Love's Beguiling Healer Read online

  Along with drops of blood. Little drops that fell to the floor and left a path in their wake.

  Tera straightened, focusing on the blood. “Hey, wait up!"

  He ignored her and kept walking.

  "Illam!” She sprang after him.

  He still kept walking, and was almost to the door before she managed to insinuate herself between him and the opening. Raising one brow, he gazed down at her imperiously.

  "You're bleeding,” she stated.

  Golden eyes stared straight at her—or through, she wasn't sure.

  "Your arm,” she snapped. “Your arm is bleeding."

  "You don't say,” he replied ironically.

  "Come on.” Jerking her head at him, Tera stepped past him and started back into the room. “Sit down near the table on that stool, and I'll have a look at your injury."

  It was only when she stopped at the table and turned around that she realized that Illam still stood where she'd left him. Only this time, he was watching her without expression, one brow still irritatingly arched.

  "Well?” She gestured to the stool. “Come on."

  "I don't want you to feel obligated,” he drawled. “The fact that you're the healer of this esteemed establishment, and I'm just a visiting—"

  She couldn't help it. It slipped from her mouth before she could think about it. “Domestic long hair lycat?"

  Those oh-so-gorgeous-kiss-me-long—and-deep lips curled up in a faint snarl of displeasure, and his hands balled into fists, which made the blood drip faster from beneath his sleeve. And the white uniform sleeve was now alarmingly scarlet, the stain growing rapidly.

  "Oh, suns! I'm sorry, all right?” Tera glared at him. “Just come and sit down, and let me tend your injury.” When he still didn't move, she added, “I'm sorry. Okay? I shouldn't have said what I did, and I apologize. Now can I please attend to you?"

  Illam took a deep breath, then squared his shoulders and strolled across the room. He did it far too slowly, and Tera knew he was doing it deliberately. Making her wait, knowing she was growing more anxious about his wound. She fought the impulse to snarl herself, maintaining a stoic expression as he finally dropped gracefully into the stool, which adjusted immediately. The stool moved upwards involuntarily, until he was on eye level with her, and could rest his arm comfortably on the plastic sheet that lay on the table.

  Being on eye level with Illam was not something with which she was comfortable, but there was no help for it. Keeping her gaze on his arm, she asked, “Can you remove your top for me?"

  Without hesitation, Illam flicked the buttons of his jacket open. Slowly. One by one. His gaze remained on Tera's face.

  Tera's mouth went dry as naked skin was revealed by the buttons slipping free and the lapels of the jacket opening. He's naked underneath. Illam has no shirt on! Oh wow! I mean—barbarian!

  And a tasty barbarian he was, too. Steeling herself, she managed to maintain a cool, unconcerned expression as he shrugged the jacket from his shoulders and allowed it to slip to the floor. Now she could see his chest for the first time—and it was a damn fine chest. The muscles under the smooth skin bunched with every lazy, power-leashed movement he made. Solid pectoral muscles were a perfect mount for brown, male nipples, and the muscles of his stomach ribbed down mouthwateringly. She noticed all this while determinedly keeping her gaze on his arm—only to see the wide shoulders, the hard biceps and triceps, the power in the arm resting on the table. Oh baby!

  This might not be so easy after all.

  Settle down. You're a healer. You've seen better bodies than this. She snorted mentally. Girl, you really need to get laid. If you're finding this obnoxious lykitty so attractive, you are in bad shape.

  Tucking a curl behind her ear, she bent down and studied the deep slash in his arm. “How did you do this?"

  "Shifting some crates."

  Straightening up, Tera placed a thick wad of gauze on the cut to absorb some of the blood, and then she crossed to the row of cupboards and started to collect the equipment she needed. “That cut looks a little neat for a crate cut. It's a clean slice, not jagged.” Silence met her announcement, and she looked curiously at Illam as she placed the supplies on the table.

  He met her gaze unblinkingly. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  "Well?” She squirted antiseptic liquid into a small ceramic dish.

  "Well, what?"

  "This wasn't done by a crate."

  "I didn't say it was."

