Immortal Healer (9 page)

“Lay back on the table, please.” His voice stuttered, and he had to clear his throat to be heard. If touching her leg or holding his gaze made her nervous, she might just come unglued at this, but with swollen glands, he wasn’t going to ignore the importance of finishing his exam. When he parted the gown, she studied him, and when his fingers touched the skin of her stomach, her eyes flitted away for a moment. She wore simple gray cotton underwear and bra, and her nipples were tight under the thin fabric. It was hard not to look at every last inch of her skin that he wanted to see, but he ignored the desire, knowing he’d end up with a raging erection he’d be hard pressed to hide. Were he a practicing physician, he should be fired for the thoughts running through his head, but he wasn’t a practicing physician, and frankly, he was the only doctor she had.

He palpated and pressed on her abdomen, and her muscles clenched and tightened at his touch. He steered clear of her low-fitting panty line and stared at her belly button. Even that was a turn on, and all he could see was his mouth tasting the skin of her stomach, kissing trails down her belly to her sex. Every image led back to what he really wanted—to invade her body completely with his own. By the time he was finished, he was relieved, and by the look on her face, she was too.

He left while she changed, and when she joined him in the living room, her cheeks blushed furiously for about five minutes before she could get a rein on herself. They watched TV, trying to act normal though there was no denying it was awkward.

“You really don’t intend to sleep with me?” Her question left him staring wide-eyed at her as shock took over his body. Again, she’d surprised the hell out of him, but she was watching, patient and nervous, waiting for an answer.

“I’ve been celibate for nineteen years.” He cocked his head to look at her, waiting for a response, not having any idea what to expect; surprised, in fact, that he’d confessed it to her.

Her eyes bulged for a moment before she could control her reaction to his words, but then her sarcasm found its voice. “As shocked as I am that that’s possible, you didn’t really answer my question.” Her voice was quiet, and he smirked at her. Nerve racking and sexually charged as their day had been, she was still far more at ease when it was the two of them than she was when they were around others, and there was something incredibly intimate about it.

“No I do not intend to have sex with you.” His voice was far too quiet when he answered her question. “You’re beautiful, but that’s not why you’re here.”

“Why are you celibate?”

“It’s personal.”

“Okay … why are you celibate?”

When he rolled his eyes at her, she smiled, and his heart soared. “Fine. I’ll tell you why I’ve chosen to be celibate if you tell me about your time with Mason.” That stopped her in her tracks. He regretted he’d asked the moment her face fell. There was no going back from that comment, and after they sat silently, saying nothing for an uncomfortably long time, he stood. “I have to hunt tonight, and I have some work to do in the clinic before then. If you need me, I’ll be there until eight-thirty or so.”

“Hunt?”

He just stared. There was no responding to her about this, or at least no response he was willing to give her. This simply wasn’t something she had any business knowing about, and given the weary expression on her face after he made the mistake of bringing up her time with Mason, there was no chance in hell he was going to be opening up about this to her. She was just too damn human. It was late afternoon, and he’d effectively destroyed the comfortable report.

Chapter 9

When she woke the next morning, she wasn’t ready to get up. She never was. Exhaustion had been part and parcel of her life since her time with Mason, and while her health seemed to be improving, shaking her constant need for sleep had not. Perhaps she was just depressed… But she wasn’t. For the first time in a very long time, she wasn’t.

He hadn’t come back from the clinic for the remainder of the evening, and she had finally gone to bed alone. She couldn’t stand being alone in her room. Every time she tried to sleep there, she woke in nightmares. It had been a constant struggle since escaping Mason to find a restful night’s sleep … maybe the reason she never felt rested… But that didn’t explain it now. Now that she’d found his arms, she slept. And she couldn’t sleep without them. This night her dreams had been different. She’d dreamed of Quentin. She saw him tearing Mason’s throat out, and for a brief moment, relief passed over her, but then he saw her. His fangs were fully visible, and he was snarling. He looked stunning, dangerous and hungry. She woke in a start, terrified of him but also needing him there.

But he was there.

He was in her bed with his strong arms wrapped tightly around her. He was awake; he almost always was when she woke in the night. Her fear of him faded, and her trust in him washed through her in relief. This was her Quentin—the strong, virile man who gave her security and safety.

