Page 64 of The Healer

Rhys shoved the distracted vampire aside and yanked Ilona into his arms. She whimpered when the heat of his body engulfed her, his scent drenched her lungs, and his erection pressed into the juncture of her thighs. She could fuck him now and to hell with the consequences.

But he didn’t take advantage of this. Frustration built alongside gratitude, so she clung to him, suffering through each second as lust consumed her. She hated and loved him for his honor.

“I have tasted this power before.” Dimitri sank into the closet couch, staring at nothing as he licked his lips. “Tell me about yourself.” He directed his question at Gran. “The bacon is burning, Amos.”

Amos yelped and disappeared into the kitchen.

Dimitri patted the couch beside him in a silent request for Gran to join him. Preparing to protect her grandmother if need be, Ilona lurched forward.

“She’s safe,” Rhys whispered before he sucked on her earlobe.

A frisson of need shot to her core, and she gathered her splintered resolve and thrust him aside. She was packing and heading for Fenneg, a city she thought she would never want to leave. Now it was a pseudo-home. With her parents gone and Gran here, what did Fenneg offer but an escape?

Rhys stilled. “You’re still leaving?”

“How did Dimitri’s arrival change your motives, Rhys? You need to come to terms with your feelings for Callie.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Maybe you should date women who don’t look similar…” Shaking her head, she disappeared into the bathroom to don a pair of jeans, a bra, and a shirt. He leaned against the doorframe when she opened the door.

“I didn’t stand a chance with her. Gabe got to her first. As a strong woman, she would make a wonderful mate for any alpha.” He released a jagged breath. “I came north to find a mate, not caring what she looked like. In our culture, blood doesn’t lie, Lona. When we meet the one, it triggers a response in our inner beasts. I’ve had that response twice. With Callie and with…you. Finding a Devereaux in this town was a surprise.”

“I have bad news for you. My name is Ilona Strickland.” She hefted her bag and dumped it in the lounge, returning to the room to grab socks and boots.

“Blood doesn’t lie. As a doctor, you know this to be true.”

Dropping onto the couch, she laced her boots, choosing to focus on the task than to meet Rhys’s pleading gaze. He was delusional if he thought a few days was long enough to get to know someone. He was a supreme idiot if he thought humans would agree to their shifter ideas of courting.

And she was the ultimate fool for taking his interest seriously.

After kissing Gran on the cheek and giving Amos an awkward hug, Ilona stomped out of the house, banging the pale blue door behind her. It opened a second later.

“Lona, please…” Rhys hovered in the doorway with Amos frowning over his shoulder.

“Goodbye, Rhys.”

As she drove off, his sad face in the rearview mirror tempted her to turn around. She remained firm against whatever these emotions he invoked. They had no basis, no substance. Everything he had said and done had been lies.

Something reached through her innards and shoved her intestines, stomach, pancreas aside to squeeze her heart. She drove from Coedwig as she had arrived, in tears.

Chapter Twenty-Two

THE MEANING OF HOME

ThedrivetoInnerCity was a blur. As an ex-doctor, the number of fatalities Ilona had dealt with due to crying while driving was high. It hindered the driver’s eyesight and endangered the other road users, but once the city skyline shimmered on the horizon, she couldn’t halt the tears. A growing ache urged her to return to Coedwig, but the furious part of her willed her never to set foot on snow again.

The thing was, she liked being in Rhys’s arms, liked the way he looked at her, made her feel sensual, alive, worth knowing. Her past paramours had done nothing but demean her. She got it. The medical industry was cutthroat. Limited jobs meant a dog-eat-dog world. From stealing her notes to…drugging her, nothing was off-limits.

Waiting in the terminal, she tried not to make eye contact with fellow passengers. On her luggage pinned between her knees, she tapped the plane ticket, hypnotized by the sound and the puff of air it made.

Despite instigating a glorious revenge, she still couldn’t remember what happened that night. One moment she was drinking a latte Connor had bought for their study date, the next she was naked from the waist down in a pool of vomit. A cold dread had slithered down her spine and settled her riotous thoughts. She had yanked on her discarded jeans, then headed to the emergency room.

With the test results, proof of her rape, and the ketamine dregs in her latte cup, she had gone to the dean. She hadn’t told her parents about the one time she had used their names. Of course, the dean had to verify her claims. Not for the rape, but that she was the famous daughter of the Stricklands.

As a justice of sorts, Connor lost his scholarship. She hadn’t stopped him from doing this to others, but dragging her name through the courts and putting her parents through hell wasn’t an option. At least now, Connor couldn’t molest his patients.

She shuddered as nausea churned in her gut, hinting at that same sense of dread.

The fiery part of her nature had wanted to drug him and tattoo ‘rapist’ on his forehead.

Rhys didn’t disgust her. His touch was gentle. His charm his own. He had honor and would never drug a woman. Then again, he didn’t need to. The crushing pain squeezing her rib cage was disappointment. She would have liked to have known him better.

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