Chapter 23 #2
“Yes.” Syla lifted a hand toward his chest, her gaze drawn to an old scar rather than one of the new wounds. With his torso bare, she could see that he’d been injured often in the past. The scars didn’t detract from the symmetrical beauty of his muscular physique.
The door opened, and Syla lowered her hand to her lap instead of touching him. Flaron set a bowl of water, towels, a surgical kit, and a few other medical tools on a table near the door.
“If you harm her, we will enter promptly and slay you.” Flaron frowned sternly at Vorik.
“I assumed you would, yes,” Vorik replied, unperturbed. Maybe even amused.
How could anyone with so many fresh wounds be amused? They all had to be painful. Syla was amazed his body hadn’t lured him into remaining unconscious. Especially when he’d started stitching himself.
“I’ll take some zivorak herb for pain and an antiseptic potion, too,” she called before Flaron departed.
He hesitated, glancing at Vorik as if it might be a betrayal to the kingdom to give him a pain killer, but ultimately said, "Yes, Your Highness,” and sent the younger guard off with orders to fetch the items.
Vorik reached for the skein of suture thread, as if he might continue working on himself.
To stop him, Syla rested her hand on his bare forearm. Warmth radiated from his ropy muscles. His eyebrows drifted upward.
“I am a healer,” she said. “Will you let me tend your wounds?”
“I don’t know. Would you be tending them magically?” His eyelids drooped, and he watched her through his lashes.
He probably didn’t mean the expression to be sexy, but sitting on a bed this close to him, with his bare chest scant inches away, made Syla think of things other than healing.
But he’d been the one to warn Wreylith about the potential danger of having one’s wounds tended magically, of how one might feel bound to the healer afterward, perhaps compelled to do what she wished.
Perhaps even… speak truths that one didn’t want to speak.
Did Vorik have truths that differed from what he’d told her? After all the times he’d fought to protect her, she was more inclined to believe he was a member of that faction and wanted her to live, but she wouldn’t mind a way to compel him to honesty with her. Just in case.
“That would be ideal,” she said, aware of Vorik watching her intently.
“Especially since…” She looked toward the barred window.
If she warned him about the enforcers, he might try to escape instead of letting her heal him.
But she didn’t want him to be captured and tortured.
Even if she wanted the truth from him. That wasn’t the way.
“I’ve learned that the leaders of the temple sent for the enforcers after we arrived.
The guard doesn’t think they’ll arrive until tomorrow, but it’s hard to know for certain. ”
“I suppose your kingdom enforcers would know not to put me in a cell with a window,” Vorik said dryly, “and they would lock me in a shackle that I don’t have the strength to break.”
“I’m sure you can’t break that one.”
“No?” Vorik bent and rotated the shackle, showing a gap where the locking mechanism had been pulled apart. After it had broken—after he’d broken it?—he’d hooked it back together enough that someone walking in wouldn’t notice that he was loose.
She stared at it. “How did you…?”
Was it possible that Agrevlari was channeling power into Vorik from a distance?
“Magic.” He smiled, but he also lifted an arm and flexed his biceps.
She swallowed, her gaze drawn to the interplay of his muscles in the lantern light. What would it be like to have sex with someone so lithe and powerful?
Over the years, she hadn’t been in many relationships, in part because of the conflicts of interest involved in meeting men through healing them, and in part because…
not that many appealing candidates had stepped forward, candidates interested in her rather than her status or the access she offered to the royal family.
None of the ones she had spent time with had possessed a physique like Vorik.
None, she told herself firmly, were as dangerous as Vorik. Even if he was loyal to that faction instead of his belligerent leaders, she couldn’t have anything to do with him. It would be foolish, if not a betrayal. The memory of her dead kin entered her mind again.
Oblivious to her thoughts, Vorik shifted his gaze to the window, his smile lingering. It looked out upon the roof of the keep and the tower on the other side of the temple, not to the sea or across the countryside, so it wasn’t the view that prompted his smile.
On a hunch, Syla left his bed and walked to the bars, eyeing them instead of the opposite tower or the road she could see to one side, other than to note that no travelers were approaching in the rain.
The bars appeared sturdy and in place, but a few crumbles of stone lay at the base of one of them.
When she looked up, she spotted a deep gouge that extended from the top of the bar to the edge of the sill.
She gripped the length of iron and found it loose.
She could have easily pushed it the rest of the way out and opened the gap enough for a lean man to squeeze through.
Of course, once out, such a man would then have to climb down the sheer stone wall of the tower, across the roof of the keep, and jump to the ground.
Of all the feats she’d seen Vorik perform, that one wouldn’t rank near the top.
She sensed him approach, stopping close enough behind her that she imagined she could feel the heat emanating from his body.
She could feel his power in the air about him and imagined him breaking iron with his hands.
That shackle lay open on the floor by the bed.
Bonded riders apparently got more magic from their dragons than she’d realized.
“I have a good constitution,” Vorik said softly, looking out the window over her shoulder, though she also sensed him watching the side of her face, “but I’m not immune to infections and complications from injuries. I wouldn’t mind having a trained healer treat me.”
He brushed his fingers down the back of her head, and a heated tingle ran through her.
Syla swallowed, wondering if sending Flaron away had been a bad idea. But she didn’t try to step away from Vorik. “That’s why I came.”
