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Chapter Five

Rafe stirred the chicken broth one more time, then brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted it. Almost there. The soup was coming together nicely. He reached for the frying pan where the chicken dices had been resting. He had fried them separately, so that the juicy flavors of the caramelization wouldn’t be lost in the liquid. He waved his hand in a circle above the pan and took a deep breath. His mouth watered. He just hoped Yara liked soups.

He paused. What in Hiad was that thought all about?

Yara was his means to an end. As long as she was under his spell, the vampire king wouldn’t dare interfere in his business. That is,
if
the vampires found out where she was. But a dead asset was a liability, so, there was no harm in ensuring she was well fed, well rested and fully cured, right?

He released a sigh.
Fully cured.
Right now the thought didn’t seem so absurd, but two nights ago, he wouldn’t have bet his savings on it. By Apa Dobrý, she had looked semi-dead when they brought her in. His bed sheets had to be changed every hour because she wouldn’t stop bleeding. And when she did the fever came, and it all started again. Now she seemed to have stabilized a bit, but Rafe knew that there was a long way to go. Her shoulder had been almost ripped out of its socket, her ligaments had been snapped, the muscles shredded to pieces. He sewed it all back together, as much as he could, then wrapped her entire torso on a tight pseudo-plaster made of thick gauze. He just hoped her magic helped her recover those ligaments; otherwise she’d never be able to fight again.

Her magic.

A flash of memory invaded his mind. Remi, the vampire king’s servant, handing over a plastic bottle to Phillip, telling him that whatever was inside had magically made Zoricah strong again.

Bingo.

Rafe went to his fridge and retrieved Remi’s sports bottle, the one he had taken from the gutter. He opened the lid and immediately wrinkled his nose. Fucking Hiad, that thing smelled like putrid corpse in the sun! But if that had made Zoricah strong, then it may help Yara as well.

With the potion in one hand, he went to the stove top and poured a spoon full in his soup. The stench that whooshed out was simply unbearable. He had to close his nose and mouth, and swallow hard so to stop the contents of his lunch from saying hello to the soup. When the gagging stopped, he dared to take a peek. There was a brown blob floating in the soup. Fucking Hiad! It looked and smelled disgusting, like a poop in dirty water. It had simply ruined his soup! He would never be able to serve this to Yara. Not just because of the stench but he couldn’t let her suspect that this was
her
potion. How would he explain having it with him? Damned the Soartas!

He blocked his nose with a tea towel and started stirring the ruined broth. As he did it, magic happened. The dab slowly dissolved with the other ingredients and so did the foul smell.

Merciful Soartas! “So that’s the trick,” he thought, giving himself an imaginary high five.

Now that he found out the secret tip, there was no harm in adding a bit more to the soup. He squeezed the bottle but the lid popped out and the entire content inside poured out. Oh, shit.

Chapter Six

The freaking arm sling was so tight it was making her whole upper body numb. Yara cracked her head and twisted her hips to the left then to the right. Nope, the thing didn’t budge. She tried to take a deep breath to calm down but realized
that
was also too hard with that bandage. The room got suddenly too warm, too claustrophobic. She sat on the bed and threw away the covers.

She was naked from the waist down.

Ai, Apa Dobrý! If it wasn’t for the sling that was covering her left shoulder and torso, she would have been completely bare.

A ridiculous blush heated up her cheeks at the thought of Rafe disrobing her and cleaning her wounds – which was the most ludicrous reaction she could ever have. She’d never been a prude! So what, he’d seen her naked? By the way he had expertly ravaged her at the party, it was obvious she hadn’t been his first.

She shook her head and shoved her newly found virginal side back to wherever it came from, and focused on finding a solution for her situation. The room was of a good size, with minimal but solid-looking furniture. It was comprised of the king-sized bed she was on, a wardrobe near the window, a reading chair that looked like it was centuries old and two bedside tables. Yara gazed around in search of something, anything that could help her out of that sling. The room was fairly dark, the sun had obviously set by now, but her panther eyes didn’t have any problem spotting the flickering object underneath the reading chair. It was a knife, probably forgotten there a long time ago.

