Page 80 of Dark Rival

Allie sank back against the pillows, sitting up now, acutely aware of his large hand grasping her wrist. His touch sent delicious shivers through her. He let her go and she was surprised when Royce leaned forward to add a pillow behind her back. She recalled him in his battle mode, slaying demons left and right. The same man had not just rearranged her pillows for her. Someone far gentler had done that. “I have to pray for those we lost, Royce,” she said quietly.

“I ken. The prayers can wait. How do ye feel?”

She now remembered her last waking moments. She had been healing the blond man who had been stabbed so many times, becoming so weak and ill that she had finally lost consciousness. She vaguely recalled Royce lifting her into his arms. “I fainted?”

“Ye passed out,” he said quietly. “Ye pushed yerself well past yer limits.” He turned and poured water into a mug and handed it to her. “Ye have limits, Ailios. Yer a powerful Healer, but yer terribly young. Mayhap yer power will grow in time.”

Allie drank gratefully, thinking about his words. “Please tell me that the last man I healed survived.”

“Ye still think of others.” But he answered her question. “Aye, Kirkus lives.”

“Thank the gods.” Then, struck by an awful thought, she met his gaze. “I must look like hell.”

His next smile was deeper, although brief, exposing one dimple. “Ye always look well.”

Her heart raced. Oh, did she know that look. They were having a serious conversation, but Allie knew what was in the back of his mind. She could feel his lust beginning to rise and throb in his veins.

The tension in the room changed. Allie thought about his needs and hers—it felt like eons since they’d been together. She ran her fingers through her hair, finally glancing up at Royce as she did so. “Liar,” she said softly. Her top was spotted with dried blood. Her jeans were probably in the same condition.

His eyes were as fierce and intent as his expression. “Ye always look well,” he repeated, this time in a bedroom tone.

Was he flirting with her? Would he act on his lust? Oh, Allie did like this. “If you want to think so, I won’t argue,” she said softly. She reached out for his hand.

He just looked at it.

“I don’t bite,” she whispered. “Not unless you ask me to.”

His eyes blazed.

Allie sat up and leaned forward, boldly taking his hand. It was large and strong, just like the man, a hand that could wield a huge longsword with fatal effect—or stroke her body in a silken, cunning caress. From it, she received so much heat—and an incredible sense of security, of masculinity, of power. “Thank you.”

He looked away, staring at the bed. “For allowing ye to hold my hand as if I’m a small boy?”

She laughed. His gaze whipped to hers. “For protecting me from Moffat. For standing by me while I healed,” she said.

For a long moment, they stared at one another. Allie said even more softly, “You’ve been here with me the whole time I’ve been passed out, haven’t you?”

He tugged his hand free. “Ye were ill. Ye needed rest. MacNeil healed ye by giving ye his great power. Ye canna ever heal so many at one time again.”

Allie smiled, pleased, even though he clearly wasn’t going to answer her. Mr. Medieval cared. “You know what? You’re really not such an ogre, after all. The Terminator, maybe, but not an ogre.”

He shook his head. His face was taut.

“That was a backhanded compliment. What is it, Royce? What’s wrong?”

“Ye sit there smiling, in jest, when ye could have died. Canna ye not see how serious this is? Ailios, ye canna walk the world as if yer immortal.”

“Like you don’t?” she asked.

“No one cares if I live or die,” he said firmly, standing. “Everyone cares about ye.”

“I care if you live or die!” she flashed. Then she softened. “And you know it.”

“Aye, but I dinna ken why.” He stared directly at her. “There are many men to please ye in bed.”

It took Allie a moment. “You think I’m in love with you because of great sex?” And her incredulity faded; she laughed.

He flushed. “Aye, I do.” His hands found his hips.