“Is it? You weren’t simply drawn by my allure?
I was trying to send it out through this compound so that you would feel it and come see me.
” His fingers shifted to the side of her neck, pushing her hair aside and gently stroking her skin, as he’d done when they’d ridden together on his dragon.
Right before he’d kissed her there, then nibbled on her ear, stirring within her the most amazing sensations.
“I… it’s my duty to heal wounded people,” she said. “That’s all.”
“Will you chat with me while you sew me up? I’ve been lonely.”
“I’ll need to concentrate. You’re a mess.” She turned toward him and caught him eyeing her neck, his lips parted.
Had he been about to kiss her? And if he had, would she have stopped him?
Nervous and flustered, Syla licked her lips. It didn’t miss her notice that, since Vorik stood so close, she was essentially trapped against the wall. Trapped by a man strong enough to break shackles and rip iron bars from stone, despite his many wounds.
“I am a mess,” Vorik agreed, “but will you simply use mundane methods on me? I do not give you permission to use your magic.”
“It’ll take much longer for the wounds to heal, and the chance of infection will be higher, but that’s your choice.”
His eyebrows rose, as if he’d expected her to be unwilling to give her agreement.
“I will point out,” she said, “that with your magic—your clearly strong magic—you probably wouldn’t be affected by mine. Even among normal humans, not everyone feels bound to a healer after the healing.”
“There are some risks I’m not willing to take.”
“That’s a surprising statement from someone who leaps about on dragon backs, jumping from one to another and risking falling to his death in every battle.”
“There are things worse than dying in battle.”
“Like what?”
Betraying one’s people, she thought, somehow certain that was what he worried about. There were truths he didn’t want to be compelled to speak. She’d been on the verge of trusting him, but now… now she again doubted that she could. Especially when he shook his head instead of answering.
Eyes intent—no, intense—Vorik lifted a hand, brushing her cheek gently with his knuckles. The heated tingle returned, running from her face to her core, making her want… what she dared not ask for. What she dared not offer.
“Will you give me your word?” Vorik asked. “No magic.”
“You have my word,” she said without hesitation.
Maybe she should have hesitated, but she’d never contemplated going against his wishes on that matter.
“Thank you.” His fingers trailed from her cheek to her jaw, lifting it slightly, and he kissed her.
His lips were warm and gentle, in contrast to the fierce power emanating from his body.
He probably meant the kiss as a sign of appreciation to accompany his words, but it aroused startling desire in her, and she had to flatten her hands against the stone wall behind her to keep from gripping his shoulders, from pressing herself against him and kissing him back.
Her body was taut with need, with the steamy attraction she hadn’t wanted to admit to but undeniably felt.
A tremble rippled through her, but she told herself he needed healing, not sex. Besides, he was a prisoner, and there were guards outside. They couldn’t…
But, by the watchful eyes of the moon, she wanted to, and she caught herself leaning away from the wall and into him. Her body molded to his, and her lips parted, her tongue slipping out to stroke his. Need coiled within her.
His eyelashes flickered, a hint of surprise at her reaction, but it couldn’t have displeased him, because he slid his hands down her back and pulled her closer against him.
She could feel the scorching heat of his hard body through the healer’s robe she’d been lent, a robe with a flap that tied at the hip with a loose knot that could easily come free. Then they could—
A grunt and a clang sounded in the room outside. In a blink, Vorik shifted away from her.
Breathless, Syla wanted to complain, to rush after him, but he’d already sat back on the bed and hooked the shackle so that it appeared to restrain him.
The door opened, and Flaron set several bottles on the table with the other items. He looked suspiciously at Vorik and then over at Syla, his concerned eyes silently asking if she was all right.
No, she thought, craving Vorik’s touch and hoping the shadows of the room hid the flush to her cheeks—to her entire body. But she smoothed her face and nodded at the guard.
“Thank you, Flaron.”
“Holler if he threatens you in any way. One of us will be out here.” Flaron patted his sheathed sword.
“Thank you, but it’ll be fine. As you can see, he’s too wounded to be a threat.
” Syla was impressed she got those words out without laughing at the ridiculousness of them.
A man who could break bars with his hands was more threatening than any other she’d known, no matter what state of injury he was in.
“He’s a rider with a bond mark.” Flaron waved at Vorik’s bare hand. “He’s a threat. Don’t let yourself forget it, Your Highness.”
Flaron lingered in the open doorway, vacillating. Thinking of staying to keep an eye on her?
She walked to the table, picked up the surgical kit, and opened it. She didn’t say spurting again, but Flaron eyed the sharp instruments and withdrew, shutting the door behind him. A few seconds later, voices started up. Both guards might remain on the landing.
Since half the temple thought Vorik was tricking her, Syla had to keep this professional. Besides, if the enforcers showed up at dawn, she wanted him to be fixed up in case he needed to run. She didn’t trust him, but she also couldn’t bring herself to want him caught and tortured.
“Lie back.” Syla approached him. “This will take some time.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Vorik smiled a little wryly and did so, locking his hands behind his head, as if to say he wouldn’t impede her.
Most people were tense and worried when they came to a healer, but he looked… pleased. Maybe because he’d extracted her word from her not to use her magic.
As she set to work on his wounds, Syla wondered if that had been a mistake. Maybe, for the good of the kingdom, she should have tried to use her magic to bind him.