to pound frantically. He was lethal at close range. That gentleness that was so much a part of him surrounded her, mesmerizing her as surely as her voice often captivated those within hearing distance. She took a breath and drew him deep into her lungs. She was tall and she could nearly look him square in the eye, but his shoulders were far wider than hers, even though she was wearing her thick fur coat.
She felt safe with him. Which was silly, and disturbing. She had learned never to trust anyone, yet she had let this man into her life. She didn't need him. She didn't want him. But standing so close to him confused her. Hunters had a certain energy surrounding them; everyone did. His was different. His energy was peaceful, absolutely peaceful. Almost serene. Breathing him in gave her strength in a way she'd never known before. He had a quiet acceptance over his fate, and the lack of need to control everything and everyone around him. In his own way, Razvan was enthralling, charming her without even trying.
Ivory swallowed hard and kept her gaze glued to the deep lacerations running up and down his chest. One particularly long scratch led down to his belly and disappeared into the band of his trousers. She laid her palm over one of the worst lacerations and closed her eyes, feeling for the poisonous brew that would signal parasites. Even though, after the first time, she knew the wounds were clean and merely welling blood, she continued to examine each individual injury.
She liked standing so close to him. The sense of serenity was an aphrodisiac in itself. She had heard of the practices in the Far East that had spread throughout the world, and to her this man embodied the very spirit of Zen. He felt calm. Even the simple pleasure he took in learning was without ego or rush.
Ivory leaned forward without conscious thought, her eyes half-closed, and slid her tongue over the long laceration, the healing agents in her saliva immediately removing the sting and closing the wound.
Razvan went still. "What are you doing?" His voice went hoarse.
Ivory noted the change in his breathing. He wasn't nearly as calm now as he'd been a moment ago, and there was something enormously satisfying in that. Her palm slid down to the next scratch and her mouth followed. Every muscle was defined, jumping beneath her touch, his body radiating heat, smelling of the outdoors on a spring night.
His breath left his body in a rush. She felt the ripple in his taut belly as her mouth skimmed down his chest, lower, following the path of the laceration.
"What are you doing?" he repeated.
"Healing you." Ivory's voice had gone husky-almost liquid-betraying her.
He let his breath out in a long, slow exhale. "Listen to me, Ivory." Razvan caught her wrists in his hands and held her away from him. His touch was gentle, incredibly so, but his grip was unbreakable without a fight. "My body betrayed me over and over. I do not even know how many times Xavier used my body to bring himself not only pleasure with other women, but to deliberately have a child with them so he could use the child's blood."
"I do not understand what you are saying to me." Her eyes met his. Held there.
"I am saying this is dangerous. You are my lifemate and everything in me demands I claim you. Once I weld us together it is for all time. I would not do that to you when it is so dangerous. You seemingly purged Xavier, but I was weak enough once that he managed to place not one but four pieces of himself into me. He used me for abhorrent, vile crimes. There are children in the world who suffered horribly because of my body. I do not know them. I would not recognize them if I saw them."
"You would," she denied, believing her words. "You would recognize them."
"The healer and the prince tentatively accepted me, but only because I was with you. You would live the life of an outcast should you join with me."
Ivory shook her head. "You are so noble, Razvan, always putting others before yourself, but in truth, you have not thought this all the way through." What was she saying? Ivory was appalled at herself, arguing with him as if she wanted him to claim her. When had her feminine nature become so perverse that she wanted him to want