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  He had hungry written all over his face.

  Ulp. She turned her back before her own appetites got the better of her and gave him the wrong idea. She led the way through to the kitchenette, smacking the light switch on as she entered. Her butt chose that moment to remind her it was bruised. She rubbed the offending portion of her anatomy as she bent to fish the first-aid kit from the cupboard.

  He was still staring at her, head cocked to one side, when she turned back to him clutching disinfectant and cotton swabs. No man had ever looked at her with such single-minded concentration before, as though he was trying to see inside her, to know and understand every little thing about her. Warmth bloomed on her face, in the pit of her stomach. Lower down. He mesmerized her. It took all the will she possessed to break his spell and rip her gaze from his.

  What was she supposed to be doing again? Oh, yeah. Playing nurse. Despite herself, her gaze flicked to his face. Her eyes rounded when she spotted the bruise blooming on his cheekbone. “Uh— Did I do that? To your cheek?”

  “Indeed you did.”

  “I’m, ah, sorry. I didn’t mean—” Liar. She really had meant it. And from the amused quirk of his eyebrow, he knew it, too. “If it hurts, I can get you an icepack.”

  “I, too, am sorry.”

  “Huh?”

  “For dropping you on your rump. I did not wish to hurt you.” A pause and a gaze that glinted with amusement. “Too much.”

  She opened her mouth and shut it again with a decided snap. He declined to comment. Smart man. “Sit there at the table and give me your hand,” she said.

  Again, he did as he was told.

  Nice! Chalcey resolved to practice that tone in front of the mirror. A girl never knew when instant obedience from the opposite sex might come in handy again. Pity she hadn’t made use of the same technique earlier. But then she wouldn’t have ended up with the best kiss of her life. Her face heated at that particular memory, and the blush crawled down her neckline. She ducked her head and concentrated on the task at hand.

  Her teeth marks marred the tanned, callused skin of his hand. She tried not to feel too guilty for mauling him while she swabbed his palm with disinfectant. “Uh, bandage or plaster?”

  He quirked a puzzled eyebrow then shrugged. “You are the Healer, not I.”

  “Riiight. Whatever.” She opted for plaster because she’d never been that good with bandages. Whenever she had to do the Florence Nightingale thing her victim ended up looking like something from The Mummy. Without thinking, she kissed his palm before releasing it. “There, all better.”

  “Is it your custom to bestow a kiss upon those you heal?” His voice was deep and husky. His odd accent rolled even commonplace words liquidly off his tongue, making them sound incredibly exotic.

  Her face flamed again. Something about this guy really had the power to turn her insides all marshmallow-soft and gooey. “It’s, ah, something mothers do for small children when they’re hurt.”

  “And you are likening me to a small child?” His blue eyes darkened and he eyed her in a purely masculine, let’s-get-naked-so-I-can-lick-you-all-over-and-prove-you-oh-so-wrong sort of way.

  “Um…. No?” No way. Definitely not. Nyuh uh.

  “Allow me to return the favor and banish your own hurts.” He took her hands in his, turned them both palm up and kissed the grazed skin on her left palm. Then the right.

  Whoa. Instant gut reaction the instant his lips touched her skin. What would those lips feel like on her scraped knees? Or other sadly neglected body parts?

  His blue-blue eyes were made even more startling by his deeply tanned skin. He might have been carved from a slab of stone, all hard muscular planes and angles. There was nothing muted or gentle about him, from his broad forehead, knife-blade cheekbones, and square chin, to his practically bare chest—complete with abs most men of Chalcey’s acquaintance would sell their souls for. Not to mention his heavily muscled thighs straining the worn and faded leather of his trousers.

  She moistened suddenly dry lips with her tongue. Time to quit ogling before she melted into a little puddle on the floor. She repossessed her hands and busied herself with cleaning up the detritus of her latest first-aid attempt.

  When she’d regained her composure, she fixed him with a stern, schoolmarmish gaze. “Right. Time for you to go.” Before she threw herself at him and begged him to do some of those exciting x-rated things she was planning on dreaming about.

