Page 9 of Come Fill Me

A pulse beat hard at the base of Liz’s throat. She regarded Zeke’s tattoo, a tribal band in the form of a stylized snake. A tribute to his Comanche or Snake People heritage. Settled within the band was the eye of an eagle, designating him as a prophet, a gift from his alien ancestors.

The head of the snake was gone, cut out with a sharp instrument, possibly a scalpel.

Given how the underlying skin glistened in the lamps’ meek beams, Liz suspected Carreon had taken that piece of flesh a short time ago. As a token.

Fighting disgust, Liz avoided the wound and drank in the rest of this man. Even so close to death, she saw strength in Zeke’s broad shoulders and build, far more athletic than Carreon’s, exquisitely masculine and a decided contradiction to his almost-gentle expression.

How many women had he given that look to? Had hereserved such warmth for his wife? Had he been able to love and cherish any woman that much?

What did it matter? Once Liz healed him, he’d beg for the end. Carreon and his men would see to it.

Goose pimples rose on her arms and legs, worsened by chilled air pouring from the ceiling vents.

One of the men cleared his throat as though impatient for her to begin.

She couldn’t just yet. All of her life, Liz’s father had warned her about their shared gift.

“There are things about it you don’t know,” he’d cautioned. “Things you should never know. But I will tell you this: you have to be very careful that you do more good than harm. No matter how badly you want to heal, you cannot do it quickly.”

She had to leave the vital organs for later. If too much of her healing force flowed into the injured, the extreme recovery could cause the arteries and veins to blow. No different from a piece of worn machinery receiving a sudden and intense surge of power, one it couldn’t handle.

Her hand hovered above Zeke’s foot. Dark hair dusted his brawny calves and thighs. The hair thickened on his groin, its color the same as that in his pits. She tried to pull in a full breath and was unable, her mind taking her places it shouldn’t—her face pressed to his underarm hair so she could draw in his scent. The smell of a male. The fragrance of sex.

Unsteady with desire she didn’t want and couldn’t seem to stop, Liz fought for control.

Go on, dammit. Do it.

Not knowing what to predict from a man whose ancestry was different from hers, Liz hesitated one last time then wrapped her fingers around Zeke’s toes.

Air hissed through her teeth.

Despite his lowered blood pressure and scant respiration,he was invitingly warm, not cool. In that, he was like her people. Their life force didn’t succumb quickly to injury; their temperatures never dropped, even after they expired, nor were they subject to the normal physiological events of death. After a few weeks, their bodies collapsed into dust with no evidence of decay.

With care, Liz squeezed his foot, her thumb stroking the short hairs at the base of his big toe. A tender, almost-playful touch she hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t about to continue. Withdrawing her hand, she waited for him to take in a full breath.

His chest barely rose. His dark-brown nipples didn’t constrict. None of his muscles bunched.

Not a problem. It was just too soon to see any obvious effects.

She slid her palm over his shin, touching a jagged scar that had paled with age and looked vulnerable against his coppery flesh. She wondered if he’d gotten it as a toddler when he’d fallen off a swing. Had his mother comforted him then, or had she admonished him not to cry, to be brave, preparing him for the conflicts he’d eventually face?

Liz tried to picture him as a child, accepting of all, guileless with innocence, wanting only safety and love. No different from her as she’d grown up in a family rich with affection, believing as all children do that her parents would always be with her.

She’d had too little time with her mother, missing her more each day. She’d promised herself she’d remain close to her father, to see that his remaining years were as pleasant as she could make them.

How she’d failed him. A wave of regret and sorrow washed over Liz, threatening her composure. Pushing all emotion away, she again waited for Zeke’s deep breath, any sign that her healing was having an impact on him.

He remained motionless…unaware and untroubled.

Worry ate at her, but she didn’t panic—not yet. Depending upon the extent of injury, a body might be quick or slow to heal. It had taken her a long time to restore many of Carreon’s men, their wounds had been so grave. As with Carreon, she’d had to strip, to drape her nudity over theirs in order for them to draw in the full impact of her gift.

She touched Zeke’s hairy thigh, the birthmark on her palm pressed against his firm flesh. Nothing happened, and then it did. Beneath her fingers, his muscles jumped…or at least she thought they had. Liz stared at his face then his chest. It didn’t move. He hadn’t taken in another breath or opened his eyes.

Frowning, she laid her hand on his cock, waiting for it to grow thick, to stiffen within her caress, proving his vigor.

Warm and smooth, just as she’d imagined, it remained flaccid.

Damn.On a hard swallow, she eased nearer to him.

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