Page 20 of The Healer (The Blood of Legends #2)

Chapter Twenty

VACATION

I lona ogled the sleeping man sprawled on the three-seater. His bedside manner was better than hers. He had brought home tubs and tubs of Mo’s chicken noodle soup. But instead of feeding Ilona in the bedroom, he warmed the living room with a roaring fire and carried her to the two-seater couch. After cocooning her within many blankets, he placed a bowl of soup in her hands.

They watched movie after movie, their banter and commentary entertaining. And with each bout of laughter, she felt better, not so sluggish, and the hearty soup calmed the nausea gripping her stomach. The meds had her waxing romantic, but she liked the idea of his company making a difference.

The sun was setting, casting streams of light across his torso and face. Her heart leaped into her throat at the sheer beauty of him. His form dominated the couch, with his long legs crossed at the ankles. He had removed his boots, and dark-gray socks adorned his feet. His T-shirt stretched tight across his chest with the short sleeves cinching his biceps. A bit of brown hair peeked over his shirt collar. She sighed. Her fingers itched to run through it.

No man should look this good, but then again, Dane was as virile. She expected an award for her ability to decline the many offers she had received in the past two days. Rejecting those had been easy. Resisting Rhys wasn’t.

He embodied everything she looked for in a man. Strong, muscled, tall, dark, sexy, and kind. She wasn’t a fool, though. He wanted her so keeping her company guaranteed him a romp in her bed. She vowed not to succumb because, with him, she would lose her heart.

He stirred, his long lashes fluttering before opening to reveal blue eyes. Blinking at the television mounted on the wall, he asked in a sleep-coated husky voice, “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much.” She snuggled deeper into the blankets, her focus on his reflection off the television screen rather than the scrolling credits.

He glanced at her and smiled.

Her breath hitched. She blinked at the seductive curl of his upper lip.

He sat up in one smooth move, declaring a set of strong abs she had excellent memory of. “Your nose isn’t as red.”

Great. Remind the patient how shitty she looks. She wanted to drop her head into her hands and moan. “Thanks, I think.”

“What do you feel like for dinner? Chicken soup?”

“No.” She barked her response then grimaced, not that she was hungry. But no dinner might mean Rhys abandoning her for the evening. She wanted him to stay. “Thank you, but no. Pizza?”

“Sure.” He chuckled. “I’ll tell Mo how her soup made you feel sick to your stomach.”

“You do that and I’ll kick you out of my house.” She smiled, the one that had lingered under the surface since he had entered her home this morning.

“You’d have to escape those blankets first, and I doubt you could outrun me.” He bounded off the couch to lean over her, tucking her in tighter.

“I’m hot,” she whined, flashing him a pout for good measure.

He brushed the hair off her temple, his touch cool against her flushed skin. “Good, incubate the germs, and show them who’s boss.”

“You?” She grinned.

His lips twitched, but a full smile didn’t form, thank the Lord. “Tonight, you should drink a hot toddy.”

“You just want me drunk, and besides, who’s the doctor here?” She nudged her head at the television since he had trapped her hands within the blankets. “Let’s choose another and order pizza.”

His fingers brushing her scarred cheek stilled. Curious, she raised her gaze to meet his. “Your temperature’s down.” He stroked her jawline instead of releasing her.

“I suppose you’ll send me the bill for services rendered?” Instead of turning her head and pressing a kiss to his palm, she forced a laugh. It had to be the meds. No man had ever tempted her like he did, so much her wits scattered and her instincts leaped toward promiscuous. She wanted to do him. The thought alone shot shards of lust and fear through her, proving she was in a sound mind to start something with him.

“Pay for the pizza, and we’re even.”

She snorted. “The amount shifters eat? You’ll bankrupt me.” Wiggling, she tried to dislodge the blankets enough to tug her arms free. “I need the bathroom.” When nothing loosened, she met his gaze again. “Are you a ninja blanket wrapper of great renown?”

Chuckling at her silly joke, she attempted to squirm free. Exhaustion weakened her arms and rasped her breathing. Sure she was better, but her body hadn’t fully recovered. Within seconds, he had her unwrapped.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He slid a hand under her bare thighs, an arm around her back, and she was airborne. “I can walk.” She clung to him for stability.

“If you say so. What pizza do you want?” he asked as if carrying her was normal for either of them.

“Ham and mushroom with extra olives. The pizza menu’s on the fridge.”

