Page 40 of Golden Queen
He slid his fingers around to the end of the scarf and unwound it, gently and painstakingly, to reveal the extent of my bruises. I watched his eyes flare slightly as he took in the mottled flesh.
I was transfixed, hypnotized by his presence above me.
He ran his fingers lightly across the flesh and chills ran out from the fiery touch, racing over my arms, my sides, peaking my nipples, and ending with my toes curling in my slippers.
His voice when he spoke again was hoarse, nearly a whisper, but it promised ruin and devastation. "Sera...who did this to you?"
"No one," I said, and shook my head. "It doesn't matter."
It did matter. I suddenly got a clear image in my mind of what would happen if I said the name of the man who had given me those bruises. He would die, in some violent manner very similar to the way the man's arm had been smashed on the roof of that carriage. And then war would follow.
So I shook my head again, feeling stupid, traitorous tears pricking at my eyelids.
I heard a door open—the front door, and rapid footsteps coming in our direction. Still, Io held my gaze, waiting, and still I could not look away, even as the door was opened.
"Uh..." came a female voice.
"Out," Io said without looking to see who was there.
"We need..." the voice tried again.
"Out, Britaxia!" he said sharply. I heard the door close with a soft snick.
Io knelt in front of my chair and reached for my neck with both hands, his eyes scanning over my skin even as that muscle continued to jump along his jawline.
I felt blissful warmth as his hands laid against my throat. I closed my eyes as the heat seeped into me, racing along my nerve-endings like some kind of balm—soothing, refreshing...healing!
My eyes shot open and met his dark, still severe gaze. Slowly, he slid his hands off my neck, but he let them linger on me—one on my shoulder and one against my collarbone. The light touch of his fingers caused some desperate yearning in me to fold myself into his arms. Instead, I asked, in a near whisper, "You healed me?"
"Of course," he replied. "But Sera, youwilltell me who did this."
"You're a healer?" I asked, as Madia's poor, sick father's face filled my mind.
"I...in a way," he said, surprised by my question.
"Can you...can you heal illness as well as injury?" I had so much hope blooming in my chest. I needed to temper it with the fact that he had not yet even answered me.
"Yes, I can. Does it have something to do with the man who put those bruises on you?"
"No, of course not, but will you come with me? Please. Heal my friend's father?"
A knock sounded on the door. "Io, mate, button your breeches and come out. It's important."
Io sighed. "Yes, I will go with you. But I have to deal with these idiots first." He said the words loud enough to ensure they carried. Then he stood, straightening and stepped to the door.
"I heard that." A very large, very handsome, dark-haired man with a neatly trimmed black beard strode into the dining room. He was dressed in black leather tunic and pants with knives strapped across his chest and a sword hilt peeking up from behind his back.
He smiled, glancing between me and Io, but to his credit, he didn't slide his eyes over my body as I half expected him to.
He was huge—even taller than Io, who had to be more than six and a half feet. The bearded fae must have been closer to seven, with large powerful muscles under tight-fitting sleeves.
He assessed me with amused, vivid blue eyes as a tall, lithe woman strode into the room behind him.
"Are you serious?" she said, folding her arms across her chest. She darted a sideways glance at me still seated in my chair. "You send us on this fool's errand so you can be alone with a woman?"
My cheeks burned with barely contained embarrassment and anger.
I stood, and the woman glanced sharply at me. "No offense to you, of course," she said, smiling prettily.
