WarDog: Book Twelve in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series Alana Khan (i like reading TXT) 📖

croon as if I’m talking to a scared pup. “I’ve come to rescue you.” I’m still not sure if I’m talking to a male, a pile of rags, or a dead body.

It’s definitely alive. I see the shallow movement of breathing, though I’m still not sure what manner of creature my eyes are seeing.

I crouch down and move the rags, but they’re not rags, it’s fur. When I look closely, then sweep fur from his face, I see a male of Zar’s race. The light is dim, but what I see is enough to turn my stomach.

The male has the flat feline face that’s similar to the captain of my ship. His lips are pulled back in a rictus of pain exposing two empty spots where his fangs should be. Did someone pull this male’s teeth? Of course. It would render him more defenseless, although it’s hard to look at him now and believe he could ever have been a threat to anyone.

His fur is coming out in tufts, from malnutrition I assume. His muscle tone is nonexistent. He could no more sit up than a babe right out of his mother’s womb.

Even with immediate medical attention, I wonder if he will live another hoara above ground.

“Zar!” I comm excitedly. “I know we agreed you should stay on the ship and not be in the melee, but you need to come down here. If Dr. Drayke isn’t saving a life, he needs to bring a stretcher and medkit. Tell Willa I’m fine, not to worry. I’m in the dungeon near the well in the courtyard.

I stay crouched near the male and scrutinize his features. He’s panting, his tongue lolling between his lips. His fangs are conspicuous in their absence. His head is too weak to lift, but his golden eyes watch my face. I walk to an abandoned water bucket Erro brought down, grab the dipper, and bring it to this dying male’s lips.

He’s too weak to drink, so I drizzle a few drops of water onto his tongue. He opens his mouth for another sip, and then another. The moment Shadow joined us down here he warned us not to introduce food or drink too quickly to these males. Unbelievable as it sounded, he assured us it could actually kill them.

“I’ll give you more in a moment, my male. Just one sip at a time though.” I touch his shoulder. Just the barest touch. The male’s muscles twitch, as if he’s trying to flinch but doesn’t have the strength. I wonder how long it’s been since he’s felt a touch not filled with torment.

I’m certain he can’t talk, and wonder if he even has a translator. But I babble to him, hoping that by my presence he knows help has arrived.

“We’ve got an excellent physician,” I tell him. “We’ll nurse you back to health on our ship.” Even as I say these words, it feels like I’m lying. He’s too far gone. I fear I interrupted his dying breaths. Certainly, if he had any fight left in him, indeed, any life left in him, he would have called out before the last one of us walked up the steps and abandoned him here to die alone.

It seems like an eternity before I hear footsteps. Zar bounds down the steps, followed by blue Dr. Drayke.

“Here,” I say, assuming they’re still blinded by the change from the bright outdoors to the darkness down here.

Zar approaches, certainly knowing something remarkable must be happening. No one would have called him here unless it was an extraordinary circumstance.

It takes him a moment, as it did me, for his mind to make sense out of what his eyes see. I stand and move out of the way to allow him access to his fellow countryman.

“Ton’Arr,” he says as if it’s a prayer. “Ton’Arr,” he intones more loudly. This is the name of his race.

I’ve backed into the corner, but I can see the male’s face. The dim light allows me to see his eyes widen, then fix on Zar’s face. He makes a pitiful sound. It’s unintelligible. My translator works fine. I doubt his lips do, though. But he tried to speak. Perhaps there’s hope for him yet.

Zar’s feline features look fearsome when he’s serious. Even when he's jovial, but especially when he’s somber. Right now I can tell he wants to kill whoever is responsible for this.

“Drayke!” He calls the doctor, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Right here, Zar.”

I watch as the doctor bustles in and tends the male on the floor. After running a battery of tests on his medpad, he pulls out a vial and attaches it to his hypogun.

“I’m going to inject you with a stabilizer to strengthen your heart so we can get you out of here,” he softly tells his patient. The male blinks his eyes, too weak to even move his head. After injecting him in the side of the neck, Dr. Drayke consults the medpad, then pronounces it safe for the male to be carried up top where the stretcher awaits. The steps were far too steep to bring the stretcher down here.

I kneel to pick up the male, not wanting my captain to be sullied by this poor male’s matted hair and fetid skin. Zar shakes his head. I can see the tears in his eyes. Somehow by his proud bearing and the look on his face, I wonder if he considers it an honor to tend to his countryman. Perhaps it will be the last act of kindness this poor devil will ever experience.

It’s with the utmost care, as if he’s touching his race’s most sacred religious book, that he hefts the male into his arms, one forearm under the male’s back, one in the crook of his knees. Hugging the male to his chest, he strides to the steps and takes