  Fine. If he wanted to be all silent and mysterious about it, fine. Just ... fine.

  Using two tweezers, Tera soaked gauze pieces in the antiseptic solution, squeezed the excess deftly from the gauze, and proceeded to wipe the seeping blood from the cut. The more she dabbed, the more came.

  "This is going to need stitches.” She glanced up to find his disconcerting golden eyes watching her.

  "So stitch it, then,” he said, as though granting her a huge favor.

  She gritted her teeth. “It's going to hurt."

  That noble head angled up proudly. “Stitch."

  "I'll get an anesthetic—"

  "I don't need it."

  Slowly she straightened up, and set the gauze into the disposable container. “I said, I'll get anesthetic—"

  "And I said, I don't need it.” Leaning forward slightly, he added with a faint, contemptuous curl of his lips, “Felys are famous for enduring many hardships."

  Oh, here we go. A reference to the slave days. How predictable. “Really?” she replied tartly. “Odd, I've never heard of that."

  He stared blandly at her, and with a shrug, Tera retrieved the stitching kit.

  Fine. If he was too manly to need something to kill the pain, fine. Fine, fine, fine. He was starting to really get on her nerves.

  Without further ado, and now in a hurry to simply get rid of him, Tera threaded the needle, swiped antiseptic over the gash once more, and without sparing him a glance, she applied needle to flesh.

  She heard the low growl rumble up from that luscious, lean-muscled chest before the first stitch was completed.

  "I told you it would hurt!” she snapped, looking up. “I said—” Her voice trembled to a halt.

  Illam was glaring at her. From between those oh-so-gorgeous-kiss-me-long-and-deep lips, the low growl continued to rumble softly—and menacingly. Combined with his enlarged pupils, and the writhing black threads in his irises, it was enough to disconcert just about anyone.

  Except her.

  She smiled sweetly. “Need something for the pain, Illam?"

  His smile was more snarl, white teeth firmly clenched. “No."

  "I just heard you whimpering, so—"

  The nostrils of his noble nose flared. “Women whimper. The growl you heard was an automatic reaction to pain."

  "Ah, so you did feel some pain."

  "Just finish the job."

  Imbecile. Pursing her lips, Tera recommenced pulling the thread through his flesh. The tension in his body was plainly felt by her, as though her very aura was mingled with his. Which it was. Being so close to him allowed their auras to mingle, and she could smell his very scent. Male, clean. Wild. Intoxicatingly feral.

  Her heart started to thud a little heavier. By the stars, she needed to have a check-up. She was obviously overworking.

  It would be better if I couldn't breathe his scent in, though. But if I hold my breath, I'll faint. Imagine what that would look like. The healer flat out on the floor. Not a good look. And she could just imagine the sneer on his face if she did end up flat on her back.

  Taking a deep breath, which was just as bad as not breathing at all, Tera tried to blank her mind while stitching the wound in the arm of the maddening Felys male.

  * * * *

  The Argon female was maddening. It was a shame that her disposition wasn't as sweet as her natural body scent, which drifted tantalizingly into his senses. Sweetly spice.

  And he was an absolute jerk to play the big Felys male in front of this f
emale termagant. His very pride was going to be the death of him one day. It was sure making him feel a fair amount of pain right now.

  It was only by effort of will that Illam refrained from yelling when the needle pierced his skin once more. It bloody hurt! But he was damned if he was going to allow Tera to give him that all-knowing look from those pale, crystal blue eyes. To try and take his mind off his own foolish folly, Illam studied her.

  The Argons were said to be an extremely sensual, sexual race of beings. Their attractiveness to other races was well-known. It gave him a small measure of satisfaction to know that the Felys were one of the few species who weren't automatically attracted to the Argons. It was also tantalizing to know that the Argons were the only species known to match the Felys in their sexual desires.

  His gaze dropped unbidden to the soft breasts outlined beneath the deep blue of the silky gown that Tera wore.

  Uh-oh, don't go there. Do not go there!

