Page 19 of The Healer (The Blood of Legends #2)

Chapter Nineteen

CONSEQUENCES

“I know you’re interested in Doc, but she ain’t one for dilly-dallying, Rhys.”

Rhys removed his arm thrown over his eyes and scowled at Dane sitting in the chair in his room. He hadn’t heard him enter, but as exhausted as Rhys was, that didn’t surprise him. Groaning, he slapped a pillow over his face, wishing he could sleep for another hour. When Dane continued to suck on his teeth, stamp his feet, and grunt as he shifted in the chair, Rhys tossed the pillow aside.

He sat up. “Glad we can finally chat, Dane.”

“Yeah. I see you’re well, an alpha, and an even bigger bastard, but why set your sights on Ilona?”

What the hell? As far as he could tell, they weren’t dating. That gave Dane as much right to Lona as Rhys. He ran a hand over his face, hoping to rid himself of his exhaustion. “I met her on a snow-covered field south of Coedwig.”

Dane snorted. “I know that. Your stench was all over her boot.”

“She intrigued me then.” Rhys gave him a pointed look. “More so now that I know she’s another Devereaux woman.”

“Have a fetish for their lineage?”

“No, well, maybe. I can’t explain it. If you came down from your mountain every once and a while, you’d know more, see more.” Fetish? Did he? Trust Dane to sum up his obsession in one line.

“Why? To see you breaking with tradition and forming alliances with our enemies?” As Dane leaned forward, his pale hair fell across his forehead, and his ice-blue eyes sparkled with humor. “Since I know you, trust your judgment, I assume it was unavoidable.” He slapped his thighs and chuckled. “Thanks for helping us saving the scientists?”

“We found them, but Ilona did the saving.” Rhys wasn’t taking credit for having a good sense of smell.

“Regardless, the Winterclaw pack thanks you. Official business done, want breakfast? I smell bacon on the fry.”

Rhys grinned. The aroma of bacon tantalized his nostrils, as well. “Give me ten. I need a shower.”

“Damn right you do, but hurry if you want to eat.” Dane closed the door as he left.

Rhys hopped into the shower, taking Dane’s warning to heart. The bastard had done it before, eaten everything in the dorm room. While they had both studied conservation, Rhys wished he’d changed his major to commerce.

He clambered down the stairs, his jacket in hand and his laces undone. As he burst into the dining room, Harriet laid out a steaming pile of bacon. She flashed him a sweet smile in greeting and gestured to the sideboard groaning under the weight of eggs, sausages, toast, fresh-baked bread rolls, fried onions, sautéed mushrooms, and cherry tomatoes.

“Ma’am, mind moving to Inner City?” Rhys didn’t get this treatment in his lodge. He flashed his most charming smile, and despite the blush staining her parchment cheeks, she shook her head.

“Harriet’s trying to get Ilona and me together. Wasted breath, but she doesn’t want to listen to reason,” Dane said around a mouthful of sausage. “I did ask Ilona, but she shot me down.”

“She did?” Her rejection jolted pleasure and hope through Rhys.

“Yup, said she wouldn’t date a man who broke women’s hearts as carelessly and as often as he rutted with them. Damn near swallowed my tongue.”

“You took it as a compliment.” Rhys smiled at Harriet, who poured him a coffee.

“I did, so when I asked her again, I didn’t expect the kick to the nads. Made myself scarce after that.”

“And if she’d said yes, would you have mated her?” Harriet hovered with a sugar bowl in hand.

“I would’ve considered it.” He scratched his trim beard.

“That’s a no, ma’am.” Rhys rose to pile a few more eggs onto his plate.

“Would you?” She waited, with something intense in her gaze as she stared at him.

“Mate Ilona?” he asked even though he understood her question. He weighed whether he could reveal this to her or Dane. It wouldn’t hurt to have allies fighting for his cause. “In a heartbeat.” His bear grumbled his approval. Rhys rubbed his chest, with his knife clasped between his pinkie and ring finger.

Happiness warmed Harriet’s gray eyes, and fresh pink flushed her cherub face. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on the offer to visit your city, Rhys.”

“I would be honored by your presence.”

“Nonsense. You ain’t stealing two of our treasures.” Dane waved his fork at him. “As I see it, you ain’t said anything to Ilona or else you wouldn’t be walking today.”

“I have a coffee date with her at ten.” Rhys couldn’t resist tweaking his friend. The scowl furrowing Dane’s brow meant he struck gold.

“Oh, that’s wonderful. How did you get her to agree?” Harriet clapped her hands, then snatched the last bacon to place on Rhys’s plate.

He received another scowl from Dane for this betrayal. “I didn’t give her a choice. Threatened to hunt her down if she didn’t show.”

“You know where she lives?” Harriet asked.

“I have no doubts I’ll find her.” Rhys tapped his nose then shoveled in the last mouthful of egg.

