Page 6

five

Five Nights later

T onight, it was not the sweetness of Celandine’s blood or the rush of her lively emotions that greeted Troi when he awoke. His room was cold, the house quiet, except for her fretful weeping.

He stumbled out of bed and followed her pain along the corridor and down a flight of stairs. His heart hammered with her fear. Her misery burrowed under his skin, turning into the burn of humiliation. He couldn’t bear this.

He didn’t bother opening her door. He simply took one Hesperine step through the solid wall, disappearing from the hall and reappearing inside the bedchamber she had claimed as her own.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing her tangled in the sweat-soaked sheets.

Shudders rolled through her body. Her haven now stank of panic and blood.

The scent didn’t stoke his appetite. Laced with the odor of suffering, it turned his stomach.

“Celandine.” She whimpered her own name to herself. “Celandine…Celandine…”

“Celandine,” he echoed softly.

She jerked awake with a gasp, fumbling for her distaff. Before she reached it, she cried out in pain. Clutching her thigh, she fell back, and the sound of her blood changed. She was on the verge of fainting.

Troi pulled the bedclothes away from her leg and pushed up her tunica.

Her thigh was bound in a tight cloth with blood soaking through it in patches.

He peeled back the bandage, and his stomach flipped again.

He had seen far worse in the Hesperine Healing Sanctuary…

and caused far worse on the battlefield.

But the sight of the wounds on her body sickened him in a way none other ever had.

A ring of deep puncture marks ran all the way around her thigh. Judging by the yellow bruises around them, this had happened to her several days before she had come here, but the wounds showed no signs of beginning to heal.

Troi fumbled for the magic that had never rested easily inside him. His healing power jolted awake in his veins. For the first time in his immortal life, he was glad he possessed it and that the Hesperines had made sure he knew how to use it properly.

He blanketed Celandine in a spell to ease her pain. His magic flowed into her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She stirred, returning to her senses.

Her gaze darted from his face to her exposed wound. She started to scramble away, yanking at the blankets to cover herself.

He caught her shoulders. “If you move too much, you’ll only bleed more. Please hold still and allow me to heal you.”

There. He had asked nicely for permission to heal her, as a proper Hesperine should. His mentors would approve.

“Go to Hypnos,” Celandine snarled, twisting away from him.

Well, it would be necessary to do this the improper way, then.

Troi wrestled her down to the bed. She flailed under him, putting up quite a fight without her pain holding her back. But five nights of her blood had reminded him just how strong he was as an immortal.

He pinned her beneath him easily, wrapped his hand around her thigh, and sent a surge of healing magic into her wound.

Her eyes widened, and she went still under him, panting. As the holes in her flesh sealed and new skin began to form, Troi rubbed her thigh, massaging waves of his power into her. Another tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

When she was whole and no more pain screamed through her nerves, satisfaction settled deep into him. What didn’t fade was his unreasonable anger at whomever had left those marks on her skin.

He should let her go now. But he found himself running his hand along her thigh again. To make sure his work was finished, of course. Her gaze dropped to where he held her leg.

His gums began to ache. Hespera’s Mercy, what was wrong with him? Terrible as he was at being a Hesperine, he had some standards. In this moment, she was his patient, not a meal.

Troi let her go and stood a few paces away while she straightened her tunica and pulled the blankets up around herself.

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You’re a warrior. How can you be a healer?”

The question he had asked himself ever since he had received the Gift of immortality and all his other unwanted gifts with it. “Sometimes those who weren’t mages in their mortal lives manifest magical abilities as Hesperines.”

“Hespera must have had a good laugh when she made you a healer. Poetic justice, perhaps, after all the men you slaughtered on the battlefield.”

She didn’t know how true that flippant insult was. “You’ve never set foot on a battlefield. How did you sustain a wound like that?”

She pushed her tangled hair away from her face. “In the temple, of course.”

A nerve pulsed in Troi’s temple. “The mages of Chera did this to you?”

“There’s some myth or other that claims wrapping spiked chains around our thighs makes us holier. The most devout sisters do it willingly. Irreverent bitches like me get them strapped to us whether we like it or not.”

