He turned away from me. Then, I noticed his eyes were rimmed in red and abnormally bright, the look of a raging fever. I placed my hand on his forehead. His skin scorched mine, hotter than it had been only a few minutes ago. “You’re getting worse.”
He turned to me. In his eyes, I saw the fever raging and knew his previous glance had meant nothing. He’d been feverish and nothing more. I’d mistaken a fever for lust.
I exhaled, tried to rearrange my brain chemistry as best I could, and pulled away from him. “You have to let me heal you.”
He shook his head. “Not until I take a look at your shoulder.”
“You’re in no shape to—”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “My turn first,” he whispered in a voice that sounded husky and seductive and made my previous vow to control my brain chemistry nearly impossible.
“All right,” was all I could manage.
He pulled my sleeve down low enough to expose my shoulder. I pressed my fists into my lap, my palms slick with sweat, and hoped he couldn’t hear my pounding heart.
Kull slid his finger under my bra strap, then lowered it off my shoulder. He placed his hands on my skin, right below my shoulder blade. I would have winced, but I found his hands warm and surprisingly gentle.
“Slightly dislocated. Not bad. But you should have taken care of it sooner.”
I couldn’t make my mouth work to answer.
He put one hand against my breastbone, the other to my back. I knew this would hurt, but the feelings of his hands on my skin drove away every thought in my head except one.
“Your heart’s pounding,” he said.
“I’m afraid you’ll hurt me,” I lied.
“You shouldn’t be.”
He moved his hand along my shoulder, working his way toward my spine. I felt pressure as he bore down, but not pain. “Deep breath,” he whispered.
I inhaled and heard a pop. The throbbing stopped. I had expected pain but felt none. His hands remained on me for a moment as he peered into my eyes, but I avoided his gaze.
He’s feverish, Bill Clinton reminded me.
Kull moved away, and finally, I turned to him. “How did you do that? I didn’t feel anything.”
“Years of practice.”
“No, I still should have felt something. You have a talent for healing. Magic, even.”
His grin was subtle. “Not all healing requires magic.”
Maybe. Maybe not. “It’s my turn. Take off your shirt.” I tried to sound as stoic as possible.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Please,” I added.
“So forward. I like that.” He untied the strings at his collar and pulled off his shirt.
I tried not to notice Kull’s naked torso, but the sight of him made my heart almost pound out of my chest. Sweat slicked my palms. I felt dizzy, light-headed, and shamefully wonderful. Was I swooning? I hadn’t swooned since my mom had taken me to that boy-band concert when I was fourteen. What was wrong with me?
He saw me looking at him. I expected some sort of smart remark about how all women had the same reaction I was having, but he kept his mouth shut.
I focused on the scar running along his neck and tried to ignore the way the fire reflected off his carved chest and shoulders. Tried to.
The wound ran from his neck down his back. The black gash slashed down his back muscles as if he’d been cut with a butcher’s knife and branched out, vein-like. I touched it gently, and the wound writhed.
I held my hand over the gash, letting its magic flow inside me. I searched for signs of goblin magic but found none. The foreign enchantment tingled through my fingers and into my arms, my abdomen, making my stomach turn. I knew this magic, but barely. The Regaymor’s magic.
Whatever the Regaymor were, they didn’t use magic from this realm or from Earth. They were creatures of darkness, a taint that sucked life away slowly, that infected the mind as well as the body, controlling it, overpowering it. I cursed under my breath. This was worse than I’d thought.
“Can you remove it?” Kull asked.
I hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
He turned to me, his eyes bright with fever, and took my hand. The warmth of his fingers reassured me. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“But I do.”
I exhaled, focusing on the wound. Kull sounded sincere. He shouldn’t have. “Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re a fighter. You’re strong in battle, but even stronger in magic. You have talents that some would kill for. You could make the world kneel at your feet if you realized your own power.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers linger before he pulled away. His voice softened. “And because you’re beautiful.”
Beautiful?
“And you’re delirious.”
“Perhaps.” He blinked once, slowly, as if trying to remain conscious.
“You should lie down.”
“Yes.”
I helped him settle on the blankets, careful to rest him on his side so he wouldn’t lie on the wound. He smelled of leather and sandalwood, a scent that calmed my frantic thoughts. As he closed his eyes, his breathing became labored. His cheeks matched the flames in the coal bed.
I tried to move away from him, but he caught my hand. “What I said—it’s true.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Kull, half the things you said don’t make sense.”
“No,” he argued.
I pried his hand away from mine. “Just get some rest.”
“Why won’t you believe me?”
“Because your fever is speaking. Not you. You’re in love with someone else. And I’m not any of those things you just said. I’m broken inside, and hurt, and weak, and…” I couldn’t finish; I’d said too much already. I couldn’t love anyone—not that way, not ever. That’s why I needed Brent. I felt comfortable with him. He wouldn’t break my heart the way Kull would break it if I let him.
Sitting behind him, I rested my chin in my hands. A knot formed in my throat. Part of me wanted this to be real, but mostly I felt relieved that it wasn’t. When Kull’s breathing