  Hurriedly he shifted his attention back to her face. She was definitely beautiful, not with the feline-looks of his own species, but with a haunting beauty. Pale, crystal blue eyes fringed with thick, black lashes. Arched brows lent a quizzical air to her oval face, and her pert nose and plump lips promised delights. Those plump lips could also spout cynical sentences like no one he'd ever heard before, apart from himself and Marten. Her small chin had a stubborn tilt to it.

  Unbidden, his gaze drifted lower. An elegant neck, just right for sinking his teeth into while pushing himself into her hot depths—

  Where the hell had that thought just come from? Startled, he jumped.

  The needle dug deeper than it should have, and he roared, “What the hell?"

  "Keep still,” Tera snapped. “Or do you want pain killer after all?"

  "No.” He glared at her.

  Muttering beneath her breath, Tera bent back to her task. Which brought the nape of her elegant neck back into eye view again. Illam licked his lips, and shifted his gaze abruptly.

  Her blue gown was silky and long, not quite brushing the floor. Little buckles secured it at her shoulders, leaving her shapely arms bare. A narrow silver belt encircled her slim waist. She moved to the side a little, and he saw that the gown was slitted up one side to her thigh.

  He noticed it because part of one shapely leg was bared to his view for a few seconds, before the silky skirt swirled back into place, covering the enticing limb from his gaze. He also noticed her small, narrow feet were encased in dainty sandals secured with thin straps that wound up her mouth-wateringly, curvaceous calves.

  The pain must be making me delirious. Hastily dragging his gaze upwards, he focused on her hair. The wealth of it, long, thick and luxurious, was caught up on her head in an intricate bun of some kind. All swirls and plaits, twining in amongst itself. He would like to have seen it loose instead.

  Who cares if it's up or down? Forget pain killer. He needed some sense slapped into his head.

  Cheerful voices sounded in the corridor outside, and he felt relief soar through him. Help was on its way.

  Tera glanced briefly over her shoulder when Illam's friend and captain, Denyon, entered, followed by Kiile, Tera's golden-haired, boyishly handsome leader. Behind Kiile strode one of his ever-present bodyguard, Marten.

  "How are you feeling?” Denyon queried, crossing the room to lean against the table.

  "Don't lean on my clean field,” Tera said.

  "Sorry.” Denyon didn't move. Instead, he studied her handiwork. “That must be painful. Good thing you've got a pain killer on it."

  Before Illam could say anything, Tera inclined her head up to smile sweetly at Denyon. “Oh, Illam's such a big, strong Felys, he doesn't need a painkiller.” She waited only long enough to catch Denyon's startled look, before smirking to herself and returning her attention to Illam's injury.

  Illam met Denyon's puzzled gaze blandly, as though it was every day he had his injuries stitched without the aid of anesthetic.

  By Delcat, it was really starting to burn now!

  His smile at Denyon was more clenched teeth than friendliness. The clench became almost a grinding when Denyon and Kiile shared an amused look. Marten merely raised one brow sardonically.

  "So.” Laughter lurked in Denyon's green eyes, his vertical pupils enlarging and dilating in enjoyment. “Into self-punishment now for stupidity, are we?"

  "No, we're not,” Illam ground back, his breath hissing out as the prick of the needle once again made itself known. “By Jocat, woman, must you do such small stitches?” It's taking so damned long!

  Tera didn't even look at him. “Don't be such a lykitten."

  Taking a deep breath, Illam glanced at Marten, who was still standing with a sardonic arch to his eyebrows. Marten had a dry, cynical wit that could practically draw blood. Illam just hoped that the Argon bodyguard wouldn't choose now to use it.

  "What stupidity would that be?” Tera asked with a deceiving mildness.

  Illam narrowed his eyes at Denyon in warning.

  Blithely ignoring him, Denyon replied with relish, “We were loading a crate onto the scout ship, when Illam spied a sword on top. I told him to wait until the crate was put down before grabbing it, but he just had to grab it there and then. He—"

  "Don't you have some place to be?” Illam demanded.

  "Why, no."

  "I'm sure you could find somewhere."

  "No, no. We're here to see that you're all right.” Denyon grinned at Kiile. “Isn't that so?"

