She followed behind him, her hands twisting again. “Do you want another drop?”

He didn’t answer her until after he was back on the bed. “How much remains?”

“About half a bottle.”

His mind didn’t want to cooperate, but he forced it to calculate.

“Six days.” The words sounded distant and far away.

“I don’t understand.”

“Until Pardor… Only when necessary…” The room was spinning around him. He felt her soft hand against his face as the world went dark.

Chapter Eleven

Two days later, Hanna prowled impatiently from one end of the small cabin to the other. At least, she thought it had been two days. The lights on the ship automatically darkened periodically, and she had decided they indicated the end of a day. Aidon’s symptoms were getting worse again, but the level in the sothiti bottle was dropping quickly. Each time, it seemed slightly less effective. So far, she could still bring him around enough for him to go to the bathroom and have something to eat, but he seemed less and less capable of carrying on a conversation, and she could tell that he was getting weaker. What was she going to do?

The memory of those last days with her aunt haunted her. She had felt just as helpless then as her beloved relative faded away.

Aidon cried out, and she hurried into the bedroom. He was thrashing restlessly again, but if she had any hope of making the sothiti last until they reached Pardor, it would be hours until she could administer another dose.

At least he still seemed to respond to her presence, so she tried talking to him. Usually the sound of her voice quieted him, even when she was just telling him humorous stories about some of the more outlandish requests at the flower shop. This time he didn’t respond.

He had warned her repeatedly against touching him, but she couldn’t stand to see him suffering, and she reached over to stroke his brow. His eyes flew open.

“Mate,” he growled, the word barely intelligible.

Before she could move away, he grabbed her and pulled her down next to him, burying his face in her hair as he had done the first time she had put him to bed. Hoping that her presence would soothe him enough