Page 37 of The Healer

Dane and Aiden slid into the booth and watched her, waiting. She stared at the plate before her. A generous portion of apple pie with a dollop of whipped cream tempted her to dive in. Hunger pangs twisted her insides, and perhaps she was hangry too.

“Don’t you like pie?” Mo served fresh coffee, with Aiden drawing a bubblegum milkshake toward him.

What was he, a four-year-old? The aroma of coffee, bubblegum, and cinnamon gurgled Ilona’s stomach.

“Extra cream, please, Mo.” Ilona forced a smile and gripped the fork with her right hand.

Aiden had bandaged her despite the awkward placement of the wound, showing his first aid experience. She couldn’t be angry with him since he hadn’t lied. The morphine would wear off soon, and she dreaded the waves of crippling agony made worse by the thought of stitches. She’d examine it later to check whether she needed a few.

Edison’s claws had sliced from her deltoid muscle, across the clavicular head to the sternocostal head and missed, by some miracle, her cephalic vein. He hadn’t punctured her lung since her breathing was easy with no bubbling. Nor had he cut through a ligament, evidenced by her ability to use her shoulder and arm. The only pain she had suffered was from the attack and when Dane’s blood had dripped into her wounds.

More whipped cream arrived, and she hurried to eat the pie under Mo’s vigilance. Ilona hummed at the sweet, spicy, cinnamon flavor coating her tongue. Rhys shifted beside her, where he toyed with his untouched coffee. Licking her spoon, she snuck a glance at him and sighed.

Wow. With the diner’s lighting catching the gold streaks in his hair and the deep blue in his eyes swirling with something hot and intense, she was lost, staring at him like a pubescent teen ogling the male models in a men’s sports magazine.

“Good?” Aiden grinned with blue-stained teeth. “Mo’s chicken soup is better.”

“Why would you need chicken soup? Do shifters get colds?” She tried to ignore Rhys’s fingers wrapped around hers, his thumb stroking across her knuckles. Removing her hand from his was something she should do, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Nor did she meet Dane’s gaze. Anger simmered at his irresponsible behavior. And he called himself a mayor? She snorted. Safest person to chat to was sweet Aiden.

Jake stamped snow off his boots as he entered the diner, slid into the booth next to Dane, and squeezed Aiden against the window. “How are you feeling, Doc?” He gestured to the pie. Mo hurried to fill his order.

Ilona gritted her teeth and flicked a glance at Jake. “Ask Mayor Ass.”

Dane winced and grumbled something under his breath.

Jake jerked and twisted to gape at him. “You didn’t.” He ran a hand through his gray hair with light flickering off his earring. “Sorry, Ilona, his intentions were good.”

“Intentions?” she squeaked, and instead of ranting at poor Jake, she shoveled more pie into her mouth.

She was hungry, and the pie was amazing—hot and sweet against the cool whipped cream. No matter what she decided tonight, she would enjoy this treat.

“How’s Edison?” Aiden steered her focus to him.

In that second, she loved him. Her emotions rollercoastered out of control. She wanted to crawl into a hole and not show her face for weeks.

“In jail.” Jake sighed. “Come, Doc, I’ll drive you to Harriet’s.”

Ilona dropped her fork onto the plate and froze. Rhys blocked her way. Her breath caught when she raised her wide eyes. “Um, I’d like to leave…please.” Squaring her shoulders, she waited until he climbed out. With a mumbled ‘thank you,’ she scrambled to her feet. She circled the booth to squeeze Aiden’s shoulder in thanks and ignored Dane.

The trip to the bed and breakfast was in silence until Jake stopped outside the house. “Monitor your wounds, Doc, and if it heals, think about going easy on a panicking polar bear.” He winked and left her standing on the pathway.

Dane was a polar bear? She shook her head, trying to focus on the important things like what the hell had just happened. Harriet ushered Ilona up the stairs, clucking under her breath. She must have heard about the incident and somehow understood Ilona didn’t have the energy to talk about it.

As soon as she stood in her en suite, she peeled off Rhys’s jacket, pausing to shove her face into the lining. Fuck me, James, he smelled good, like freedom, and sex, and her deepest longing. Careful, she draped it across the chair, then stripped the rest of her clothing, piece by piece. The reflection in the mirror wasn’t the excited med student she once was. This woman had deep sorrow-filled green eyes, messy auburn hair, too pale skin, and a puckered red scar running from eyebrow to chin, tugging her facial muscles down.

Now a white bandage crossed her chest.

She didn’t recognize this woman even though there were elements of her parents in her features. Whatever prettiness she had before the accident, she used it to charm unhappy or distressed patients.

She forced her lips into a smile, but it made her grotesque, like something out of a horror movie. Smothering a sob, she focused on what she could control. The sting of the tapes clinging to her skin proved the morphine was wearing off sooner than it should have. She frowned, not feeling anything but stiffness in her shoulder like she had played a squash tournament.

A cry escaped her lips at the red scratches where the lacerations had been. She stumbled, bumping into the shower door before leaping forward to bring her shoulder into focus. No, this was impossible. Her wounds looked weeks instead of hours old.

Electric excitement warred with cold fear at this discovery. Did other doctors know, or was she the first? She gasped. Amos knew. Stepping into the shower, she raised her face to the warm spray as possibilities fired across her mind. What else could their blood do? What could it cure? Cancer? Leukemia? Trauma victims? Brain inactivity?

Ice tingled her scalp, slithered down the back of her neck to trickle into her hair. She whimpered at the realization her dad might have been healed if the hospital had shifter blood in storage.

Washing her hair and body was easier than she had expected, with her injured shoulder not hindering her movements. As she slipped into bed with her hair in a towel, she tried to think of a way to pump Dane for information about shifter abilities without having to forgive him.

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