Kyle didn’t like the way Xelan held Rayne.

Ever since this whole debacle started, he thought it was weird some being the Icarus’ age would look at an eighteen-year-old from a different species with so much focus and intensity. Okay, he was the only person here with enough medical expertise to know exactly how to hold her without damaging her any further, but surely he should set her down somewhere by now. But no. Xelan held her in his arms and scanned her with his freaky, alien eyes.

Kyle insisted, “John, stop pissing yourself already, and get up so Rayne can have the couch.”

Lynn and Tameka were talking closer to the front of the store. Sagan and Pablo investigated the back door. Andrew rummaged through the bags.

And then there was John.

Wasting space.

Almost everyone here took a serrated blade to their gut or broke a rib or two. He dislocated his knee and now he required two team members to assist him. Enough was enough. Kyle huffed and started for the traitor-in-training.

Kyle said, “Man, if Xelan wanted to kill you, your guts would be splashed across the wall by now.” He reached under John’s arm.

No response.

As Kyle carried him from the couch, he ignored the press of Xelan’s eyes against his back. The man’s gaze bore into his motives like he was building a tunnel to his lungs.

Later.

Like when Rayne wasn’t a delicate hostage in Xelan’s arms, and they weren’t at the mercy of his guidance. Kyle muttered to John, “C’mon, let’s see about testing your bum knee.”

Kyle didn’t watch Xelan lay Rayne down or spy as he settled her comfortably on the cushions. He wouldn’t see Xelan glance at the contrast of her lashes against pale cheeks or survey her lips as her breath sighed between them with each exhale. Nope. Kyle knew that’s what the Icarus was doing because that’s what Kyle would do. The trouble with Xelan was they were a lot alike. Or at least Kyle thought so. The biggest difference between the two: Xelan was old enough to know better.

John finally came out of his catatonia to say, “Thanks, man.”

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Kyle hitched the other dude’s shoulder and carried him into the stacks.

Through a tower of books, Sagan asked someone, “How did you know where to find us?”

A voice on the other side answered, “It just seemed logical in the chaos.”

It was Matt. Beyond the Sci-Fi section, the ginger stood in the break room surrounded by their unit and the extras they’d accumulated. As Lieutenant General, Sagan questioned him. Xelan stood between them and Rayne, shielding her in case Matt’s motives didn’t match his story.

John groaned, “What are we doing?”

Kyle shifted and dropped John like a sack of potatoes. The whiner caught himself on the shelves before his full weight tested his bad knee. “Dude, what the fuck?” he cried. He clung to the bookcase like crutches.

Kyle said, “We can’t carry you from here out. So, either you stay in this bookstore or you use this as an opportunity to physical therapy your ass back into walking shape.”

“I can’t fucking walk, man. That son of a bitch dislocated my knee, remember?” He asked as if he’d let anyone forget in the last hour.

Kyle grunted in frustration. Maybe if he added some incentive. He offered, “I’ll take you to check on your parents if you make it to the end of this aisle.”

John surprised him by surveying the distance to the end with careful consideration. He clenched his jaw tight, jutted out his chin, and leaned heavily on one stack of shelves. A hop. It wasn’t graceful. John stumbled as his bad leg connected with the floor.

Kyle gave a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. “This will take a while.” He went to pick John up.

“No,” John’s stern tone impressed Kyle. “No. I want to try alone. I need to see my parents.”

Kyle couldn’t relate. His step-dad died last year, and his mom was a lush who threatened daily to leave him and his sisters behind. Unlike the rest of the group, he didn’t adhere to the whole ‘don’t tell your family’ rule. He trained his sisters in every technique, strategy, and weapon Xelan had taught him over the last four years. Ross and Bethany had as much a chance of surviving this apocalypse as he did. He trusted them to follow the plan. He would find them when it was safe.

John’s grunting fell on unsympathetic ears. He hopped again. This time he maintained his balance while favoring his leg.

“Good,” Kyle coached. Now he sounded like Xelan offering useless comments here and there without offering a hand. It worked, though, as John gained speed.

Another groan, another hop-step. With each attempt, John exhaled on a whoosh as if he were in excruciating pain.

Kyle wanted to shake him by the shoulders and remind him of the damage Rayne had suffered, yet she was dying to be up and around half as well as John.

Kyle peered through the stacks. She was laying so still on the couch. Her skin pale, even her lips. The gentle rise and fall of her chest was the only sign she was alive.

“Made it,” John exclaimed, out of breath.

Kyle stared hard at the broad, blood-soaked bandage on Rayne’s upper arm. There wasn’t an opportunity for her to brief them on her fight with Nox. But he knew something horrific had happened. When she ran from the collapsing school, bone was protruding from the wound. He would keep her safe from now on.

Absently, Kyle responded to John, “Now, make it down the aisle without the crutch. We won’t go to your parents until you do.”