Page 11 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

I was not offended at his arousal. I was certain it was just as impossible to control as my own was—or more so since he was obviously still asleep.

But it was evidence that at least some part of him was aware of me, so I checked to be sure the bleeding had stopped and started to climb off the bed.

I felt his whole body go rigid. Hands grasped my hips, fingers pressing into my flesh for a heartbeat.

Before I knew what was happening, I was moving through the air.

I had no time to process before my back hit the door and a weight pressed my shoulders into the wood. I struggled to force the breath back into my lungs as his face swam before me. I felt a sharp pain in my head that I hoped wasn't a serious head injury.

"What are you doing?" he demanded in a deep, gravelly voice.

I gasped, opening my mouth to speak as he renewed his hold on my shoulders and asked again, "What the fuck are you doing?" His voice was a bit smoother, but no less menacing.

His breaths were much more rapid than they had been when he was sleeping, and his eyes were full of rage and questions.

I knew I should have been scared, but I couldn't manage to muster it.

Maybe I had hit my head too hard. "Calm down.

I wasn't...you know...doing anything. I had to get the mellitrium out and.

..and stop the bleeding." I lifted my bloody hand and pointed to the side table.

He turned his head, looking over the room—the medical instruments, the bloody mess on the table. He turned back to me. He seemed to contemplate the situation for another moment as his black eyes roamed over my face. The pressure on my shoulders lessened, and my feet sank to the floor.

He stepped back the few inches the tiny room would allow and blinked at me for several seconds. I noticed the black streaks on his chest seemed lighter, and the wound had definitely closed again.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking around the room again as he ran his hands through his thick hair. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, looking back at me again.

I felt the air whoosh out of me...slowly, like someone was uncoiling my breath and dragging it out inch by inch. I could feel it in my chest—whirring like a top.

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. You were...disoriented." I studied the lines on his chest—that very defined, very broad chest.

He looked down, following my gaze. "I see," he said simply, as though the lines explained it all. He laid his hand over the wound and rubbed as though it was sore.

I stepped closer. "May I?" I reached my hand out towards his chest. I wanted to see if the coldness was fading. I needed to know the coldness was fading.

It had absolutely nothing to do with me wanting to feel his skin under my fingertips while those dark eyes looked down at me.

He dropped his arms and let me, though he flinched slightly as my palm came into contact with his chest. The skin was still slightly cool, but the iciness was fading quickly.

He stared down at me. "Are you a healer?"

I laughed softly. "No. Everyone else was afraid you’d wake up and kill them, so it was left to me." I belatedly realized I was still holding my hand on his chest, so I pulled it away.

"Ah," he said regretfully. "I suppose that's fair."

I made a noncommittal sound and shrugged, moving back a step. But I was smiling. He had come up from the bed in a rather beastly way. I now understood the doctor's reluctance to help him.

"Well, then I must thank you," he said.

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut. "You shouldn't thank me...since I was the one who put the uh...knife in your heart in the first place."

He laughed softly. "But you said you were sorry."

My eyes shot open. "I didn't think you'd remember that."

He stared at me with a wry look of amusement. "I do."

He looked around the room, frowning before his eyes slid back to mine. "Are we in a brothel?"

I was surprised he had deduced that from the little cell of a room. "How did you know?" I asked.

"I can hear them," he said, chuckling softly. He seemed to suddenly recall something. "The men chasing you—did you know them?"

"No, but...they didn't just happen upon me. They were waiting for me. They knew who I was." I wasn't sure why I had given him so much information, and only belatedly realized the implication of what my identity might mean when he asked,

"And who are you?"

"Sera," I said quickly.

He didn't push me for more information and after a long silence, I realized he should have supplied his own name. "And who are you?" I asked, raising a brow. I leaned against the door, crossing my arms.

He hesitated for just long enough to make me think he didn't want to answer—or that he was thinking of a false name to give me. "Io," he finally said. Some emotion I couldn't identify crossed his features.

I couldn't have said how, but I knew it was not a false name. Io was his name. It settled on him somehow...accurate and simple.

"Io," I said, testing the name.

His eyes shot to mine. I saw surprise...and something else that almost looked like pleasure. "How long have I been here?" he asked.

"Maybe...two hours," I said, mentally calculating the time that had passed.

"Fuck," he said.

I smiled. "You used that word a lot after I...." I looked slightly guilty as I let the words trail off. I also overused that particular curse, much to Markus' chagrin.

He narrowed his eyes, amused. "I did?"

"You did."

"Well, my apologies, My Lady, if I have offended your delicate sensibilities."

"Thank you, My Lord," I told him, straight faced. "But I assure you, I have no delicate fucking sensibilities." I gestured around me to encompass the fact that we were standing in a brothel.

He laughed. The sound shot through me like a warm bolt of lightning turning my insides to liquid. I would have taken the step over to him and used his very large frame to rub myself against him like a purring cat...if he had not spoken again.

"I should go. My people will be worried that I have come to some misfortune at the hands of a beautiful woman with a very sharp knife."

I swallowed hard as the words registered. "Is that...something that happens to you often?" I said, moving to the door and opening it. I had to step out into the hall to give him room to pass.

"Not often enough," he said, giving me a wicked sort of smile as he ducked beneath the door frame, buttoning his bloodied shirt as he went.

I motioned toward the stairs that led down to the door.

"Thank you, Sera." My name on his lips seemed to crack something delicious open in my chest.

"You are most welcome, Io."

He narrowed his eyes imperceptibly and studied me for a long moment. I could have sworn it was in response to me saying his name again—as though the sound of it surprised him. Like no one ever said it.

But that was impossible. This man would have every woman within a thousand miles sighing his name, falling forward on their starstruck faces in the dirt, just to bathe in the dust kicked up by his boots.

He turned to leave without another word, but just before he stepped onto the stairs, he looked back at me again and smiled. His expression held some promise of something I could not even guess at. It made chills skate down my sides all the way to my feet.

Only after he was gone, and I heard his footsteps recede down the stairs did I realize the implication of my little delicate fucking sensibilities quip. No delicate sensibilities—in a pleasure house! He most definitely thought I was a courtesan.