When Jarok's shoulder finally slammed through the door to Sierra's apartment, the crash reverberated through the hallway. The remains of the door swung sharply back nearly knocking Gerra off her feet. The spry Keplarian lept aside just in time.
Jarok skidded to a halt in Sierra's apartment amid dust and splinters. He ignored the sounds of neighbor doors opening and murmurs from the hallway as his frantic glance found a seemingly peaceful, sleeping Sierra curled up on the couch. For a moment, Jarok wondered if Gerra had been right and breaking in had been fool-hearty and unreasonable. As he knelt down and gently brushed strands of Sierra's hair from her forehead, he noticed the dark circles under Sierra's eyes and was that dried blood on her lip? He felt for a pulse on Sierra's slender wrist. The throb of blood was steady, but worryingly slow.
"She's alive, but something's wrong," Jarok said, not taking his eyes off of Sierra's unconscious face.
"Yep, you were right on this one," Gerra voice was grim as she stalked about the room, her eyes scanning. "Even I couldn't sleep through the racket you made." She narrowed her eyes spying the large, white box spilling over with sweet smelling, earth flowers.
~
Lord V's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the morning, and he knew. He could feel the difference. He calmly ordered preparations for covert travel. Lord V sighed and pinched his eyes closed while rubbing his neck with his cool, long fingers. It was going to be difficult to concentrate with the images flooding from Sierra's unconscious mind into his own sentient thoughts. His small smile was grim, but little thrills of euphoric anticipation tingled through him.
~
Sierra didn't want to wake from the heavy malaise of dreams, dreams of his pale, alien hands, his wicked mouth. Sierra dreamed of being suffocated by desire and then released, falling to land softly into oblivion. She was allowed a senseless moment's peace and contentment before the craving and buzz of desperation would ignite once more.
Sometimes the sandbags of heaviness on Sierra's eyelids would lift and warm light would flicker and resolve into faces and figures: the stern concerned face of General Lilith Conrad, the beautiful face of Jarok, his golden eyes full of misery, the pacing blur of a short, dark-haired woman. The faces would gasp and draw near and then Sierra would tumble back into the swarming darkness and only one creature would fill her senses.
~
"Report," General Conrad bit out while raising tired eyes from the documents in her hands.
"I've never seen anything like it. She has been altered at a genetic level. The blood her body is producing is some sort of alien human hybrid," the senior medic replied. "Otherwise, she is unresponsive, but stable."