Evah has been healing the Wyoran village of Senatha for months, but when Rapal is brought to her savaged and dying, her skills are pushed to the limit. So is her self control. No other man has woken the woman beneath the healer, but will he stay long enough to enjoy the result?

Excerpt:

Five armoured guards were behind the nervous Mayor Nalish. Four carried a litter with another male on it.

One of the newcomers stepped forward, pushing the mayor aside. Based on the gold trim on his armour, he was very close to being in charge. “Our leader requires healing. He was hunting and struck by a minth.”

 “Bring him inside. Up the stairs, second door on the right. Place him on the bed and remove his armour.” She waved them inside and watched the four carriers take his litter up the stairs.

“Your mayor assures us that you can do the job.” The spokesman was almost touching her. “If he dies, there will be consequences.”

“If he dies, then it will be because you keep me from him. Or because you waited too long to seek help and the venom has permeated all of his organs. Now get out of my way.” She moved to go around him and he blocked her.

“What will you require in payment?”

“It will be discussed when I see the extent of his injuries and heal them. The effort cannot be guessed at if I haven’t even seen him.”

“My lord, we have prepared him as she requested.” The four had returned from upstairs and their commander looked away from her. It was all the distraction she needed. She had them put the patient in her bed because she would need the space. They had taken the armour off, but left the clothing, that would have to go. She whipped out her dagger and approached the bed. A hand stopped her.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“I need to get his clothing off. I have to have skin to skin contact for a set of wounds this severe.”

“Fine, but you put one finger wrong and I will slit your throat.”

She was working to get the tunic and trousers off her patient when that last statement hit her. “You can’t watch the healing.” He was naked and he was a big boy indeed. About six foot six if she didn’t miss her guess. She was going to have a helluva time covering him.

“I can and I will.” He took her chair from the corner and sat in it, as if she was about to put on a play.

One of the first tenants of the Citadel training was that there was no shame in the marks left on the body by the graft healing. They would fade with time and she should bear them proudly. Sighing in resignation, she stripped her robes off and removed her veil. When she was naked, the commander’s sharp intake of breath announced his shock. Fortunately, he didn’t comment on her patches of red and shiny skin or the ridge of scars lacing across her flesh.

Climbing onto her bed, she straddled her patient and examined him. Thick black hair waved off a forehead that had a silvery tinge under the tan—Wyoran heritage in action. The velvety nap to his skin was a sensory delight and, when he groaned under her, she got her mind back on business.

Three claw marks angled across his face, had puffed the flesh into a caricature of his normal face. Another claw strike had caught him low on the abdomen, under his breastplate. That wound was septic already. She had to work fast.

She stretched his arms out at his sides and lay on top of him, her forehead touching his and her hips resting on the wound of his belly. Another gasp penetrated her consciousness as she started to heal her patient. The glow that her skin gave off was blinding to her own eyes and the pain seared her as she took his injuries for her own.

Graft Healers had the unenviable talent to take on a wound or infection to their body and letting their own superior biology heal the damage. In return, they gave their flesh to their patients, replacing damaged organs and patching skin. It left a distinct mark on the patient for a few days, but rapidly absorbed into their bodies harmlessly.

When her head and belly were screaming in pain, she knew that the healing was done. Shaking, she slowly moved off her patient, only to realize that he had a raging erection. “That isn’t supposed to happen.”

“Holy mother of stars. Look at you!” The guardsman was freaked out. There was no other word for it.

“I would rather not.” She checked on her patient and measured his vitals with a light touch to his wrist, then gathered her clothing and left the room. The guest room was not as comfortable as her room, but it would do. She needed rest and she needed it in the worst way.

It was days like this that she wished she could quit.