Marked by Elisabeth Naughton

bedding.”
    He’d been out? All day? He glanced to the windows and the darkness beyond. His injuries must have been worse than he remembered. “I’m fine,” he said. “A little stiff.”
    Craaaap. Great word choice. He was more than stiff in places he was sure she didn’t want to know about.
    Silence fell between them. He knew his lack of conversation was making her uneasy, but he wasn’t entirely sure of her motives just yet, and the knowledge the gynaíka he’d been fantasizing about had turned out to be human was still wigging him more than he liked.
    She glanced around the room as if she didn’t know where to look and was embarrassed about meeting his eyes. As she did, he remembered the way she’d gently stroked his hair after stitching up his wound. The way she’d wiped the blood from his face and leaned over him in nothing but that sexy white bra.
    His erection came pounding back, though he fought like hell to keep it down.
    She lifted the bag in her hands. “I got you some things to wear. Your pants were ruined, so I threw them away.”
    A blush rushed over her cheeks. And he realized then she was the one who’d stripped him bare. He glanced around again. What in Hades had happened to his weapons?
    She looked away from his eyes. “You had some, um, strange tools in your pockets. I put them on the dresser.” His eyes followed the sweep of her hand, and he felt instant relief. Everything was there. Still in their individual holsters. As if she hadn’t even opened them. The only thing that was missing was his blade. And that, he remembered in a rush, he’d stuck under the bed when he’d ripped off his shirt last night, while she’d been gathering supplies.
    She peered into the bag. “I wasn’t sure on the size. I couldn’t find a label on your, um, pants.” She set the bag on the foot of the bed and stepped back. “I made some soup, if you’re hungry.”
    His eyes narrowed on her face again. What did she want from him? In his experience, humans took what they wanted, thought only of themselves and rarely cared about others. So why, exactly, was she helping him?
    She folded her hands in front of her in a hesitant move when he didn’t answer. “I could bring it in here if you’re still too tired or sore to get up.”
    “No,” he said slowly. “I will get out of bed.” And get his weapons. Check out the house. See where he was. Get the lay of the land. Make sure she wasn’t planning on slicing and dicing him in his sleep. Just to be safe.
    She nodded. “I checked your leg a while ago when you were sleeping. It looks a lot better. I’m still not sure how that’s possible, but…well, I’m glad to see you’re recovering so quickly.”
    She seemed sincere, as if she’d honestly been worried about him. He thought back to the panic in her eyes when he’d been half-conscious and dealing with the pain of his wounds. Remembered how together she’d been and how she’d done what needed to be done without freaking out. And though he didn’t want to, he was impressed by her composure.
    Then his brain skipped to the visual of those long, slender fingers touching his naked flesh beneath the blanketas she checked his wound. His whole body trembled with a renewed rush of hot arousal.
    Which shouldn’t be happening.
    She glanced toward the door to her left. “There are towels in the bathroom, if you want to take a shower.” When she looked back, a fresh flush crept up her cheeks. “If you need any help getting up—”
    “No,” he said quickly, knowing he didn’t need any help in that department. He was already far too up for his liking. “I can manage.”
    She smiled in what he could only describe as complete relief, though color still stained her cheeks.
    He nodded once but couldn’t bring himself to thank her.
    As if she knew what he was thinking, she hesitated. Looked up until her violet eyes locked on his. And stared at him as though she knew him.
    That déjà vu flared again. Just