Earth (The Invasion Trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

When I see Marduke having another drink
, I look back at him and take in his shirtless appearance. Again, I look at the tattoos, feeling bold enough to lean in close to see what he has on him.

“Did you really get these when you were just a kid?”

“Yes, my brother has the same on him.”

“What do they mean?”

‘They mean all different things. They’re my family history.”

I stare carefully at his tattoos, seeing now that there are small gaps that separate some of them. I start at his right shoulder, tracing my fingers over it and watching his skin
form goose bumps under my touch.

“What does this one mean?”

He glances down at where my hand is. There are dots randomly placed over his shoulder, some bigger than others, but all of them round. “This is a map of stars where my great-grandfather, who was the leader at the time, discovered our greatest planet, now after yours. It held vegetation that we were able to create many medicines from, and we made some of our greatest discoveries there. Almost all of our diseases were cured because of the discoveries made there. It was considered our families greatest accomplishment.”

I take in his words and then look at one that moves down his ribs. It appear
s to be small scratches, and strange shapes that move around like a spider web. “What about this one?” I graze my hand along his chest and rest again over the tattoo, tracing it. His skin is smooth and soft until he tenses from my touch.

He takes another drink of vodka, this time
taking a larger swig. It must taste a little better now.

“This one is from the beginning of our recorded past. The story of it is slightly hazy, but I was told that it began our quest for knowledge and marks the beginning into the study of space travel. The markings are our way of writing, and this is the last part of the formula that allows us the ability to teleport through space.”

“Wow.” I move my fingers over the markings again, taking in the fact that these actually make words to Marduke.

I notice a claw then
, to the side of his chest where his heart would be. Does Marduke’s species have a heart?

He sees where my eyes are staring and explains it to me without me having to ask.

“This one is a warning. Years ago, before my great-grandfather discovered the planet we call Kinlite where we found our medicines, he attempted to take over another planet. Our people were not prepared for the fight they found there. Creatures with claws like this one attacked them. We were told they were smart, cunning and ruthless. They murdered our people and took down several of our spaceships. We lost many good people on that quest. After that, we never took down a planet without being prepared. It is why Ival and I were here. Ival learned of your weapons and some were implemented to the hinemas.”

“Do you usually go to the planets before you take them over?”

“No, this was my first time. My father has only taken three other planets in his reign as leader, and I was only a child at the time of the others.”

“Does every planet that you take over make it on your chest?”

“Yes, we have nine so far. Earth will be our tenth.”

“What will you put on here to signify Earth?” I feel a little sick asking because I reali
se that once that tattoo is on Marduke, there is no changing our fate. All we’ll come down to is a planet who has been taken down by Marduke’s people and reduced to a story that will be told from the picture of a tattoo.

“I don’t know.” He takes another sip of vodka
, and then I take the bottle from him and gulp down a large mouthful myself. It does taste awful, but I quickly have another gulp afterwards.

“Mattie?”

“Let’s get started. How are you feeling?”

“A little dizzy, actually.”

“Good.” I go into the kitchen and grab hold of a bowl and bring it over to the table. I place a small amount of vodka in there and dip the needle into it. I then move over to the sink and wash my hands with soap and hot water.

I’m really not sure what I’m doing, so I remember what I’ve seen on TV and in movies to show me what people spend years at university learning.

When I make it back over to Marduke, I hold out his arm and look at the cut he’s made to take out the tracking device. It looks brutal, but it also appears to be healing. If there was going to be an infection from that, it’s already too late.

I drop the tweezers into the bowl next and hold the bottle, which is almost half empty now, to Marduke’s arm.

“This is going to hurt, so prepare yourself.”

I tip vodka down his arm, washing away the blood from his still bleeding wound and watch as he tenses up, fisting both hands and
crying out in pain. He jumps up from the chair, knocking it over, and paces away from me.

“I’m sorry
. It’s just that this will kill any germs you have.”

I watch him taking deep breaths until he eventually calms down. “What else do you have to do?”

“I’m going to use the tweezers to take the bullet out then I’ll use the needle and wire to stitch you back up. It’s going to hurt the entire time. I’m sorry.”

Not in a single place we
’ve searched did we find any painkillers. Not that it’d probably matter. Marduke refused the aspirin when I told him to take it. Although, I wonder if he’ll change his mind tomorrow when he wakes up with a hangover?

He flexes his hands, takes a deep breath
, and then sits down again. He reaches for the vodka, and this time, he takes his longest gulp yet. When he puts it down, I also take a sip. A drunk first time nurse isn’t exactly ideal, but if I’m going to be expected to do this and not pass out, I need something inside me to help me keep going.

Sadly
, digging the bullet out ends up being ten times worse. I can’t actually see it, so I end up just moving the tweezers around, hoping to find it. I’m surprised by how deep the bullet went, and I swear I should be hitting bone with the tweezers.

Marduke has his jaw locked shut, but inside his throat he’s screaming. It sounds like a whiny cry of torture
, and it’s positively awful. By the time I find the bullet, my hands are shaking and I’m crying.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, unable to stop my tears
. This time, it’s me that needs to pace the room.

His wound has started bleeding again
, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve caused more damage, or if it’s just bleeding because I still haven’t stitched it up.

It takes me a while to calm down
, and in that time, Marduke has taken several more gulps of alcohol. Maybe it’ll be easier to work on him if he’s passed out?

