CHAPTER 8
The creak from the infirmary door echoed into the corridor. Saar turned around, adrenaline spiking in his veins. “Is she all right? Is she awake?”
Gaetan stood in the entryway. His features were drawn, lines pinched into the skin around his eyes. The old Haelen held out his hand. “Please, enter and see for yourself.”
Saar didn’t hesitate and strode toward the door. The sunstones lining the corridor brightened, as if the Keep sensed the tension in the air.
As he crossed the threshold, his attention drew to Kaelyn. Looking peaceful and out of place, her motionless, supine form rested on one of the medical tables. Only her head and shoulders were visible, the rest of her was hidden beneath a thin sheet. Saar’s inner beast growled, the sound loud in his ears.
Gaetan spoke, but his words seemed distant, masked by the roar in Saar’s head. He ignored the healer and proceeded to Kaelyn’s side.
“What’s wrong with her?” He clenched his jaw.
“Nothing, as far as we can tell.” Sheri pushed away from the counter and approached. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Since you know her, maybe you can bring her around.”
If that were so, this would’ve been easier. He preferred running on logic over instinct. After a quick exhale, he cleared his throat. “I don’t know her. All that matters is she was injured. I couldn’t leave her behind.”
Gaetan’s cane ticked against the stone floor as he approached. He placed his hand on Saar’s back. “Well, she’s a mystery that’s for sure. Her blood test indicates she’s Lemurian, related closer to you and me than her Gossum cohorts.”
Her long, dark lashes graced her cheek, accentuating her fine, perfect skin. His fingertips itched and his hand jerked. He curled his fingers into a fist, fighting the need to touch her.
“So, she’s healed?” His voice broke on the last word.
“She had several broken ribs, a cracked vertebra, and a punctured lung. The sunstones healed her, but she’ll need time to rest, recoup from her ordeal.” Gaetan wandered to his stool, his gait more pronounced than normal. With a soft sigh, he sat on the worn edge.
Saar pulled the toothpick from his pocket and shoved it into his mouth. He rolled it around with his tongue, using the familiar movement to calm his nerves. “Why isn’t she awake?”
Sheri removed her smock and tossed it into the hamper in the corner. “That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?” Her gaze flicked from Saar to Gaetan. “Unless you need me for anything else, I’m going to meet Tanen in the Hall of Scriptures. He wants my help searching the ancient texts for any information about the lines in my palm.”
She held up her hand, palm out. Etched in the middle was the distinct imprint of the English letter “M,” the symbol for Lemuria. It had appeared after she’d transitioned into a Dren. Only she and Queen Melissa had such a mark. Noeh had commissioned Tanen, the Keep’s council leader, to search the ancient texts for anything he could find on it.
So far, they hadn’t had any success.
“Thank you for your help, Sheri.” Gaetan smiled in his comforting, healer’s way.
Sheri crossed the infirmary and shut the door behind her. The latch’s soft click echoed in the quiet room.
Saar returned his attention to Kaelyn. Her long braid, dark and silky with hints of golden-yellow from the interwined cloth, hung over her shoulder, nearly touching the floor. Before he could stop himself, he trailed his fingers over the fine lock, pulling it into his palm. The pads in his fingers tingled, and a low, needful groan escaped his lips.
“You okay there, big guy?” Gaetan’s voice cut through the fog in his brain. A knowing smile tugged at his lips.
Kaelyn’s braid tumbled from Saar’s grasp, and the back of his finger grazed against her arm. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Kaelyn’s mouth parted. She audibly inhaled, her chest rising beneath the sheet. Her eyelids fluttered open. Hazel-green, the color of the mountains, her eyes focused on him.
She stiffened. A cry of pure frustration, fear, and anger burst from her lips.
Before he could speak, she scrambled from the medical bed. The sheet caught in her legs, and she tumbled to the floor.
Kaelyn fought the fear coursing through her veins. She’d lingered below the surface, bits of words, smells, and sounds melding into a cacophony of senses, consciousness close, but just out of reach. That was, until an electrical current of energy against her arm had thrust her up and through the confusion.
Her first vision—the tall, muscular male who’d pursued her through the forest. Saar. The images raced through her mind—the cliff, shifting back to human form, her foot slipping…the fall.
She thrashed with her feet, caught in the sheet and the undertow of emotions.
Hands, strong and warm, gripped her arm, her leg.
Fighting harder, she kicked with her foot. Her heel connected with something hard, yet giving.
A loud, deep male groan rumbled through the air. The sound crawled into her chest, working into her senses, calming her. No. This wasn’t right.
With a quick push, she scrambled to her feet. Unfamiliar surroundings—medical beds, counters filled with bottles, beakers, equipment. A male, unmoving, sat on a nearby stool, a cane gripped in his palm. He had short brown hair, a lock of gray at his temple. His eyes sparkled with mirth.
Nothing looked familiar.
The air in the room seemed hot, stifling. Sweat coated her arms.
The tall, muscular male she’d seen before rose from the floor. Blood trickled over his chin. He gripped the bridge of his nose, and with an abrupt twist, popped it into place. A sharp inhale like a hiss escaped his lips.
“Kaelyn, I won’t hurt you.” His words were rough, no doubt due to his wounded pride.
Good. She extended her claws.