  "It would be remiss of me, as your host, not to check that you're getting the best of care.” Kiile's grin was even wider. “And look, Tera is attending to you. She's one of our best healers, you know."

  And everyone knew that Illam and Tera struck sparks off each other, which was most entertaining.

  Illam grunted.

  Tera glanced up briefly at him with a frown.

  Marten smirked.

  Dropping the needle into the ceramic dish which contained the antiseptic, Tera dabbed the last bit of blood from the wound site with a piece of clean gauze, then deftly stuck on a self-adhesive patch. “This will keep it clean and dry, and it also has a slow release antibiotic within it. Come back in seven days and I'll take the stitches out.” She stepped back. “If there's any smell or ooze, come back immediately."

  "Thanks.” Relieved that his self-imposed ordeal was over, Illam picked up his uniform jacket from the floor, slid it back on and stood up.

  Tera started cleaning up the articles on the table.

  Illam gave her a slight nod before turning on his heel and leaving the healers rooms.

  "So.” Denyon dropped back to walk beside him. “Did you get some painkillers from the pretty healer?"

  Oh, great. “No need. I have some in my rooms.” Now I'll have to get some from the scout ship.

  "If you want to go back in and ask Tera, we'll wait here.” Denyon was openly laughing at him, the swirls in his green eyes writhing in delight.

  Illam snarled.

  Denyon chuckled.

  * * * *

  The Cave

  Know what is happening to us. The pain, the humiliation. We're prized as slaves. There will be no change. They will never stop hunting us.

  * * * *

  Standing behind Denyon's chair, Illam watched as the Argons came into the room. Kiile took up his customary position behind his desk, while two of his bodyguards, Wylin and Eulie, leaned against the walls. They had a deceiving easiness about them, but he could sense that they would instantly erupt into a deadly fighting team if their leader was threatened.

  Folding his arms, he rocked back on his heels as Denyon entered the room, his gaze meeting that of his own leader and friend. Denyon nodded and sat in the chair that Illam stood behind. Sarcan, the head healer of Kiile's country, entered and took the remaining chair. The Argon healer had a long black beard streaked with grey, which he stroked thoughtfully while he studying the Felys through his golden eyes. But the gold of his eyes was a different shade to
the gold irises which the Felys and Lypeople had, and didn't have the same brilliance.

  Kiile nodded to him. “I thank you for coming. I know you've been busy lately, but Denyon has something he wishes to discuss with us, and most especially with you, Sarcan."

  Sarcan nodded. “Obviously it must be something to do with medicine?"

  Leaning his elbows on the armrests of the chair, Denyon linked his hands over his flat stomach. “I don't know about medicine, Sarcan, but it has to do with my people. As you know, we have runts born into our litters from time to time."

  "Lysie was one,” Sarcan murmured, his gaze steady.

  "True. Except that she was one of the few who grew stronger instead of weaker, as most of our runts do."

  "You allow them to run wild because you have time only for the strongest.” Sarcan glanced briefly at Illam before returning his gaze to Denyon. “From what I've learned from Lysie, only the strongest survive because more energy is put into them."

  "The strongest of our litters carry our line,” Denyon replied soberly. “Our race is small, one big clan only left now, and only by careful selection can we try to continue our race."

  "It is not for us to judge another race."

  "No, it's all right, Sarcan.” Denyon raised his hand. “I know you don't understand us, but believe me, we do care for our runts. They are fed, clothed, and loved."

  "But not schooled, or taught what they should be taught to survive."

  "Because they are not expected to survive.” Denyon remained patient. “The runts are allowed free run, while the strongest are taught what they need to know to survive. Most of the runts die by the time they're about five years old, while a few make it to ten or so. Our race is small, we're almost a dying race, so our teachings go to those who hold any hope of our race continuing. But we still love and care for our runts."

  "Your race is strong,” Illam told Sarcan. “You have no idea what it's like to watch your people die out."

  "Your people haven't died out,” he said.

  "But we're in great danger of doing so.” Denyon leaned forward. “And this is where I need the assistance of the Argon healers."

  "We're pleased to help in any way we can.” Sarcan studied Denyon intently.