No wonder she had nightmares. He could guess why her name had been her rallying cry. She must have fought with everything she had not to lose her identity in that place.

He gritted his teeth. She had been carrying this wound right in front of him, with his healing power at his fingertips. “You’ve been dancing with that for days. You weren’t even limping.”

“I’ve developed a high tolerance for pain.”

Fuck. After spending a decade among Hesperines, he had forgotten how barbaric life was for women in Cordium.

Or perhaps he had wanted to forget this culture of which he had once been a proud son.

“Don’t put your feet on the floor for at least another hour,” he said gruffly. “Let the healing spell finish working.”

Troi didn’t wait for her reply before seeing himself out of the room.

When the door shut behind him, Celandine lit a candle and pushed back the covers again. She ran trembling fingers over her unblemished skin.

The pain she had lived with for so long was finally gone.

Why had a Taurus, a Hesperine, done this for her?

For the same reason she gave him her blood, of course. He needed her fit for their plan.

She crossed her arms and stayed in bed. Not because he had told her to—it was simply the sensible thing to do. She needed two working legs to get revenge on Rixor.

No more than a quarter of the hour had passed when there came a brusque knock on her door.

“I’m coming in,” Troi warned.

She covered her leg again, trying to forget how his big, warm hand had felt there. If he tried to examine her so intimately again, she would arm herself with her distaff.

“Very well,” she called.

Troi strode in like the lord of the manor and picked her up in his arms. She sputtered a protest and struggled, but the grip she had fought off so easily that first night was now like iron.

This immortal was far more powerful than she now.

“Where are you taking me?” she cried.

“Hush and do as the healer orders.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to obey you!” she burst out. Fury and panic sent a rush of energy through her, and she fought him with all her strength.

His grip loosened, as if she had surprised him. She managed to tumble free.

She landed at his feet with her bad leg under her. Still tender. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from showing her pain. She would rather be in pain on the floor than take orders from anyone.

Troi backed away, holding up his hands. “Celandine. I am so sorry.”

How dare he sound so gentle and sincere. “Do not…” Her voice shook. She steadied herself and tried again. “Do not give me commands.”

“Never again. Not even in jest.”

She eyed him warily from under the hair that had fallen in her eyes. Plenty of men had made her that promise, and every single one of them had broken it.

Troi didn’t move. “May I help you up?”

“You may hand me my distaff.”

He retrieved the artifact from beside the bed and handed it to her, blunt end first. She pulled herself to her feet, leaning her weight on the staff.

“I drew a bath for you in the next room,” Troi said. “The warm water will relax your muscles and help the healing work faster.”

She blinked at him, feeling as if she had wandered into a magical realm inside the manor all over again. “You drew and heated a bath? When?”

“In the last few minutes.” A faint smile appeared on his lips. “Hesperine speed, you know.”

She limped toward the next room, and all the way, she could feel Troi’s gaze on her.

He spoke again, and his respectful tone caused an odd flutter in her stomach. “If you need anything, say my name and I will hear you.”

Then his presence was gone from the room. She hobbled into the dressing room and stared.

Candles flickered softly around an enormous bronze tub. Steam and the perfume of roses drifted from the water. Soap and clean towels were stacked neatly on a stool within easy reach, and there was even a flagon of wine.

She dropped her sweaty clothes on the floor and sank carefully down into the bath. No one ever need know that she lay there in the warm water weeping with relief.

None of this was necessary for their plan, but if it were a game of seduction, he wouldn’t have left her to undress alone.

Why had he done this for her?

The most confounding mystery in this manor was Troi himself.

The aromas of roses and clean, feminine skin drifted into the great hall, and Troi struggled not to flare his nostrils like an animal. It was even more difficult to fend off mental images of water lapping at Celandine’s long legs and bare breasts.

He closed his mouth tightly over his fangs and turned to her. A little too fast—his head spun. Using his magic had taken more out of him than he’d realized.

And it had made him hungry.

Celandine padded in, her hair damp and glistening, wrapped in his velvet robe again. The sight of her in his clothes shouldn’t please him so much. Her gaze went to the place he had set for her on the dais, a fresh feast of delicacies he had found in the kitchen.