He lowered her feet to the floor outside the bathroom door but didn’t step away. Instead, he closed her robe, his fingers grazing her skin. She glanced away, not wanting to know how much she had exposed herself.

Tapping her nose with a fingertip, he gained her attention. “Call when you’re done.” He walked to the door. “I mean it, Ilona.”

“I mean it,” she grumbled under her breath, mimicking his macho attitude.

The door shut on her words and his answering laughter. She had forgotten about their sensitive hearing. A wave of heat bathed her face as if the fever had returned. What had she said when she had taken a bath? She had vague memories of complimenting parts of his anatomy.

“Shit.” She rose to flush before leaning over the basin. After she washed her hands, she cupped her cheeks imagining hearing the sizzle as her fingers cooled her humiliation.

She opened the door a crack and peered out. He wasn’t waiting for her which meant she could clothe herself with something more than a bathrobe. Panties would be first. With her nethers covered, she might feel less…vulnerable. Whipping off the bathrobe, she slipped a pair on. When she yanked on an oversized T-shirt that fell to mid-thigh, she shivered as the air touched her skin.

“You done?” His hoarse voice from the doorway drew a squeal from her.

His intense gaze traveled her bare legs. How much had he seen? A fresh fever gripped her as her embarrassment burned anew. She had lost count of the number of times she’d exposed herself to this man.

“Do you have to sneak up on me like that?” She held up her arms, expecting he’d insist on carrying her again.

He crossed the distance between them, but instead of lifting her, he gripped her hips and tugged her snug along his length. With nowhere else to go, she draped her raised arms over his shoulders.

“If you weren’t sick…” He ran his hands up her spine to press her against his chest.

“What? You’d slow dance with me?” She offered what she hoped was a teasing smile, trying to disarm the moment because, damn, if he kept this up, sick or not, she might seduce him. Then she ruined that thought with a sneeze which bounced her temple off his sculpted chest.

“Definitely.” He chuckled.

He glided his hands down, past her hips to grip her backside. Then she was airborne with a garbled squeal. When he threw her over his shoulder, he swatted her butt cheek for good measure. She was so grateful she had panties on despite the thin cloth not hindering the sting of his palm searing her skin.

“I could throw up.” She wouldn’t, not when she had his tight ass in her line of vision.

“Throw up what? Soup? You digested that hours ago.”

He had a point. She scowled. “I’m certain I saved a pea or a carrot.”

“Pizza’s on the way.” He swatted her backside again. But before she could spew the dire threats on the tip of her tongue, he swung her over and caught her in his arms, pinning her to his chest. “Feeling better? Still dizzy?”

“Better, yes. Dizzy? I’ll say no, because then I can pee in peace.” Maybe revealing her possible lie wasn’t wise.

He smirked. “One faint, and you’ll pee under strict supervision.”

She shuddered, not that it was sexy to watch someone pee, but she liked the intensity of his gaze and his no-nonsense attitude. She hadn’t lied about liking masculine men.

“Cold?” He ran his palms up and down her upper arms.

She shrugged, not knowing what else to say. Sliding out of his embrace, she climbed onto the two-seater and tugged the blankets over her. He studied her but said nothing. His focus exploded butterflies in her stomach overriding the shame still lingering. Something sensual and breathtaking skittered across his features. A ball of molten need unfolded in her core. She shifted in her seat.

A knock at her door broke his gaze. He bounded over and on a muted growl, swung the door open with a “what do you want?”

“Hey, my pack, my doc, my responsibility.” Dane peeked in and waved. “How are you feeling, Doc?” He shoved Rhys aside with effort and shut the door. “Want my blood?”

At least he was asking first.

“No, thanks, not when we don’t know whether it will work on a common cold. I’d prefer to look at it through a microscope.” At what lay ahead for her, excitement filled her like an inflated balloon.

“We can do a syringe.” He sat on the couch Rhys had napped on. “Shifters don’t get sick, Ilona.”

As tempted as she was by his offer, she couldn’t be the guinea pig to assuage her curiosity. “What if it heals me, but is slowly killing my human cells or converting them into a hybrid?”

He clenched his jaw and rubbed his palms along his thighs. “How’s your wound?”

“It doesn’t hurt.” She rolled her shoulder to prove it.

Dane’s brow furrowed as if he didn’t believe her. Rhys, still standing with his arms folded across his chest, glowered at Dane. Her breath hitched at the fury pouring off Rhys. Her reaction triggered a dry cough. He hurried to offer her a glass of water. She thanked him with a smile and sipped, enjoying the cold water soothing her throat. After she placed the glass on the coffee table, she faced a doubtful Dane.