When I walk back over to him, he passes me the bottle
, and I notice him swaying on the chair. How can someone sway when they’re already seated? He even starts to slip off the edge. There are no arm rests on these chairs, so I quickly place the bottle on the table and grab hold of his uninjured arm, holding him upright. When he still slides, I link my fingers into the side of his pants and shove him back onto the chair.

He laughs at me, reaching out and placing both hands on my hips
before pulling me forward until I’m standing over him, my legs on either side of the chair. I almost protest, but when he knocks my legs and I lose my balance, I only slip enough until I’m sitting on his lap. With me pinning him down, he stops his sliding off the chair. Maybe this could work?

“You’re so pretty
. I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you,” he slurs. I realise this is as good a time as any to begin stitching him up.

“Don’t move
,” I tell him, rolling my eyes when his arms wrap around me and his hands rest over my ass, holding me to his lap. “Marduke, hold your arm out.” I tap my hand on his injured arm, far enough away from his shoulder that I won’t hurt him.

He doesn’t move his arm, instead
he laughs again, so I grab his arm and hold it out. Then I take out the needle, grab the wire, and thread it through.

I take several deep breaths, look longingly at the bottle of vodka
, and then take my first stab at his wound.

His laughing immediately stops and his free arms slips from me
. He grips the bottom of the chair, grabbing onto the wooden base with enough force that I wouldn’t be surprised if he imprinted his hand there.

He groans again, making his throat scream
. I’m thankfully able to hold it together long enough to thread the wound closed. A small amount of blood leaks out, but nothing like it was. I tie the edge piece and cut off the excess wire, then dip one of the cloths I found in the kitchen into the bowl with vodka and wipe over the wound again.

He cries out this time, his mouth opening with his pain
, and I do the only thing I can think that might distract him from it—I kiss him.

My tears mix with our kiss, which at first he is unresponsive to. I reali
se it was a stupid idea, and just as I lean back from him, his lips follow mine, moving against me until I open up to him.

It moves quickly from soft to all-consuming. His mouth possesses mine
as his arms wrap around me and hold me flush against him. My hips move forward and pressure begins to line up against me. My body moves on instinct, rocking against him while my own arms link around his neck.

When his lips finally leave mine
, I gasp for breath, my heart beating a million miles in my chest, heat moving throughout my body. His lips trail down my neck, kissing and sucking as they go, and it sparks flares of heat wherever his lips land.

“Marduke, wait.” I pull away, holding my hands
on either side of his face when he tries to move back to me. “I need to finish this,” I say, looking back at the awful stitching job I’ve just done. If he survives this, then he’s going to have one ugly scar from it.

I reach over the table from where I’m sitting and take hold of the tape I
’ve found in the half-empty first aid kit. I place a clean piece of material over the wound, getting him to hold his arm up so that it doesn’t fall off. Then I tape over it, using my teeth to cut it off once I think I’ve used enough tape, and then place my thumb to flatten down the final piece.

Feeling relieved that it’s finally over, but nervous at the look in Marduke’s eyes, I take hold of the bottle of vodka and take another sip. It’s down to a quarter left.

I don’t drink alcohol at all, and since I didn’t eat any dinner or lunch, I’m beginning to feel incredibly tipsy. I might even go as far as to say I’m close to drunk.

Marduke is definitely drunk because
, not only has he eaten as much as I have and he won’t have built up any tolerance to it since this is his first time drinking, he also has had a lot of this bottle just to himself.

Neither of our bodies
know what has hit them, so I take the unnatural swaying of the room as my mind playing tricks on me.

I hold the bottle out to Marduke, in case he wants more
. When he tries to take hold of it, it somehow ends up spilled on the floor.

“Oops
,” I whisper, laughing when I think about it being there.

Marduke rests his forehead against mine, his arms wrapping around me again so that I’m against him. My eyes look
into his own, which are staring at me. Even though it’s hard to focus when he’s so close, I can’t help seeing how green his eyes are. I’ve never seen a colour so beautiful, never seen eyes look so bright and deep.

“Your eyes are green,” I try to whisper, although I think I probably hiss it loudly instead. “Did you know that?”

“I did. Your eyes are blue.” He smiles at me then I lean back and trace my fingers over his smile.

“I love your smile. How come you don’t smile more?” I touch the small dimples that appear on each cheek then follow his lips, jumping a little when he cheekily licks me.

“I’ve never had reason to smile until I met you.”

Is that not the most amazing thing anyone has ever said?

“You should be a poet, or a hallmark card writer-person,” I tell him, wondering how people get those jobs.

“And you should be a model. You’re stunning
, Mattie. The most beautiful girl in the entire universe.” He leans down and kisses me.

I’m pretty sure I melt then, like really turn into a puddle of mush. I even have to open my eyes and look at myself. I still appear whole, but inside my body something is changing.

“I feel hot. Can you please take this off me now?” I tap at the vest under my shirt, again wondering how this thing works. There is no mark on it from the gun that fired at me, not a single trace that anything hit it. A shot that forceful from such a close range should have pierced a bulletproof vest, or at the very least made a hole in the material that surrounds whatever the hell is inside it that stops bullets. This vest doesn’t even have a stitch out of place.

Marduke’s hands move upwards
, and he takes off my faded t-shirt. Then, after dropping it to the ground, he traces his hand down the front of the vest as if he’s trying to find a hidden button or something, but then he stops at the neck of the vest. He places his hand flat, running it downwards, which creates a hidden seam that comes apart.