Perfect.

She swung her legs out of the mattress, crouched down and retrieved her salvation. As she lifted her good arm to rip the freaking bandage apart, she paused. What would she tell Rafe? How would she explain that she had miraculously come back from the dead in less than three days? Well, she could tell him the truth about how her curse had virtually made her un-killable as it fixed any problems with its host body, but that was always a date-spoiler. “Hi, my name is Yara, I have been cursed by my lovely mother.” No, it was better to get to know him first, enjoy the company a bit then move on, like she’d always done. She didn’t do relationships. Too personal, too tricky, too time-consuming. Why spoil the fun with commitment and promises that are bound to be broken?

Yara looked at her weapon. It was a small table knife as blunt as a spoon, but it would have to do. She reached the area directly underneath the immobilized elbow and serrated the sling. It stretched a bit, enough for her to be able to suck in that deep breath she’d been dying for, but she needed more, she needed freedom. So she lifted the knife a bit higher with the intention to widening the tear a bit, but the damned bandage wouldn’t budge. She applied a bit more force. A bit more, almost there. Too much. The small slit suddenly became a gash.

“Ai, Mighty Soartas!” Yara shrieked. The sling hung out like an open top over her shoulder – which had healed almost completely. Only a thin pink scar was left to tell the tale.

Yara hurried to the wardrobe in search for something. A miracle maybe? She really didn’t want to explain herself, and worse still, she didn’t want to have to tell Rafe the reason
why
she’d been cursed. On top of that, how ungrateful would she sound when she said “I couldn’t breathe. You suck at doing bandages.” Not the best way to show him her appreciation, was it?

She opened the wardrobe door and was faced with just a handful of formal shirts. They obviously hadn’t been worn in a while, maybe a decade? But they were still quite clean.

“It’ll have to do. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

She picked the closest one, white with thin blue stripes, and put it on, making sure the arm with the ruined sling was covered. Buttoning it up with only one hand proved to be one of the most difficult, if not ridiculous, trials of her life, but she did it. After the last little marble pin was fastened she closed the wardrobe door and looked at herself in the mirror. Not bad. The tear and her intimate parts were safely hidden by the long shirt.

The sudden roaring of machines in the distance made her jump. She went to the window and peeked through the wooden panes. Darkness met her from outside. Where was she? What was this place? She flicked the lock open and lifted the lower sash. A delicious scent of herbs and vegetables filled her nose. She bent over in search for the source. Right underneath her window there was a garden with an array of different varieties of herbs – basil, parsley, coriander, thyme … all of the best were there, and had been well grown. Beyond them there was a long meadow and what looked like a factory.

“What are you doing?”

Yara jumped in surprise at the sudden question. She turned around to find Rafe standing by the door with a tray of food in his hand. “Ai, you startled me!” she replied honestly.

“You shouldn’t be up, let alone perching over the window like that” Rafe said, already placing the tray on the bedside table and rushing to close the window. “You need more rest.” He delicately wrapped his arm around her – careful not to touch the injured one, Yara noticed – and guided her back to bed.

“I’m feeling much better now,” Yara drawled. “I’m not dizzy anymore and look, the fever is gone.” She took his hand in hers and placed it on her neck.

His fingers brushed her skin, his grey gaze met hers. Butterflies played in her tummy sending sparkles down her legs. Wow.

“I see,” Rafe replied with hooded eyes. He ran his hand around her collar.

Something tugged so deep inside Yara that made her shiver. By Apa Dobrý, who was that man?

“I still believe you need to slow down,” Rafe said, coercing her to sit on the bed.

“I heal fast,” she murmured but complied. “I’m a water witch.”

He nodded. “So I heard.” His touch travelled to her arm. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Much better,” she replied and quickly moved back, leaning against the bed post, before he felt the rip on the sling.

A slight frown wrinkled his brow. “Are you sure? It’s been only three days; you must still be in pain.”

