“Fine. Then don’t ever come for me again.”
He left her in the corner and went over to his patient, who had been oriented on her stomach.
Bending down beside her, he said, “It’s . . .” For some reason, he wanted to use his first name with her, but given the other staff, he kept it professional. “It’s Dr. Manello. We’re going to start now, okay? You’re not going to feel a thing, I promise you.”
After a moment, she said weakly, “Thank you, healer.”
He closed his eyes at the sound of her voice. God, the effect on him of just three words from her mouth was epic. But what exactly was he attracted to? What was she?
An image of her brother’s fangs filtered through his mind—and he had to lock it out. There would be time to Vincent Price it after this.
With a soft curse, he stroked her shoulder and nodded at the anesthesiologist.
Showtime.
Her back had been Betadined by the nurses, and he palpated her spine with his fingers, feeling his way along as the drugs went to work and put her out.
“No allergies?” he said to Jane, even though he’d already asked.
“None.”
“Any special issues we need to be aware of when she’s under?”
“No.”
“All right then.” He reached over and swung the microscope closer into position, but not directly over her.
He had to cut into her first.
“Do you want music?” the nurse asked.
“No. No distractions on this case.” He was operating like hi
s life depended on it, and not just because this woman’s brother had threatened him.
Even though it made no sense, losing her . . . whatever she was . . . would be a tragedy the likes of which he couldn’t put into words.
TEN
The first thing Payne saw when she came awake was a pair of male hands. She was evidently sitting upright and in in some kind of sling mechanism that supported her head and neck. And the hands in question were on the edge of the bed beside her. Beautiful and capable, with their nails trimmed down tight to the quick, they were on papers, quietly flipping through many pages.
The human male they belonged to was frowning as he read and used a scribing utensil to make occasional notations. His beard growth was heavier than when she’d seen it last, and that was how she guessed that hours had passed.
Her healer looked as exhausted as she felt.
As her consciousness surged forth e’er further, she became aware of a subtle beeping next to her head . . . and of a dull pain in her back. She had a feeling that they had given her potions to numb sensation, but she didn’t want that. Better to be alert—as it was, she felt encased in cotton-wool batting and that was strangely terrifying.
Unable to speak as yet, she looked around. She and the human male were alone, and this was not the room she had been held within previously. Outside, various voices in that odd human accent vied for prominence against a constant stream of footsteps.
Where was Jane? The Brotherhood—
“Help . . . me. . . .”
Her healer snapped to attention and then tossed his pages onto a rolling table. Surging to his feet, he leaned down to her, his scent a glorious tingle in her nose.
“Hey,” he said.
“I feel . . . nothing. . . .”