  “I cannot leave you,” he said. “It causes me pain to venture far from your side.”

  “Awww, you say the sweetest things. But seriously, you have to go.”

  He stood, flexing his “sword” hand and Chalcey could well imagine he’d look right at home with one.

  “I tell the truth, woman. It causes me physical pain when I am parted from you. I know not why. ’Tis obvious this is a land where magic abounds, and that I am somehow bound to you. I like it not at all, but until the gods decide I have atoned for my sins, I will endure my punishment. And mayhap—” he gave her that look again “—some pleasure might be had of it.”

  She backed away and scooted from the kitchenette, out into the main studio. Where it was not so confined. And safer.

  He followed her.

  Or not. “Ah, there’ll be no binding, okay? So not into that stuff. And there’ll be no pleasuring either. Look, I’m exhausted and I can hardly think straight. You need to leave. Now.”

  He crossed his arms over his fabulous chest.

  Sigh…. Focus, Chalcey, focus!

  “I will not leave.”

  She glared at him through slitted eyes. His jaw was set and she’d swear his teeth were clenched. He had that expression on his face guys get when they’re determined to get their way, and absolutely nothing is going to stop them from getting what they want.

  “Get out.” She stamped her foot and pointed to the exit. “Now.”

  “I will not leave.”

  “I’ll call the cops.”

  He stared down his nose at her and smirked. “If these cops be as weak and ineffectual as the male I encountered earlier, then by all means call them.” He cracked his knuckles. “I look forward to sparring with them. And sending them on their way.”

  All-too-vivid Technicolor visions ran through Chalcey’s mind. She pictured her beautiful studio, completely wrecked after this total badass had waded through a couple of unfortunate cops and biffed them around the place a few times. She shuddered and banished the thought. Nope. Not gonna happen. She couldn’t afford for it to happen.

  And speaking of unfortunates— A frightening thought smacked her, raising goose bumps on her arms. “Uh, how’s the jerk-off you thought you had to save me from, by the way? Still breathing, I trust.”

  “Do you truly care about such scum?”

  “No, but—”

  “Good.”

  She was getting that sinking feeling again. Surely he wouldn’t have—? “Shit! If you’ve done something really dumb, like, accidentally beaten him to death or something, I really will have to call the cops. He might be a first-degree asshole, but he didn’t deserve that!”

  His hard expression softened just a little in the face of her obvious distress. “The only serious wound he suffered was to his pride when he pissed himself. And he should not be bothering you again—provided that he has brains enough to comprehend what is good for him.”

  Whew. She wasn’t dealing with a murderer, at least. Merely a stubborn, extremely determined man, who had the hots for her so bad he’d followed her home. Sam would be lapping this right up. But Chalcey wasn’t Sam.

  “Right. Well, thanks for helping me out. Not that I needed your help but— Thanks. And now you need to go. Don’t you have anyplace better to be? A harem of panting women waiting for you at home?”

  “No.”

  “No harem, or no home?”

  “No harem. I do not believe in such things.”

  She didn’t want to think too hard about why his answer gave
her warm fuzzies. Now wasn’t the time for warm fuzzies. Now was the time for being a hardass. “Fine. Good for you. So how about I just kick you in the balls and toss you out on your butt?” Your extremely tight, deliciously sculpted butt.

  He grinned and she just about swooned. Ohhh. Yum!

  “Now that I am fully apprised of your fighting capabilities,” he said, “I will be more cautious. I do not think you will best me in combat. However, you are most welcome to try.”

  She believed him. Just like she believed he’d be delighted by the opportunity to wrestle with her. And take advantage of her. Again. Hand on hip, she pointed firmly to the exit. “Fine. The door’s thataway.”

  “I will not leave.”

  “I will not leave,” she mimicked. “What is your problem?”

  “I have no problem.”

  Aaargh! This conversation was fast becoming mega-frustrating, and it wasn’t helped any by the fatigue spots dancing before her eyes. “Why me?” she lamented. “How come you couldn’t find some other girl to bother?”

