"Brenna, please. Give me a chance."
She jabbed her finger in the direction of her patient. "He needs me."
Shivawn regarded her for a long while, different emotions playing over his face. Disappointment. Regret. Resolve. Finally he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room.
She breathed a sigh of relief and, shockingly enough, disappointment. She'd liked his company?
Forget him. She rotated back to the injured warrior and smoothed a hand over his too-cold brow. No progress.
Would he survive? He'd lost so much blood.
He was a lot bigger than Shivawn. Probably a lot stronger, too. Which meant he was more dangerous.
Actually, his disposition made him more dangerous. He'd challenged the king to a sword fight. But right now he was as weak as a babe and utterly helpless.
She hated to see anyone suffer. No one knew better than Brenna how it felt to lie in bed, broken, beaten and near death.
With a sigh, she leaned forward, as if pulled by a power stronger than herself, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead; she willed him to get better.
"No touching," the guard said.
The patient's eyes blinked open, as if the kiss-innocent as it had been-had given him the strength he'd needed to awaken at last. He spied her hovering over him and frowned. Confusion darkened his eyes.
She straightened with a jolt of panic.
"Did I die, then?" she heard him say.
His voice was strained. He's feeble. He can't hurt you. Still...she had to force herself to remain in place.
Hand shaking, she once again flattened her palm on his brow. He'd warmed, but only slightly.
He leaned into her touch. "Did I enter Olympus?"
A nymph's idea of heaven? She shook her head.
His gaze darted around the room. "Why are you here? Why am I-" His words ground to a halt. "Valerian," he grated. "The fight. I lost." He tried to sit up.
She gently pushed him down and smoothed his hair from his face, attempting to soothe him and defuse his anger.
If he decided to fight her, she'd...what?
Shockingly enough, he relaxed.
Drawing in a deep breath, he even reached up and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.
Remain calm, remain calm, please, remain calm. Patients touched her all the time. She'd had to train herself to maintain a casual expression.
When she attempted to pull away, he tightened his grip.
"What are you doing here, Shivawn's woman?"
Her pulse hammered in her neck as she pointed to his bandaged wounds.
He studied her more intently, his brows drawing together. "You are a healer?"
She nodded and once more tried to extract herself from his hold, but once more he tightened his grip.
"Can you not speak?" he asked.
He wasn't the first to ask, but he was the first to ask without any hint of pity. He looked curious, nothing more.
"Broken," she said, motioning to her neck with her free hand.
He...didn't flinch, and amazement filled her.
He released her to trace his fingers over her neck, where the pulse still fluttered wildly. His fingers brushed the soft skin, as if searching for an injury.
She shivered, both appalled and...needy? What was wrong with her? She hadn't reacted to a man in years.
"How?" he asked.
People always asked, as if they were inquiring about the weather or about where she bought her shoes. In the beginning, the question had thrown her, brought back the horrible memories of being pinned down and choked by her enraged, jealous husband. She used to answer with a casual, "Car accident," but she doubted this archaic warrior would understand what that meant.
Brenna bit her lip and, tentative, wrapped one of her hands gently around his neck and shook, then pointed to her own neck with the other.
His eyes narrowed, and his hands closed over her wrists, far more gently than before. "Someone choked you?"
Nod.
"A man?" The words were so quiet she barely heard them.
Again she nodded.
"No touching," the man in the doorway suddenly barked. "The king's orders. Release her, Joachim."
She'd forgotten about the guard.
Joachim's gaze spit hate at the male. A second later, the two men engaged in a heated conversation in a language she'd never heard. During it all, Joachim retained his gentle grip on her.
She finally managed to wrench free. Relief swept through her, and she rubbed her wrist. Where he'd touched, her skin had warmed. Sensitized.
Joachim was frightening, volatile and violent, traits she absolutely abhorred. She shouldn't like his touch. No, she shouldn't.
"Would you like me to kill him for you?" Joachim asked, surprising her.
She blinked in confusion and pointed to the sentinel at the door.
"Good luck with that," the man in question said.
Joachim ignored him. "The one who hurt you."