Free Mercer's Siren by Mina Carter, J.William Mitchell Page A

her own ability combined as she literally rebuilt soldiers from the cell up. Gunshots, plasma burns, blast injuries. Men had come into her medbay from the battlefield on the verge of death, only to carry on a different sort of battle in here. And she’d fought for them with every fiber of her being. In small rooms like this, she drew her line in the sand and matched wits with the Grim Reaper himself, often sending him packing so her boys could live to fight another day.
    A dull thump behind her sent her whirling around in surprise. In the confines of the space, the sound was like a cannon shot and added to her alarm. Far from a stereotypical doctor, Sedj gave a new meaning to the term “battlefield surgeon,” and her training and instincts had her gripping the first thing she could use as a weapon.
    “Jesus Christ... I have a hangover, sure, but I don’t think having my head amputated is the way to go.”
    He was tall, hunky, and looked like hell. Though given his damp hair and the towel wrapped around his neck, she couldn’t imagine how much worse for wear he had been earlier. One hand propped against the open door holding him steady while the other clutched his forehead. His knuckles were raw, the beginnings of a nasty bruise started to show on his jaw, and a shallow, not-so-fresh gash marred his cheek. A couple other minor cuts were in the process of healing on his forearm.
    Her eyes followed his gaze to the surgical laser saw she held. It was for heavier precision cutting. She quickly lowered it, eliciting a soft chuckle from her guest. “Sorry to burst your bubble, gorgeous. I don’t need anything cut off today.”
    She arched an eyebrow. “You sure? Damn, I was looking forward to playing with some of these. Oh well…”
    She smiled to take the conversation from disturbing back to professional. She was, after all, a doctor, and this man was obviously in need of medical attention. And he was handsome under all that, which meant it was a real test of her reactions.
    Her retirement hadn’t been voluntary, rather a by-product of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and falling for the wrong guy. One who hadn’t realized, or didn’t give a shit, that Hanorians mated for life. They didn’t divorce. Couldn’t. They bonded on the genetic level and madness called for those with a broken bond. She’d been lucky though. Pioneering research had reset her genetics, erasing the tie with minimal damage… just two years of her life lost in the mindless fog that awaited those whose mates had abandoned them.
    But now she was back, almost as good as new, and she had a patient.
    “Okay, handsome. Let's take a look at you,” she said, motioning toward one of the diagnostic beds.
    * * *
    He’d been called a ton of names in his life: asshole, jackass, and a host of others. There was even one particularly creative term in Phylagrian he still couldn’t pronounce, but made him grin each time he thought about it, because he deserved it. But even through all that, no one had ever accused Garrett Mercer of being too stupid to live. He had the wisdom to understand when a breathtakingly gorgeous goddess told him to get on a bed so she could take a look, he did as told.
    Okay, so it wasn’t the kind of bed dressed with thousand thread count sheets. Big deal. A bed was a bed. It still counted, right?
    Keeping her in the corner of his eye and trying not to leer, he strode over and plunked his ass on the bed. It was set lower than usual, perhaps in deference to the goddess’s somewhat diminutive height, so he fell more than sat the last couple of inches with an oomph .
    The bed flared into life with a soft hum to assess him, the dark-haired beauty pursing her lips as she waited for the readout. Garrett stayed silent. He knew what was wrong with him, didn’t need a fancy machine to tell him he’d had too much of the good stuff last night. Instead, he used the time to study the angel tending to him.
    Her hair was incredible,