Page 59 of The Healer

She stomped into her home. Bolting the door shut, she switched off the lights in the lounge, covered the fire in the hearth, then headed for bed. She popped her meds and crawled between the cold sheets, grumbling to herself about idiot shifters.

Rhys pounded on the door, rattling it in its frame. “Ilona, please, you have my shoes, my car keys.”

“Catch a ride with Dane.” She didn’t yell, assuming he could hear her croaking voice dampened by the thick blankets she burrowed under.

“He left.” His voice was pitiful.

She ignored him, lying still, and praying her shivering would stop. It did, but she lay awake, clinging to her blankets, curled into a ball, and listening for any movement.

“Are you still there?” Despite whispering the words, she hoped he would answer but dreaded it. She didn’t know what she would do if he hadn’t left.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lona, not with you unwell.”

Lona? He’d called her that before. She liked the familiarity of it, as if he cared for her. The door thumped, sounding similar to when he’d guarded her while she’d bathed. She couldn’t leave him on the porch.

Sighing, she slipped out of bed, wrapped a throw around her shoulders, then padded to the front door. Unbolting it, she opened it. Rhys sat on his ass and peered at her.

“What are you doing?”

If he smiled or was charming in any way, she would close the door in his face. But his expression was serious, with a slight furrow marring his brow.

“Go home, Rhys.”

“I…can’t.” Sadness darkened his eyes. He dipped his chin to his chest. “It’s been days of knowing you, Lona. Please don’t ask me to abandon you.”

Shivering with gusts of wind and snow drifting into her house, she left the door open and climbed onto the couch she had occupied all day. Bundling inside the throw, she waited for him to close the door behind him and settle the pizza boxes onto the coffee table.

He hesitated, then sat next to her to drag her onto his lap. Unable to resist the heat pouring off him, she moaned and burrowed into his warmth. “I’m a shifter, you know this. I figure you’re also learning how we mate.”

“No, but not that it has anything to do with me. I’m human.” She sighed when she shoved her fingers under his shirt.

“For the most part, yes, but shifters can mate with humans.”

“What?” As intelligent as she was, sometimes connecting the dots was challenging. Could Amos have mated Gran so many years ago? Could he now? “What does mating mean?”

“It’s finding the person who fits your weaknesses and strengths. There’s also this deep connection and an instant comfortability like you’ve known each other forever.” He shifted on his feet as if there was more to it, but he remained silent.

“So, what does that have to do with me?”

“I’m comfortable with you, Lona. I want the opportunity for us to get to know each other.” He squeezed her against him, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He groaned, nuzzling her and shooting shards of electric desire to her core. “I love the scent of your skin.”

At the compliment whispered in his deep voice, her neurons zinged passed her nipples and headed straight to her clitoris. She squirmed on his lap.

His head fell back on a muted moan.

“Get to know me as in date?” Tugging her hands from under his shirt, she rested her palms on his chest to push away, hoping to break the spell he weaved around her senses.

“Yes, as in date.” He swept a curl off her temple. “But it means convincing you to move to Inner City. The Knights Ridge pack has a laboratory if that helps you to decide. We’re working on creating medicine for the vampires to conceive.” He cupped her scarred cheek, tracing a finger along it.

When she tried to jerk away, he caught her chin between forefinger and thumb. Then, as slow as the setting sun, he leaned in and feathered his lips along the scar’s ridges. He growled and looped an arm around her to draw her closer. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears and butterflies consumed her chest. She was insane to let him touch her like this.

“You’re helping them conceive?” Excitement pulsed through her at the groundbreaking research his scientists were doing. Or was that languid desire when he skimmed his fingers down her throat to trace her collarbone. “Any results?”

“We’re close. We’ve started vamp trials, and the women smell fertile.”

Her nipples hardened when he traced his fingers along her T-shirt’s collar. “Your olfactory—?”

His thumb tugging on her bottom lip shuddered bold need through her and halted her question.

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