Page 19 of Golden Queen
He turned his head, looking over the room—the medical instruments, the bloody mess on the table. He turned back to me. He seemed to contemplate the situation for another moment as his black eyes roamed over my face. The pressure on my shoulders lessened, and my feet sank to the floor.
He stepped back the few inches the tiny room would allow and blinked at me for several seconds. I noticed the black streaks on his chest seemed lighter, and the wound had definitely closed again.
"I'm sorry," he said, looking around the room again as he ran his hands through his thick hair. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, looking back at me again.
I felt the air whoosh out of me...slowly, like someone was uncoiling my breath and dragging it out inch by inch. I could feel it in my chest—whirring like a top.
I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. You were...disoriented." I studied the lines on his chest—that very defined, very broad chest.
He looked down, following my gaze. "I see," he said simply, as though the lines explained it all. He laid his hand over the wound and rubbed as though it was sore.
I stepped closer. "May I?" I reached my hand out towards his chest. I wanted to see if the coldness was fading. Ineededto know the coldness was fading.
It had absolutely nothing to do with me wanting to feel his skin under my fingertips while those dark eyes looked down at me.
He dropped his arms and let me, though he flinched slightly as my palm came into contact with his chest. The skin was still slightly cool, but the iciness was fading quickly.
He stared down at me. "Are you a healer?"
I laughed softly. "No. Everyone else was afraid you’d wake up and kill them, so it was left to me." I belatedly realized I was still holding my hand on his chest, so I pulled it away.
"Ah," he said regretfully. "I suppose that's fair."
I made a noncommittal sound and shrugged, moving back a step. But I was smiling. Hehadcome up from the bed in a rather beastly way. I now understood the doctor's reluctance to help him.
"Well, then I must thank you," he said.
I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut. "You shouldn't thank me...since I was the one who put the uh...knife in your heart in the first place."
He laughed softly. "But you said you were sorry."
My eyes shot open. "I didn't think you'd remember that."
He stared at me with a wry look of amusement. "I do."
He looked around the room, frowning before his eyes slid back to mine. "Are we in a brothel?"
I was surprised he had deduced that from the little cell of a room. "How did you know?" I asked.
"I can hear them," he said, chuckling softly. He seemed to suddenly recall something. "The men chasing you—did you know them?"
"No, but...they didn't just happen upon me. They were waiting for me. They knew who I was." I wasn't sure why I had given him so much information, and only belatedly realized the implication of what my identity might mean when he asked,
"And who are you?"
"Sera," I said quickly.
He didn't push me for more information and after a long silence, I realized he should have supplied his own name. "And who are you?" I asked, raising a brow. I leaned against the door, crossing my arms.
He hesitated for just long enough to make me think he didn't want to answer—or that he was thinking of a false name to give me. "Io," he finally said. Some emotion I couldn't identify crossed his features.
I couldn't have said how, but I knew it was not a false name. Io was his name. It settled on him somehow...accurate and simple.
"Io," I said, testing the name.
His eyes shot to mine. I saw surprise...and something else that almost looked like pleasure. "How long have I been here?" he asked.
"Maybe...two hours," I said, mentally calculating the time that had passed.