She beamed as if he had shared a secret with her then left them to the meal. The continued silence from Dane drew his attention.

“Are you serious?” Dane met his gaze, the alpha in him challenging Rhys’s bear. “Are you pursuing her because of your fetish?”

“Blood doesn’t lie.” Rhys pushed away his empty plate.

Dane pursed his lips. “That’s more a vamp thing than shifter.”

“Like you won’t lose your mind and crave the taste of her blood during the mating ritual? Listen, Dane, I need to mate, and if I can have a woman with Callie’s blood running through her veins, then I’m the luckiest S.O.B. Besides, when I met Lona and found her intriguing, I didn’t know she was a Devereaux.” He held out his hand when his friend made to speak. “I’m not sure I loved Callie, or whether I’m disappointed in a missed opportunity. The way my body and bear react around Ilona tells me it’s the latter. Now quit making this harder for me. My intentions are honorable, and if she denies this attraction, then the decision is hers to make.”

“You’ll take her away, Rhys. We need her.”

Rhys frowned. Dane made a valid point. “She’s here only until Amos returns. How long could that be? Dane, I’ve got to try. You know the pressure the packs place on their alphas to mate. I’d like the chance to find mine before someone chooses one for me.”

He sighed. “Fair enough.”

Rhys left his friend to the waffles Harriet brought out. He needed time alone to understand where Callie rested in his heart. Missing the chance to claim her had pissed him off, but it could be her lineage calling to him. Like when a shifter met the twin sister of his mate. She smelled good but not as mind-bendingly delicious as his mate.

What he admired most about Callie was the strength and power in her veins. Perhaps that wasn’t what he wanted, what his pack needed. He paused on the wooden porch to tie his shoelaces and shrug on his jacket. White snow blanketed the world except for the gravel-covered road.

If he told Ilona about the vamp’s formula and his pack’s involvement, she might volunteer to come home with him. This all rested on the coffee date. If she didn’t show, he would know he didn’t stand a chance with her. Yes, he had acted high-handed, but her kiss pressed to his bear’s forehead had spiked his hope.

The sky was a crisp blue and perfect for a stroll. Since he had the time, he strode to Mo’s, enjoying the freedom to do so. There were no pack obligations, no meetings with Jo-jo that always ended with them screaming at each other.

He entered the diner and chose the same booth from last night. Peering outside, he watched people go about their business.

“Coffee? Apple pie?” Mo smiled a welcome.

“Just coffee, thanks, and you might as well add last night’s bill to mine.”

“Will do, honey. Waiting for someone?” She gestured to the vacant seat opposite him.

“Yes, for Ilona.”

Her face fell as she shook her head.

Rhys’s hackles rose, and he straightened.

“She’s not well. Jake texted me to get a pot of my chicken soup on the boil.”

“Not well?” Rhys growled the question, struggling to form the words. “But she looked well yesterday.” He grimaced. That sounded lame. “Where does she live? I can sniff her out, but finding her that way would take too long.”

Mo flipped open a tourist map and tapped a spot.

Rhys studied it then bolted, using some of his bear’s speed to reach Harriet’s. He needed his SUV and its GPS. Folks dove out of his way when he sprinted past yelling apologies. Ten minutes later, he slid to a halt outside her home. He raced up the snowed-in walkway and onto the porch to bang on the pale blue door. Each second without a footstep reaching his sensitive hearing ramped the tension between his shoulders. When he knocked again with no response, he tried the handle.

The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, but the house remained silent. Sunlight streamed in through unshuttered windows, but no other lights were on. He shut the door and raised his nose for a sniff. Trailing her scent along the passage, he headed for her room that he assumed sat at the back of the house.

Pushing the door open, he studied the huddled lump in the bed. The acrid stench of sickness filled the room. He shot forward to sit on the bed’s edge and peel back her blankets. Sweat drenched her hair, her skin clammy, and she moaned at the cool air touching her shoulders.

“Ilona.” He hoped to rouse her. The heat pouring off her was too intense for a human.

She must have dosed herself last night with the bottles of medication on her nightstand. He doubted they had impacted the cold making her nose glow like a traffic cone.

“Rhys?” Her eyes cracked open, and at the sight of him, she groaned, rolled away from him, and slapped her pillow over her head. “Go away.”

“What can I get you? What do you need? Are there other doctors in town? At the hospital?” He tugged the pillow out of her hands and her toward him.

“Don’t be silly,” she said through her clogged nose. “It’s just a cold.”

“You’re burning up.” He held his wrist to her forehead.

“Hotter than you for a change,” she huffed, then ruined it by sneezing. “I hate being sick. It’s so inconvenient.” She flipped away from him and fell off the bed. Crawling on all fours, she headed for the bathroom before struggling to her feet. When she swayed, she threw out a hand to stop him. “I’ve got to pee, and no, I don’t need your help.” After another stagger and wobble, she shut the bathroom door behind her.