“I’m sorry I asked. I know you’re not ready to talk about it, and I don’t expect you to until you’re ready.”

She nodded her head before she rolled toward him and buried her face against his chest. In truth, she wanted to tell him, or maybe it was more accurate to say she wanted him to know. She couldn’t stand the idea of saying the words out loud, and if she could simply insert them into his mind, it would save her the horror of uttering the words. But the key to all of it wasn’t how she was going to impart the details, it was the fact she wanted him to have the details. She needed him to know, to understand. She was terrified of what he’d think of her, but she needed him to know and be okay with it. None of it made sense to her. It’s not as if he was her boyfriend or lover or anything at all to warrant her openness, but he was something … something important to her.

He had been shirtless, and she had felt the skin of his legs against hers. He’d stopped leaving his pants on every time he laid down with her a couple days ago, and while he’d never undressed in front of her, she always woke to the feel of his skin along hers. He wasn’t naked though—he never was, and as her hand found his waist to wrap her arm around him, she felt the material of his underwear under her fingers. The waist always fell low on his abdomen, and as her fingers passed to his lower back, she could often feel the top of the cleft of his firm and strong buttocks.

And now waking alone the next morning, she missed him. Something was definitely wrong with her brain that she could feel this way about a man she hardly knew. How could he be celibate? It was curious. She should feel safer with him, knowing he didn’t want to sleep with her, but he did want to. She knew he did. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, heard it in the quiet moan he emitted whenever she touched him. She felt more disappointment at his celibacy than safety. Safety was there regardless of what he wanted to do with her body, the disappointment was completely selfish. She wanted him. He’d walked out of her safe imaginary world, and he was quite firmly planted in this world. And she was disappointed because making love to him wasn’t going to be an option in this world … and she wanted it to be.

The young woman, Ember, showed up shortly after Abigail woke. She was with another woman Abby had never seen before. They both looked stunning standing in front of her, and she was suddenly feeling a bit out of her depth in her nightgown and morning breath.

“Get dressed sleepy bum. We’re going shopping!” Ember had beautiful, long light brown hair. She was pretty in a very cute way, and her personality seemed likewise. Abigail felt safe and at ease with her, even though she didn’t know her. The other woman was a bit more difficult to read. She had a short bob style haircut and was just as beautiful as Ember, but her expression was more harsh and controlled—serious. “This is Brit. If you’re wondering why she doesn’t smile much, it’s because she’s a cop. Isn’t that right?”

Brit looked at Ember and gave a sarcastic smirk before looking at Abigail. “It’s good to meet you. Apparently, we’re going shopping, and I’m coming along because I’m not … what’s the word you used?” She looked at Ember while she snapped her fingers. “Oh, yes. I’m not enough like you.” She shot Ember a challenging look. She was being sarcastic, but she was still intimidating.

“No. I said you’re not girly enough. Or nice enough, frankly. Shopping will do you good. You have a honeymoon to go on soon, and you need sexy honeymoon clothes. Besides, maybe Abigail will eat something, and we can live vicariously through her.” She had a cute day-dreamy look on her face, but as she met Abigail’s eyes again, she smiled warmly. And Abigail felt the corners of her mouth lifting completely against her will.

“That sounds more cruel than nice. And by the way, we’re going to the mountains on our honeymoon. It’s not like I’m going to be sunbathing for God’s sake. How exactly do you sexy-up cool weather mountain attire?” Spoken by the intimidating one. “Oh, whatever. We could just get her drunk and drink her blood.” And then Brit looked at her and smirked as Abigail’s eyes shot open. “I’m just kidding. Kind of. I mean it’s a nice thought. It’s just…”

“You’re scaring her. Shut up.” Ember whispered loudly through clenched teeth, as though Abigail couldn’t hear her, before turning her attention back to Abigail and flashing a big smile. “We won’t eat you. I swear. Quentin would kill us, and neither of us actually kill humans, or … well … she has, but he kind of deserved it.”

They hadn’t let Abigail get a word in edgewise since she’d answered the door, but oddly, she could still feel the corners of her mouth trying to tug upward as they jabbered on, even though they’d mentioned eating her far more than social conversation usually permitted.