  He surveyed her with a puzzled frown. Then his face cleared and his features set into that familiar stubborn male resolve. “I believe the gods have chosen you.”

  Oookay then. They were at an impasse. And, if she were honest, maybe this entire situation was her fault. He could have gotten completely the wrong impression about that kiss. And the fact that she’d tried to protect him from Ray-The-Knife.

  Ray, she wouldn’t trust as far as she could throw him. But this guy? He didn’t seem like the type who’d attack a defenseless woman in her sleep.

  He did seem like the type who’d wake a sleeping woman and fuck her to within an inch of her life, and insure she enjoyed every minute of it. But frankly, if having sex with a limp, snoring woman was his scene, he could be her guest.

  She raked her hands through her hair and pushed it back from her face. Which she thought was pretty restrained, considering. “Okay, have it your way. Sleep on the floor of the studio for all I care. I’m going to bed. And if you come anywhere near me during what remains of the night, you’ll get a snoot full of mace that’ll make you cry like a girl for the next week.” She didn’t have any mace, but he didn’t have to know that. “ And if you’re still here tomorrow when I wake up, I’ll have the workmen I’ve hired biff you out on your ass. So there!” She stalked off, muttering imprecations about her sheer unmitigated stupidity for letting him in.

  “My name is Wulf,” he called after her. “By what name do you travel?”

  Curiosity got the better of her. She halted in her tracks and slowly swiveled to face him. “Wulf, huh? That sounds German, or maybe Scandinavian, but you sure don’t look like you hail from ’round there.”

  He was silent for a moment, as though considering how much to reveal. Obviously the trusting sort.

  “Fine. Whatever. Don’t tell me then. I’m going to bed.”

  “’Tis short for the crystal I was named for. My true name is Wulfenite.”

  Where had she heard that name before? Incomplete pieces of a tantalizing memory swirled in her mind, drifting just beyond reach. Brilliant lights dazzling her eyes. A silver cup. A voice in her head, murmuring a name….

