The Nymph King (Atlantis #3)(50)

"No." When she finally decided to be with a man, it would be with one far less... intimidating. Someone who couldn't snap her neck with a flick of his wrist. Besides, she had a job to do. She pointed to her patient. "Needs me."

Shivawn regarded her for a long while, a play of different emotions on his face. Disappointment. Regret. Resolve. He spun on his heel and stalked away. She breathed a sigh of relief and, shockingly, disappointment.

Get back to work, Johnston. She rotated back to the injured warrior and smoothed a hand over his too-cold brow. Would he survive? He'd lost so much blood.

He was bigger than Shivawn. Probably stronger. More dangerous, surely. But she found herself leaning forward, as if pulled by a power stronger than herself. She placed a soft kiss on his lips, willing him to get better. She hated to see anyone suffer. No one knew better than she how it felt to lie in bed, broken, beaten. Near death.

His eyes blinked open, as if that one action had given him the strength he'd needed to awaken. He spied her hovering over him and frowned, confused. She quickly straightened.

"Did I die, then?" she heard him say.

His voice was weak, strained. Still... she had to force herself to remain in place. He's feeble. He can't hurt you. Hand shaking, she again touched his brow. His eyes were opened only slightly, but she could see the pain-ripe gleam of his sapphire irises.

"Did I enter Olympus?"

She shook her head.

His gaze darted around the room. "Why are you here? Why am I - " His words ground to a halt. "Valerian," he gritted out. "The fight. Lost. I lost." He tried to sit up.

She gently pushed him down and smoothed his hair from his face, trying to soothe him and defuse his anger. Brenna didn't know what she'd do if he decided to fight her. Surprisingly enough, her touch seemed to appease him. He relaxed.

Drawing in a deep breath, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Remain calm, remain calm, remain calm. She tried to pull away but he held tight.

"What are you doing here, Shivawn's woman?"

Her pulse hammered in her neck as she pointed to his bandaged wounds.

His brows drew together as he studied her. "You are a healer?"

Brenna nodded and once more tried to free herself, but his grip remained strong. He should have been weak as a baby.

"Can you not speak?" he asked.

"Broken," she said, motioning to her neck with her free hand.

He didn't flinch at the sound of her voice, and amazement filled her. He released her hand and raised his own to her neck, where the pulse still fluttered wildly. His fingers brushed the soft skin, as if searching for an injury. She shivered, both appalled and needy. What was wrong with her? She hadn't reacted to a man in years, yet she'd responded to two today.

"How?"

People always asked, as if they were inquiring about the weather or about where she bought her shoes. In the beginning, the question had thrown her, brought back the horrible memories of being pinned down and choked by her enraged, jealous boyfriend. Now she always answered with a casual, "car accident," but she doubted this archaic warrior would understand what that meant.

Brenna bit her lip and leaned toward him. Tentative, she wrapped one of her hands gently around his neck and shook, then pointed to her own neck with the other.

His eyes narrowed, and his hands closed over her wrists, far more gently than before. "Someone choked you?"

Nod.

"A man?" The words were so quiet she barely heard them.

Again she nodded.

"No touching," the man in the doorway said, probably just noticing. "The king's orders. Release her, Joachim."

She'd forgotten about him.

Joachim's eyes darted to the guard, and he scowled. The two men engaged in a heated conversation in a language she didn't understand. During it all, Joachim retained that gentle grip on her.

She finally managed to jerk herself free, though. Relief swept through her, and she rubbed her wrist. Where he'd touched, the skin was warm. Sensitive. The man was frightening, volatile, violent; qualities she abhorred. She should not like his touch.

"Would you like me to kill him for you?" Joachim asked, surprising her.

She blinked in confusion and pointed to the sentinel at the door.

"No. The one who hurt you."

She hesitated a moment, then shook her head.

"Power is good," he said, his voice suddenly growing weak. "Hurting a woman is not." His eyelids drifted closed, but he pried them open.

She didn't know whether he believed what he'd said or not. Either way, he struck her as one of those people who could not control their actions when they were enraged. After today's sword fight...

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Brenna."

"Brenna," he said, the name like a treat savored on his tongue. But in the next instant, his mouth pulled tight in a grim line. Fury darkened his eyes, churning like a violent sea. "Where is Shivawn?"

She found herself rising from the bed, trembling. In the blink of an eye, he'd become angry. Why? What had she done?

He frowned as his eyelids dipped shut once more. "Why are you backing away from me, woman? Are you going back to your lover?" The last was sneered.

Before he could rise from the bed and grab her, she turned and fled the room, unsure where to go. Only knowing she had to leave this place. Had to leave him.