“Uh … let me get dressed.” Why was she agreeing to go? She could just say “no” or pretend she had a headache; she actually did have a headache. She wouldn’t even have to lie. But Quentin was gone, and she didn’t feel like sitting alone in his home without him. In truth, she didn’t like how things ended the night before, and she knew she’d sit and stew about it if she didn’t keep busy. She’d prefer to see him, deal with him, deal with the terribly awkward way she felt, but that wasn’t a possibility, so shopping it was.

They waited for her in the living room as she hastily brushed her teeth and dressed. And once downstairs and on the road in yet another nice-as-hell car, this time an SUV, Ember whipped around to look at her in the back seat. “So, what do you think of our little world? Must be pretty different than real life. At least it’s far different than my life was.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re not the first vampires I’ve ever met.” She laughed nervously, as her gaze shifted out the window. “Sorry.” She murmured. “So, are all vampires so … so wealthy? I mean, a Range Rover, a Jaguar, your building, and no one seems to work…” She really needed to shut up, but Ember’s amused smile wasn’t offended, nor was Brit’s smirk from the rearview mirror.

“Well,
we’re
not wealthy. Our men half are. And they came by it honestly if that’s what you’re worried about. When you live forever, you have plenty of time to amass a fortune. My husband is an antiques dealer and adjunct history professor at Harvard. Brit’s fiancé, Angus, is a very successful investor or financer, whatever you call it, in addition to being the head of the vampire council that oversees our region of the United States. And Quentin is a doctor. Nuff said.”

“Where is he today? I mean … I mean … Quentin.” She was trying to hide her intense curiosity, but her stuttering voice gave her away.

Ember’s eyes found hers again with a slight smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, a meeting with a couple of colleagues from out of town. He’s involved in research groups with other doctors and biologists of our kind. They meet on occasion here or there or off in some quiet corner of the world to discuss what they’re working on. He’s mainly involved in microbiology or molecular biology or … or something like that. He tried to explain it once, but when most of what he said turned to lettered abbreviations rather than words, and the only thing I understood was DNA, my brain shut down. Think staring in a microscope for long periods of time. He’s one of
those
types. You know … handsome nerd.”

Abigail’s lips pulled up in a small smile. She was well aware he was a handsome nerd. “Oh.” There wasn’t much more to say than that.

But apparently Ember had prying in mind. “So, how’s it going with him? You seem good together … err … I mean comfortable … comfortable together is … that’s what I was saying … yeah.”

“Don’t mind Em. She’s a shrink, and she thinks everyone’s her patient and should tell her everything she wants to know about absolutely everything there is to know about everything.” Brit smirked into the rearview mirror. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Oh … uh … it’s fine. He’s fine.”

“And you’re feeling better? I mean, you definitely look better.”

“Yeah. I’m still tired a lot, but I’m not sure that’s a new thing. I think life’s just exhausting.” She chuckled quietly without much humor. It wasn’t a new thing at all. Her body felt tired. She’d assumed it was living on the streets, not eating enough, and even before then she’d thought it was the stress of being tormented by Mason, but even now, the very enticing notion of curling up and drifting away pretty much all the time was very, very tempting—of course, she always wanted that sleep to include him.

“So, here’s Quentin’s credit card. He asked me to give it to you to buy clothes with.”

“Oh, no. I can’t take that. I don’t really need anything.”

“Well, he actually thought you might say that, and we’re not to come back without spending a certain amount of money on you for clothing, so unless you want us to pick it out for you…”

“But I have clothes. What’s wrong with my…”

“Nothing! They’re … lovely, just lovely. Uh, but … they’re also a bit … uh…”

“They’re rags.” Brit shrugged her shoulders as Ember gaped at her.

“They’re not ra—” She shot a glare at Brit before quickly whipping back to look at Abigail. “They’re
not
rags. But they’re a bit worn out. And trust me, you don’t want me shopping for you. I’m a lover of all things cotton, and I’m hopeless.” She rolled her eyes, mocking herself. Abigail took the card from her outstretched hand. “It’s best this way. He kind of expects to get his way. Bit of a control freak, really. Just his nature. But not in a bad way.” She couldn’t seem to stop talking.