My brow pinches curiously, and I take the seat.
“May I lay a hand on your side, lady?” he asks, and I nod, yet the healer hesitates before reaching for me.
His hands are light against my skin, but an unbidden hiss of pain escapes my lips when he releases the shocking touch of his gift into my body.
“Careful,” the general says under his breath.
I glare at the male watching from the door, but he is wholly fixed on Caden’s hand at my side. The gift sears across the rib in a wave of sparking rivulets before it ebbs, dissipating only when the healer draws his gift fromme. He repeats the action on the cut below my breast, and then my jaw.
“Her head,” the general barks when the healer looks like he’s ready to run for the door.
I’m better prepared for the shock of his gift when he releases it this time and I manage to school my features under the general’s intense scrutiny. The moment Caden’s gift leaves my body, he turns to the general expectantly and, dismissed with a curt nod, he hurries into the hall.
I’ll thank the healer later, but it is impossible to hide my irritation toward the general for barging into my room and forcing Caden to heal me.
“I said I was fine,” I bark at the general and rise to my feet, “and I meant it. If I need a healer, I will find one.”
“So stubborn,” he says, shaking his head as if I am nothing but a disobedient child. “The rib was broken, Shivaria, not just fractured. Caden could sense the break the moment the salve wore off.”
Good to know.
“He could have healed you the moment you felt the pain return. You knew that, and you said nothing,” he says angrily.
“I told you, if I need a healer, I’ll find one,” I say through clenched teeth, fists balling at my sides.
“What happened to you?” the general asks and my gut twists with the concern overtaking the anger in his voice. “What made you so hard?”
“Those men wasted an entire day coming after me because of a mistake I made. The least I could do was get them back to their families as soon as possible,” I deflect.
“You expect me to believe you did it for them?” he snaps.
“I don’t expect you to believe a word I say,General. You’ve made your lack of trust in me perfectly clear.”
He glares at me then, and I find that I’m a little more comfortable with this variety of the male. Brooding and hateful I can handle; it’s the tender male with the gentle touch that scares me. I have no idea how to handle that version of him.
“I’m tired,” I say.
It isn’t a lie, but he certainly looks at me like he’s attempting to discern the truth of the statement.
“Fine.” The moment he says it I walk to the bed, sure that I will hear the click of the door behind me as he leaves.
“Let me check your wounds, and I’ll go.”
“You watched Caden heal me yourself,” I argue, spinning to pin him with a stare of pure aggravation.
“As healing is never guaranteed andyoucannot be trusted to tell me when you are injured, I’ll see for myself before I leave you,” he says.
I’m sure I’m turning a perfect shade of red when I reluctantly nod my consent. It’s a small price to pay for his departure and I have no doubt he’ll stand here brooding all night if I don’t allow his inspection.
He strides across the room, and I’m suddenly wondering exactly what manner of night dress I have absentmindedly put on. He cups my jaw, and I loosen the muscles in my neck, letting him maneuver my head to the side so that he can examine me thoroughly. His thumb traces the line of my cheek where the cut was healed and his brow dips, his jaw tensing as his thumb strokes beyond the line of healing, passing beneath my lip.
My breath catches in my chest just as he looses one of his own and slides his hands down the curve of my waist until he’s untying the loose knot of my robe. He slowly parts the panels of fabric, sliding it from my shoulders, letting the silk fall to the floor and pool around my ankles.
“Fates,” he says under his breath as he grips my waist, taking another step toward me, “You are so beautiful.”
The declaration stuns me, and my cheeks burn beneath the heat of his gaze. A quick glance down at my night dress flutters my stomach for different reasons. Two straps secure a white gossamer slip to my shoulders, the fabric so thin I’m sure he can see the pink flesh at the center of my breasts. The slip barely falls below my hip, revealing more than even the A’kori gowns. I press my thighs together, wishing I’d worn the delicate scrap of lace the feyn apparently consider reasonable underthings.
His blue eyes are a fiery blaze as his thumb traces the line beneath my breast where it was cut. Once satisfied, he continues to where I suffered the break on my side, his touch achingly slow and gentle. I flinch under the attention of that caress, and he glares at where his hand now rests above the healed break, my flesh obscured by the sheer fabric.