  “Wulfenite,” she said. A deafening click echoed in her mind. Her brain exploded like a firecracker and went supernova.

  ~~~

  Chapter Four

  Wulf lunged for her as she crumpled, and managed to scoop her up before her head hit the floor. His heart beat a rapid tattoo. Every muscle was tensed and battle-ready. A battle or an ambush he would have handled without a moment’s indecision. He would have thrown back his head and roared his battle cry, waded into the fray trusting that his own strength and skill and determination would prevail.

  This? He hadn’t the faintest idea how to banish this fear churning in his belly, this upwelling of heart-wrenching worry over a mere woman. He was peripherally aware that he’d cradled her in his arms like she was some precious object as he turned full-circle, his gaze darting about a bare room that was still so alien, in any other circumstances it would have confounded his senses. But numerous things he’d witnessed since escaping his crystalline prison—the vast majority in fact—were alien to him. The woman’s abode, the cleverness of its construction and the materials used, were just one more mind-boggling strangeness to add to all the rest.

  Reflected in the shiny surfaces running the length of the room, a wild-eyed, stricken man stared back at him. A man who projected an air of indecisiveness, and worse, fear. A man who was no longer worthy to be named Lord Keeper, a leader of men. He tore his gaze from the disturbing sight, and fixed his attention on the woman’s face. What was it about her that had ensnared him so thoroughly?

  A notion struck him like a well-placed blow from the flat of an opponent’s sword. He staggered, and sank to his knees with the woman’s body draped across his lap. Could she have been struck down by the sleeping sickness that had taken so many of his people when Wulf had been but a small boy? It was a cruel disease. The weak died quickly. The strong lingered, wasting away to skeletal caricatures of themselves, until finally, mercifully, their hearts failed.

  He clenched his jaw against his overwhelming desire to berate this world’s gods for their cruelty and forced himself to calm, logical thought. She’d been hale and full of fight when he’d confronted her at the entrance to her abode. And before, when he’d kissed her, her breath had been sweet.

  He transferred her limp form to the crook of one arm so that he could brush the unruly curls back from her face. Her breathing was even and unlabored. He laid the back of his hand on her forehead. Her skin did not feel overly warm or clammy. His panic eased. He told himself she’d merely become overwrought because he would not obey her by leaving at once, as she’d demanded. He would not dwell on the possibility that she might never awaken.

  Wulf was not a man of unbridled passions. He valued clear-headed weighing up of the options, considering the risks and acceptable losses before fully committing himself or his men. It was a trait that made him not only a leader, but a man other leaders were wary of crossing. And yet, he had lusted after this woman, yearned to sink his cock into her feminine flesh the instant he set eyes on her. And then there was the strange connection urging him onward, leading him to her abode and punishing him when he strayed.

  She’d been placed in his path to beguile him.

  But to what end?

  Regardless of the implications, it was an unparalleled relief to blame manipulation by forces beyond his ken for his weakness. The alternative, that his unholy obsession for this woman had driven him to his knees like some lovelorn young stripling, was not one he was prepared to countenance.

  Enough. Females were for seducing and bedding, bearing children and rearing them. Outside of that, he had little need of them.

  He should not care about her. It would be the height of foolishness to feel anything at all for her. Such a weakness would distract him and get him killed. So, he would keep watch over her until she recovered her senses. If—when—she awoke, he would treat her as he would any other comely woman. If she balked, he would do what he always did. Convince her to fall in with his wishes. Seduce her, and when he tired of her, move on.

  He stood with her cuddled against his chest. He did not sling her over his shoulder as he’d done previously. She’d stood up to him, refused to back down. She’d earned a measure of his respect.

  He strode toward the sleeping area, carefully angling his burden through the doorway so that he didn’t bruise her body against the frame. He bent to strip back the bed-covers before laying her on the mattress. Unease gripped his belly as he stared down at her too-still, pale face. It could be that he was fooling himself and that she needed the services of a Healer. He would never forgive himself if she sickened and died because he’d done nothing.

  Doubtless she would deem it an unforgiveable liberty for him to touch her while she lay unconscious and defenseless, but it needed to be done. He pressed two
fingers to the pulse at her neck. Her heart beat strong and steady. Carefully lifting her lids, he peered into her eyes. The dilation of her pupils appeared normal. As he did with any prime horseflesh he intended to acquire, he ran his hands over her skull, torso and limbs, probing for hidden injuries. And to him, with his limited knowledge of human anatomy gained from treating wounds taken in battle, she seemed to be in excellent physical health.

  He would not risk leaving her alone and defenseless at night while he sought a Healer. The man she’d encountered—the one called Ray—might seek her out to do her harm. A feral grin stretched Wulf’s lips. Let him come. He would rue the day he tried to set hands on Lord Keeper Wulfenite’s woman.

  His woman.

  His. If she recovered. If he could woo her to his bed. If wanted him. So many ifs.

  If she’d not regained consciousness by morning, he would seek outside help. He tucked the covers around her. But try as he might, he could not slip into that relaxed, watchful doze that seasoned warriors used to their advantage.

  His gaze fixed on the jagged hunks of stone sitting on one of the upended crates either side of her bed. Crystals. Wulfenite crystals, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  He left the woman’s side to examine them more closely.

  He wasn’t mistaken. This woman had two pieces of his namesake crystal sitting beside her bed. Coincidence? Or something more sinister.

  He reached out, his hand hovering above them, hesitating. He barked a laugh, berating himself for his nameless fears. He picked up first one crystal and then the other, weighing them in his hands. And then he saw it. A frisson raised the hairs on the back of his neck. His hands trembled as he fitted the broken pieces together. Not two crystals, but one.

  He replaced them and paced the room, trying to comprehend what it all meant.

  At last, restless and frustrated and none the wiser, he sought diversion. The gaping doorway beckoned him. She’d been uncommonly distraught when he broke the door whilst trying to open it as per her instructions. Perhaps fixing it would appease her somewhat.