Page 54 of Healer
I jerked from my below-the-belt perusal to find dancing golden eyes and a broad smile.
“Hakkar!” I flung myself at him, nearly rolling us off the bed. I couldn’t get my arms around him or my lips on his fast enough.
The hunger in his kiss consumed me, as if he had been starving for my touch. His arms felt like a vise, pulling me closer. Every inch of my body felt alive with the heat and intensity of his embrace, a sensation I never wanted to end.
“I take it you are feeling better,” Hakkar chuckled between trailing soft kisses over my face.
“Thanks to you,” I began, but hesitated, wanting to be sure. “You cured me? Right?”
“Yes.” Hakkar smiled, but his golden eyes dimmed, which worried me.
“What is it?”
Thankfully, he didn’t feign obtuseness. His arms relaxed, settling me against his chest while he studied my expression.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
Strangely, I found it a hard question to answer. Everything seemed fuzzy from the moment I woke up trapped in the cage... but there were flashes. Buring flashes of horrid pain, fear, confusion, and Hakkar... his touch and his words soothing me through the agony and flames.
“The last thing I remember clearly is you bursting in to rescue me.” I kissed his cheek. “My hero.” I sobered, my mind recalling moments through the haze. “I remember that gray bastard gave me a shot of something, and it turned me old again.”
Hakkar heaved a sigh, drawing my head to rest on his chest. His hands soothed up and down my spine as he told me what I blessedly didn’t recall in much detail. How the Ulkommanian bastard gave me a concoction... part of their research to see if the effects of the Garoot Healer on humans could be reversed. Not only did the drug return me to myaged state, but the ALS symptoms manifested with a vengeance. Hakkar suffered moments where he feared I might die before he could get me to the Bardaga and healed.
“How long was I…?” I had no concept of time.
“It took a couple of your Earth days before we could get you into the healer.”
Somehow, I felt like more time had passed than that.
“How long was I in the healer?”
“Ten days,” Hakkar said with a frown, as though reliving the worry he’d faced. “Because your symptoms had advanced so severely, it was difficult extracting the disease from your DNA. It proved a tedious process, but by using the healer, we managed to remove every cell of disease from your body.”
Relief washed over me like a wave crashing onto the shore. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I didn’t try to hold them back—these were tears of joy and gratitude. Hakkar’s brawny arms wrapped around me, pulling me close as he gently wiped away the wetness from my cheeks with tender touches and loving kisses.
“I am sorry, my Aggie.” He apologized with such regret that I tensed for what came next. “We had no choice but to use the healer’s full capabilities to rewrite your genetic code, the side effect being that your body is youthful again.”
That’s it?
A high-pitched laugh barked from my lips as I leaned back to look at him.
“I’m sure you like me better this way,” I teased. Who wouldn’t? Hell, I liked myself better this way.
Hakkar grumbled, taking my face between his palms, eyes like twin suns. “No matter the color of your hair or the wrinkles on your skin, your strength, and spirit never wavered. You are the bravest, most wonderful female I’ve ever known.”
“I love you. I love you so much,” I whispered just before Hakkar pressed his lips to mine.
He pulled me close, his lips pressing against mine with fierce passion. Our tongues tangled together in a slow and sensual dance. As his hands roamed over my body, sending shivers of pleasure through me, soft moans escaped from my parted lips. Every touch and kiss ignited a fire on my skin, reiterating the joy that I was alive and finally well.
“My mate,” Hakkar said gruffly as he released my lips.
Hearing the word sent a thrill through me. “Vienda told me about your mating ritual... about how dangerous it is. But I... I want to try. I want to be with you… be your mate.” I admitted, watching his golden eyes widen as I spoke.
One patient I’d never forget was five-year-old Clayton Wesley. He’d come in with his younger brother Noah, who suffered from an overabundance of dried beans stuffed up his nose. In all my years as a physician, I’d never seen anyone look as sheepish as Clayton, when admitting to being the mastermind of his brother’s dilemma.
Until now.
“What?” I pressed.