“What? Don’t want to take my word for it?” She huffed.

Flicking the blanket open, she tugged her shirt’s strap off her shoulder, exposing her chest from collarbone to cleavage. Red marks marred her skin where the lacerations had been.

Rhys pinched his lips, gripped Dane by his shirt, and thrust them both out the door.

Ilona gaped then yelped when a bang reverberated through the house as if Rhys had shoved Dane against the siding. She scrambled off the couch, wasting precious seconds to untangle herself before racing onto the porch. The cold hit her, summoning a full-body shiver. She gasped, goosebumps traveling from her toes to her scalp in an instant.

Rhys did have Dane pinned to the wall. He growled at him, making hoarse noises harsh enough to shred a human’s vocal cords. She caught a few words like ‘protect,’ ‘mate,’ ‘disrespect,’ and ‘claim.’

Dane laughed, unphased by Rhys’s words.

Chilled to the bone and lacking the tolerance to deal with whatever this was, she spun on her heel. “That’s it. You two can just—”

She stomped into her home. Bolting the door shut, she switched off the lights in the lounge, covered the fire in the hearth, then headed for bed. She popped her meds and crawled between the cold sheets, grumbling to herself about idiot shifters.

Rhys pounded on the door, rattling it in its frame. “Ilona, please, you have my shoes, my car keys.”

“Catch a ride with Dane.” She didn’t yell, assuming he could hear her croaking voice dampened by the thick blankets she burrowed under.

“He left.” His voice was pitiful.

She ignored him, lying still, and praying her shivering would stop. It did, but she lay awake, clinging to her blankets, curled into a ball, and listening for any movement.

“Are you still there?” Despite whispering the words, she hoped he would answer but dreaded it. She didn’t know what she would do if he hadn’t left.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lona, not with you unwell.”

Lona? He’d called her that before. She liked the familiarity of it, as if he cared for her. The door thumped, sounding similar to when he’d guarded her while she’d bathed. She couldn’t leave him on the porch.

Sighing, she slipped out of bed, wrapped a throw around her shoulders, then padded to the front door. Unbolting it, she opened it. Rhys sat on his ass and peered at her.

“What are you doing?”

If he smiled or was charming in any way, she would close the door in his face. But his expression was serious, with a slight furrow marring his brow.

“Go home, Rhys.”

“I…can’t.” Sadness darkened his eyes. He dipped his chin to his chest. “It’s been days of knowing you, Lona. Please don’t ask me to abandon you.”

Shivering with gusts of wind and snow drifting into her house, she left the door open and climbed onto the couch she had occupied all day. Bundling inside the throw, she waited for him to close the door behind him and settle the pizza boxes onto the coffee table.

He hesitated, then sat next to her to drag her onto his lap. Unable to resist the heat pouring off him, she moaned and burrowed into his warmth. “I’m a shifter, you know this. I figure you’re also learning how we mate.”

“No, but not that it has anything to do with me. I’m human.” She sighed when she shoved her fingers under his shirt.

“For the most part, yes, but shifters can mate with humans.”

“What?” As intelligent as she was, sometimes connecting the dots was challenging. Could Amos have mated Gran so many years ago? Could he now? “What does mating mean?”

“It’s finding the person who fits your weaknesses and strengths. There’s also this deep connection and an instant comfortability like you’ve known each other forever.” He shifted on his feet as if there was more to it, but he remained silent.

“So, what does that have to do with me?”

“I’m comfortable with you, Lona. I want the opportunity for us to get to know each other.” He squeezed her against him, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He groaned, nuzzling her and shooting shards of electric desire to her core. “I love the scent of your skin.”

At the compliment whispered in his deep voice, her neurons zinged passed her nipples and headed straight to her clitoris. She squirmed on his lap.

His head fell back on a muted moan.

“Get to know me as in date?” Tugging her hands from under his shirt, she rested her palms on his chest to push away, hoping to break the spell he weaved around her senses.

“Yes, as in date.” He swept a curl off her temple. “But it means convincing you to move to Inner City. The Knights Ridge pack has a laboratory if that helps you to decide. We’re working on creating medicine for the vampires to conceive.” He cupped her scarred cheek, tracing a finger along it.