The idea to shift flitted through her mind, but she didn’t know where she was. Freeing her bear here would only confuse her creature. Instead, she lashed out with her hand, swiping her claws dangerously close to his face. The horrific scars indicated she wasn’t the first to attack him that way.
A growl, low and menacing, burst from him. “Stop, before you hurt yourself.”
She laughed. “Me? Seems like you’re the one who’s injured.”
His brow furrowed over his blue eyes, and the warmth in their depths seemed to call to her on a level she didn’t understand. Butterflies swirled in her stomach. Using the energy coursing through her veins, she launched herself at him.
He met her halfway, grasping his fingers around her wrist with one hand. Using their combined momentum, he tugged her toward the wall and flipped her around at the last moment. Her heart skipped a beat.
With a gentleness she hadn’t expected and one she didn’t deserve, he pressed her against the wall, cradling her in his embrace. She couldn’t move, yet he didn’t hurt her. Instead, his warmth seeped into her skin, lighting up the nerves along their connection.
Against her will she responded to him, her pheromones secreting her sweet pea perfume into the air. Heat flushed her face, fueled as much by her anger as her desire for him.
He tensed. His large body pressed into hers—powerful, intimate, enticing.
She whimpered in frustration.
“Shh…shh…you’re safe here. No one will harm you. You have my word.” His gentle lilt penetrated into her psyche.
Fighting him still, she squirmed against him, not ready to give up.
His strength, his scent, his touch worked their magic, pestering her, tormenting her…teasing her.
At last, she couldn’t take anymore. Tension drained from her muscles. A sense of relief washed over her, spurning her frustration and confusion.
“Let me go.” She spat the words at him, but they didn't contain any venom.
He pulled back enough to look at her. Her reflection glimmered in the depths of his eyes. It seemed as if he could see into her soul.
His brow rose. “You won’t kick, bite, or scratch me? Because I’m not letting you go unless the answer is ‘no.’ Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”
He seemed so sincere. She wanted to trust him.
After a long few seconds, she shook her head.
A small smile tugged at his mouth. His scar stretched the skin into a bizarre grimace. Despite his disfigurement, or maybe because of it, something in her chest fluttered. He was a warrior just like her, broken and damaged. The only difference—her scars were on the inside.
When he released her, cool air replaced his warmth. She shivered, and her chest constricted at the lack of contact. She fisted her hand, her claws digging into her palm.
“Well, Saar, seems you have things under control. Time for proper introductions.” The male on the stool smiled. He glanced at her, his blue eyes swirling with bits of gold. “My name is Gaetan. Nice to meet you, Kaelyn.”
She pursed her lips. “Why am I here? What do you plan to do with me?”
He chuckled. “Saar, I’ll leave that for you.”
Her gaze tracked to the counter behind him. Nestled between a couple of small beakers and an assortment of bottles lay her bears-head whistle, the cord dangling over the counter’s edge. She inhaled and clamped her hand to her bare throat. Not since she and Noden had carved the matching set had the special calling device not dangled from her neck. She even bathed with it. A sense of nakedness and loss constricted her chest.
She held out her hand. “Give me my whistle.”
“No.” Saar’s mouth twisted into a scowl.
Anger, dark and fast, rippled through her. The thought to battle him once again flashed through her mind.
Gaetan stood. He wobbled for a moment then steadied himself with his cane. “My leg needs a rest. I’m heading to my quarters.”
Saar’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem—”
Gaetan waved his hand in the air as he strode to the door, his movements slow, yet determined. The cane tapped along the stone floor. “I’m fine. You have your hands full with our…guest.”
Heat raced up Kaelyn’s chest and into her face. “I’m a prisoner, aren’t I?”
Gaetan opened the door. A loud squeak issued from the hinge. He chuckled. “Saar, she’s all yours. Good luck, my friend.” With that, he strode over the threshold and disappeared from view. The sound of his cane tapping echoed down the hallway.
She turned to face the male who’d captured her. Crossing her hands over her chest, she glared at him. “Are you going to answer me?”
He laughed, a good hearty chuckle. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”
She narrowed her gaze, heat rising to her cheeks once again. “You have no idea.”
He pulled a cord from his belt. The woven braid shimmered in the light. “You’re a prisoner of war. I’ll answer what I can of your inquiries, but not until I know you won’t run.”
She glanced from the rope to him. “You wouldn’t.”
He smiled and damn if she didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
She bolted for the counter, unwilling to leave without her whistle. He tackled her from behind. She fell, her knee crashing against the stone floor. Pain raced up her leg.
He landed on her, pressing her face to the ground, but he didn’t crush her with his weight. Instead, he cradled her against his body, preventing her from moving, his arms and legs wrapped around her. Self-hatred for getting caught so easily burned in her gut.
“That’s what I thought, the hard way.” He wrapped the silver rope around her wrists. Bound, she couldn’t break his hold.
“I want my whistle!”
“Too bad.”
“You think a rope is going to hold me?” She squirmed against him.
He chuckled. “Indeed, it will. We soak the rope in special, magical herbs. You can’t shift, and the bindings will remain until I release you.” He hauled her to her feet and pulled her to him, her back pressed against his strong chest. With a soft push, he urged her forward.
Good thing, she’d enjoyed the warmth of his skin far too much.