“Err…Yes, of course I am,” Yara lied. “It’s just that we, water witches, heal quite quickly.”

Rafe
humphed
and looked her up and down, as if still deciding to believe her B.S. or not. Then his eyelids went half-mast and a delicious crooked smile curved up his lips. “I’ve been wondering what to do with those old shirts.”

Yara felt the heat buildup inside and reach her cheeks. The way he gazed at her spoke much louder than his sleek words. While Yara’s intimate folds got damp, her mind went into full alert. That man knew how to turn a woman on, how to schmooze. He was probably an expert in breaking hearts, too.

“So, what’s this?” she asked, pointing at the bowl on the bedside table next to her.

Rafe lifted the tray up, flipped its short legs open and placed it on Yara’s lap. “It’s soup. You haven’t eaten in days so I thought that something light would be best.”

“It smells delicious. You made this?”

He shrugged, nonchalant.

Ai, Apa Dobrý, he cooks, too. Rafe was definitely dangerous, Yara decided.

She pushed herself up straight on the bed and took a spoonful. A parade of flavors invaded her mouth. Wow. She had to close her eyes to better savor the moment. Fresh mint was the first to hit her, then well-seasoned vegetables warmed her palate. Onions, carrots, potatoes and something else, something spicier.

She opened her eyes and found Rafe staring at her. “Liked it?”

“Not a bit,” she replied, already opening her mouth for another round.

He chuckled at her obvious joke and leaned back on the reading chair.

The more Yara ate the exquisite soup, the more she wanted
more
. “What did you put in it?”

“Just a few herbs and spices from my garden.”

“
Just
a few herbs and spices?” She smiled and lifted an eyebrow at him. The soup was light yet decadent at the same time, it warmed her throat and tingled her tongue. “This is not good,” she murmured.

“No?”

“It’s orgasmic,” she replied, but it came out more like a moan.

“Really?” It was his turn to lift an eyebrow at her. “I wish I had known that before.”

And there it was, the crooked smile with hooded eyes that made her heart sing and the warmth inside her tummy travel south, taking up residence right between her legs. Memory flashes from the masquerade party flooded her mind. His strong arms wrapping around her waist, his taut chest pressing her against the wall, his thick lips ravaging hers. Her panther purred inside.
Ai.

Yara took a deep breath and tried to keep the beast from taking over and jumping him right there and then. Not that she thought he’d mind it if she did.

“Nah, something tells me you didn’t need
me
to tell you how good a cook you are,” she drawled, placing the empty bowl on the bedside table.

A tiny drop of sweat trickled down her forehead. She wiped it with her index finger.

“I’m a good boy, Yara,” Rafe replied with a devilish gaze that said exactly the opposite. “I’m the son of a vicar.”

Yara couldn’t contain the laughter from bursting out. “No one better than the son of a preacher man to teach me how to kneel down and
pray
.”

Rafe chuckled at her dirty joke. “Something tells me you don’t need me to teach you anything, kitten.”

Touché.

A sudden wave of bliss lifted her spirits. She felt so good and so … hot. “Is it really warm in here?” she asked. “Your secret recipe must have more chilies than I thought.” Before Rafe could reply, Yara got out of bed and opened the window again. Cold breeze rushed in. Wow … She leaned on the window sill and ran her hand across her forehead, then down her neck. Her hand touching her skin … It felt so good.

“Are you OK?” she heard Rafe ask from the chair. “Here, have some water.”

“You sound concerned.”

“I am,” he replied handing her a glass of water. “You were comatose for almost two days, Yara. You were running a high fever up until just a few hours ago.”

She took what he offered and drained the refreshing liquid in one go.

“In fact, I think you may be ...” He placed a doctor-like hand on her forehead then on her neck. “Mighty Soartas, you’re burning!”

“Hmm, feels good,” Yara heard herself murmur as she clutched at Rafe’s hand on her skin. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relish in the deliciousness of his touch. He smelt amazing, like … She flung her eyes open, took a step forward and breathed him in. “You smell familiar.”