When she tried to jerk away, he caught her chin between forefinger and thumb. Then, as slow as the setting sun, he leaned in and feathered his lips along the scar’s ridges. He growled and looped an arm around her to draw her closer. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears and butterflies consumed her chest. She was insane to let him touch her like this.

“You’re helping them conceive?” Excitement pulsed through her at the groundbreaking research his scientists were doing. Or was that languid desire when he skimmed his fingers down her throat to trace her collarbone. “Any results?”

“We’re close. We’ve started vamp trials, and the women smell fertile.”

Her nipples hardened when he traced his fingers along her T-shirt’s collar. “Your olfactory—?”

His thumb tugging on her bottom lip shuddered bold need through her and halted her question.

“I can smell emotions too.” Dipping his head, his gaze snagged hers as his lips descended. When they brushed across hers, she gasped. “Anger, fear, arousal.”

Her cheeks burned, and despite wishing she could kiss him, she didn’t like how he toyed with her.

“Arousal doesn’t mean sex.” She slipped off his lap and drew the throw around her as she gathered her dignity. A rather large bulge in his jeans snagged her attention. A fever claimed her, and she forced herself to shuffle back, ignoring the throbbing between her legs.

“No, it means attraction.” He didn’t hide how aroused he was, and the slow perusal he gave her with his intense blue eyes tested her resolve.

“Find a woman not scarred, not an emotional wrec—” She bit the inside of her cheek, spun on her heel, then stomped off.

Climbing into bed, she yanked the blankets over her head. Like a child, she cast her thoughts back to before the crash, as if the universe hadn’t messed with her life. No accident happened, she hadn’t lost her parents, she wasn’t scarred, and she didn’t have the sexiest man she had ever met horny as hell in her living room.

“You can’t hide from this, Lona.”

“Go away.” She rolled over, offering her back.

His footsteps neared, and the bed dipped, but before she could scold him, he slid under the covers and tugged her against his bare chest. Shit, he was so deliciously warm.

His voice rumbled as he said, “As an alpha accustomed to scars, bloodshed, death, yours doesn’t bother me. It speaks of a woman who has endured much. If your scar healed, would that change who you are?”

She shook her head, too nervous to speak with her ass nestled against something incredibly hard while her heart pounded at the truth in his voice.

“Dimi, it’s Rhys. Can you send one of your pal’tsy to Coedwig? I need him to lick someone.”

Frowning at the strange request, she twisted to watch Rhys on his mobile. He didn’t mean her, right? Like she would let someone lick her. Ew, what the hell was wrong with these people? Then her doctor’s mind took over. He had implied they could heal her scar, and just by licking if she took his meaning. She needed samples of their blood and saliva. Hell, not that she knew what to tackle first: cancer, injuries, blood disorders… The list was endless.

Rhys sprawled on the bed, with his bare chest exposed for her admiration. His gaze traveled to her breasts, then up along her neck to linger on her lips, sparking a tingling trail of sensory overload. He touched where his gaze had, feathering his fingertips over her lips, skimming along her neck to stroke his palm across a nipple.

Fire burst outward, and her breast swelled. She bit her inner cheek and shifted, trying to untangle her legs and slip off the bed. Now he was taking liberties when he had no right. Sure, her body screamed permission, but she hadn’t given it. Not yet, anyway.

“Thanks.” He hung up, placed his phone on the nightstand, then sat up in a fluid motion, his mouth meeting hers.

She hadn’t expected a kiss. His lips were dry, soft, hot, but the moment he slipped in his velvet-like tongue, she melted. The demanding way he conquered her mouth scattered her thoughts. With a sweep of his tongue, he claimed her. She had longed for this and needed to sample his lips. Groaning, she nestled against his chest as his musky flavor burst to life across her tastebuds. Permission granted.

“Kissing you is better than I imagined.” He feathered kisses along her jawline then swooped in to claim her lips again.

Fuck me, James. The taste of him, the way he left no part of her untouched, sent waves of lust pulsing through her. She clung to him, kneading his chest beneath her fingers as he dominated the kiss.

Before she could think to join in, he flipped her, tucked her snugly against the front of him, and nipped her exposed shoulder. “Sleep, heal, and in the morning, we’ll discuss what this is between us.”

Sleep? She wanted to snort, but her mind reeled. He had kissed her. Was he serious about dating her? No, not after days, but she wanted him to be serious, and therein lay her dilemma.

With his hand gripping her hip, his chest warming her back, and his lips pressed to her neck, sleep claimed her, dragging her down to its sweet depths.