Page 63 of The Healer

“Lona.” Rhys filled the door with his bulky frame.

Not looking at him, she refused to acknowledge the volatile emotions leaping and dancing in her chest. She had known she could fall for him, had sensed he would break her heart, but no, she had succumbed to his charm and let him kiss her. At least, she hadn’t spread her legs for him. Heat burned her face from her cheeks to the tips of her ears at how close she had come to doing that.

“Don’t Lona me. Offering me your lab and your body when you only wanted me because of her? That’s low, Rhys.” She darted into the bathroom and grabbed her toiletries, zipping them into the waterproof bag before tossing them into her luggage.

“Um, Ilona, Rhys, there’s a…man here to see you,” Gran called down the passage.

Rhys spun at the news and sniffed the air. “If you want to know if vamp saliva can heal, then come.” He stormed off, sending more illogical guilt through her like she was to blame for his silly fantasy.

Trailing him, she peered around his bulk blocking the passage. In a casual stance, a tall man with ebony hair and emerald eyes hovered by the door. He was breathtaking, like something out of a men’s magazine in his tailored gray slacks and a crisp white button-up shirt. His looming broad shoulders and the seductive smile teasing his lips oozed power. A web of scars marred his throat, but they added to the mystery of him.

“Dimi.” Rhys bounded forward to hug him. “When I asked for a pal’tsy, I didn’t mean you.”

“Asking me to send one of my men to lick someone isn’t intriguing? It outright dared me to come.” He scanned the lounge and dining room before settling on Ilona. “Prekrasnyy.”

His rasping voice sent shivers down her spine, stirring up the sexual tension she had moments ago turned her back on. When he strode between Gran and Amos and slipped around Rhys, Ilona considered fleeing. Fascinated by the allure of his eyes, she rooted her feet to the floorboards.

He captured her chin to raise her face for his perusal. “Mm, the scar is fresh. Be still, my lovely.”

Then he licked her, running his tongue from her eye to her jawline. His tongue was hot, wet, and his cologne smelled of something wild and free with a hint of cinnamon. Delicious, coiling, heated tendrils of anticipation sparked every neuron. She was standing there letting this stranger lick her. As she drowned in his eyes, she had no intention of stepping back.

Her life had become a series of bizarre and heartbreaking events. She giggled as hysteria added to the churning emotions she couldn’t and didn’t know how to deal with.

“Lona,” Rhys gestured to the stranger, “this is Dimitri Vasiliev, a vampire.”

So, this was what a vampire looked like? She hadn’t expected this level of potency. His air of arrogance announced to all he took what he wanted, did as he pleased, and had the talents and authority to back it up.

“You taste incredible.” Dimitri paused and inhaled, expanding his chest. “There is power in her blood, Rhys. I sense it.” He jerked back.

His eyes widened as if something dawned on him. Tilting her head farther back, he crowded her with his body. He slid his fingers from her elbow to her wrist and raised it to kiss the underside.

His lips warmed where they touched. “May I?”

She frowned, struggling to understand him through her hazy thoughts.

“No,” Rhys growled then grumbled, pressing against Dimitri’s back.

The vampire didn’t move, standing firm against Rhys’s bulk. “May I, Ilona?”

She settled her gaze on Rhys’s face twisted in agony…and fear? “What does he want to do, Rhys?”

“To taste your blood.” Everything about his stance implied she was his and his alone.

Part of her reveled in the emotions crossing his face. That was twice now he’d revealed a little of what he felt for her hidden beneath his handsome exterior. “What will that accomplish, Dimitri?”

His chuckle settled on her senses like melted butterscotch. “I am ancient, little one, and have encountered many curious creatures. History is in the blood. It does not lie. Relax, I only want to taste, not to feast.”

History was in the blood, as in the truth was in DNA. “Have you tasted Callie?” She stared at Rhys, at the pulse ticking at his jaw, at his clenched lips, at his dark blue eyes filled with pain.

Dimitri laughed. “That is an intriguing question. No, I haven’t.”

She raised her wrist with a nod. If his saliva healed her, she had more than shifter blood to research.

He gathered her wrist to his mouth. Scraping his fangs across her skin sent shivers through her, and an insane sensuality claimed her. Her senses exploded, and against her will, she arched her back, offering him her body. Keeping her gaze on Rhys, she hoped she conveyed the offer would have been for him.

Fire burst outward as Dimitri’s fangs pierced her skin. In an instant, the sharp pain altered to that of lust, burning need, and anticipation. She moaned. Her knees weakened, and she threw out her hand to splay across the passage’s wall. She didn’t break eye contact with Rhys, witnessing the shudder running through his body and the harshness of desire darkening his face. On a smothered groan, he parted his mouth as if he couldn’t breathe.

The second after Demi bit her, he flicked his tongue across the puncture wounds. “There is shifter in your blood and something older.” He ran his thumb across her wrist, wiping away the smears of blood before sucking on his thumb.

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