The toilet flushed amid many grumbles about his audacity, his sexiness, parts of his anatomy she liked. The more she spoke to herself, the more he smiled. A squeal had him tapping on the door and lowering his hand to the handle.

“Sorry, just saw my reflection. I’m taking a bath.” Running water followed.

“What if you faint?” He pressed his temple to the cool wood of the door.

“Under no circumstances can you enter this bathroom with me naked.” She sneezed twice. A thump, a moan, and a few curses peppered the distance between them.

“Ilona? Talk to me, or else I’ll come in there.”

“I’m fine, dammit.” She did sound feistier.

“Can I call a friend, a woman preferably?” He didn’t like the idea of another man standing where he was.

“So help me, Rhys.” Rippling water accompanied her stepping into the tub.

The urge to open the door was the hardest temptation he had fought in a while. Made harder when her throaty moan that took a one-way path to his groin. She sneezed a few times, each time accompanied by a groan.

She was sick, and all he could think about was bedding her. Releasing a long-drawn-out sigh, he pushed his back against the bathroom door and slid down it, landing on his backside. He folded a leg to rest his elbow on his knee.

“You weren’t dressed appropriately yesterday.” He tapped a rhythm on his splayed leg.

“Great. Just what I need. A lecture. Well,” she huffed, “you can keep your I told-yous to yourself.”

“But then again, this could be coming from when you frolicked in the snow because of a boot.” He grinned, remembering her childlike joy and debilitating sadness. The memory of her sorrow wiped away his smile.

“You’re right. I should have expected this and taken precautions.”

Silence fell. He strained his ears to hear water rippling, her breathing, anything.

“What’s your favorite color?” He picked at the stitching in his jeans.

“What?”

“It’s random questions, or I climb into the bathtub with you.” He smiled at her grumbling.

“Sky blue,” she said a few minutes later, but only after he rattled the doorknob. “Damn Neanderthal.”

He chuckled, enjoying tormenting her. “Favorite movie?”

“Nope, you have to answer your questions too.”

“Storm gray,” he said.

“You’d look good in that color.” Her words warmed his heart, sending shards of joy into the dark recesses of his soul. “Casablanca.”

He twitched at hearing her choice. “Why?”

“Bogart was unapologetically male.”

“Do you like strong men?” Silence met his question, and he reached up to rattle the doorknob again.

“Yes.” She cursed him under her breath.

He grinned. “Shawshank Redemption.”

“Because good triumphs in the end?” She splashed.

The imagined imagery of her washing her body dried his mouth, increased the rhythm of his heart, and spiked his temperature with a steady throbbing nestling between his thighs. His bear whined for action. He shifted on his ass.

“Yes. Music of choice?” He cleared his throat hoping to return his hoarse voice to normal.

“I have too many, and it depends on the moment. For now, I’d say Nina Simone.”

Sultry, sensual, throaty? Yes, he could hear her singing along. “I’m into Rammstein, but my go-to would be Pink Floyd.”

“Both are good choices. I’d have to be in the mood for either, though.” She sneezed and groaned. “Pain meds,” she said as if dictating to herself.

He glanced at the nightstand. One of those generic bottles might contain an analgesic. Her bed was a mess, and her sheets soaked. One his feet, he browsed through the closets until he found a stack of linen. Within minutes, he remade her bed, and despite the fresh pillowcase, it still scented of her. He buried his face in it, inhaling deeply. His bear grumbled, complaining again.

“Shut up,” he said. “I’m working on it.” He fluffed the pillow and placed it at the head of the bed.

“Working on what?” She hovered in the bathroom doorway.

The bath flushed her skin pink, and by skin, he meant her bare legs, the robe’s small V at her throat, and her face. She swayed and threw out a hand to grip the doorframe.

“Getting to know you.” He hurried around the bed to grab her hands. She tried to shake him off, but he held firm. “Just get into the damn bed before you fall over.”

“We need to talk about your high-handedness.” She climbed between the sheets, moaning as she rested her head on her pillow. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“You’re a terrible patient,” he teased, lifting the blankets to tuck her in. “Which meds are for now? Then I’ll head out for chicken soup.”

A tear slid down her cheek, and her sniffing turned into a sob. “Sorry, I’m miserable when I’m sick.”

He clambered onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow beside hers then looped his arm around her to rub her back.

She hummed, her eyes stuttering closed.

“You’re just doing it wrong,” he said. “You need to see it as a forced vacation. Besides, you have me to order around. Few get that luxury.” He flashed her a smile.

Her eyelashes fluttered open, unveiling her hazel eyes. “You don’t have to stay.” She shook her head and winced. “Pain meds.” With a groan, she rolled over.

He found himself rubbing her stomach and froze. Needing space before he did something to jeopardize his seduction, he spun away.

“Mo’s for soup. On it.” He bolted out the room and beat a hasty retreat.