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Rafe couldn’t help wishing that passion was for him as a man, rather than an experiment. If only he weren’t so ugly. His gaze dropped to his bad arm, studying the diminished scars where Cassandra had cut him. Could she do something about his face? Would she then find him appealing?

His mouth twisted into a scowl of self-loathing at the ridiculous thought. He should be grateful that she had the power to heal his arm. He didn’t need affection. He needed power to protect his people and defeat his enemies. He needed his arm back.

Yet when he looked at her flushed cheeks and lush lips, Rafe couldn’t help but want more. Her beauty must be driving him mad. That was the only logical explanation.

The sound of Anthony’s tread on the stairs made Cassandra jump and snatch her hand away. Had she been thinking of things other than cutting him open?

Anthony entered with a pot of boiling water. “I hope you are not intending to scald him.”

“Certainly not.” Cassandra removed a bottle from her shelf of potions, uncapped it, and poured a measure of pungent liquid onto a cloth. The stench intensified as she brought it to Rafe. “Take this and breathe in deeply.”

Rafe frowned. “What is it? It smells foul.”

“It’s ether. I have reason to believe that it will have a numbing effect on your pain.” She grabbed her syringe and gave him a stern look over her shoulder. “Now please do as I say.”

“Yes, Doctor.” He snatched the offending cloth and inhaled the acrid fumes with reluctance as Cassandra washed her hands and surgical instruments in the steaming water.

“Why are you doing that?” Anthony asked. “Those blades look much cleaner than those of the usual sawbones.”

Her cheeks pinkened. “I believe that dirt causes infection. I did an experiment on myself when I was young, where I cut my finger on each hand. For the next week I only washed my right hand to see if it would heal faster if kept clean. My assumption proved correct.”

For some reason, Rafe chuckled at her words. She could be so amusing at times without intending to be. “Did you also inhale this dreadful potion?”

Cassandra nodded and drew Anthony’s blood with her syringe. “I did. As Wakley said, ether did indeed bring me to a state of euphoria. Are you feeling such a sensation?”

Now that she mentioned it, Rafe realized that the room had taken on a shimmering quality, and a ring of light had formed about her head like an angel’s halo. Also, every muscle in his body felt like warm custard. “I believe I am, Querida.”

“Then we may proceed.” Cassandra took her scalpel. “You will have to remain still.”

To his disbelief, Rafe could barely feel the blade cutting into his arm. He looked down at his own bleeding flesh with detached fascination. This was a much larger cut than last time…and Cassandra was carefully prying his flesh apart to look at the mess of muscle and tendons beneath, all the while muttering in her physician’s Greek.

“You’re making me feel as if I am Frankenstein’s monster,” he said.

Cassandra paused. “You shouldn’t take that as an insult. That is my favorite novel. Besides, you’re not a monster. You are a fascinating and powerful being, with natural gifts any human would envy.” She glanced up at him, eyes full of wonder. “You heal so fast that I have to keep cutting you. And your blood coagulates at such an astonishing rate. You’re…amazing.”

Stunned by her poignant speech, Rafe could only watch silently as she administered Anthony’s blood to the wounds. Immediately, his arm began to burn and tingle, and he couldn’t help but shift in his seat.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him firm. “I told you… You must remain still.”

“I think the ether is wearing off.” Then again, she still resembled an angel…and her touch definitely intensified his euphoria.

Cassandra commanded Anthony to bring some more ether. “Only inhale a little this time. I have no idea if too much will make you ill. When I tried ether, the effects lasted over an hour and I had a devil of a headache afterward.”

Rafe inhaled from the cloth Anthony proffered while Cassandra continued to operate.

“You didn’t tell me I would suffer a headache,” he accused.

“Well, I am almost finished. Perhaps if you find something upon which to focus your attention, the pain will remain at bay a while longer.”

As she leaned forward, Rafe could see the tantalizing display of her breasts above the fabric of her apron. “I think I’ve found just the thing.”

Anthony chuckled beside them, but Cassandra was too occupied with her surgery to notice Rafe’s gaze. He wanted her to notice. He wanted her to see him as more than the subject of her experiments. He wanted her to see him as a man. He wanted to see if her beautiful breasts felt and tasted as delicious as they looked. He stared, transfixed, until she finished. The moment the last incision knitted back together, Rafe gave Anthony a pointed look.

His third-in-command needed no further urging. “I shall take my leave now.”

Cassandra cleaned the blood from Rafe’s arm with a damp cloth. “How do you feel now?”

Slowly, Rafe lifted his arm higher than it had moved in more than fifteen years. He flexed his fingers, extending them. Madre de Dios, his little countess was a miracle worker.