Page 33 of Alien Healer’s Mate

“Yeah, but.” She shrugged. “On the station you were just… you. In your office with your scans. Still scary, but here you’re…” She trailed off.

“Scary?” He looked down at her, and his expression shifted a little, like the professional mask had thinned for a heartbeat. “Here I am, what?”

I don’t know. Someone else… someone who might not need me.

She shoved the thought down before it could reach her face and grinned instead. “Fancy. You’re very fancy. I’m basically arm candy for a celebrity doctor right now.”

“You are not arm candy.”

“I’m a little bit arm candy,” she pouted. “It’s the dress. It’s doing a lot of heavy lifting.”

His hand pressed more firmly against her back, pulling her closer to the warmth of his bigger body, and the look in his eyes went hot enough to curl her toes. “The dress is not the thing I’m looking at.”

Before she could even work out what she’d say to that, the crowd shifted, and her attention snagged on the far side of the hall.

Kellat followed her gaze. “The Vorrtan delegation. They’re who we need to see.”

She nodded, not able to form a word. The Vorrtan delegation stood apart from the rest of the gathering, and they looked like they’d stepped out of a completely different reality. Her brain needed a full second to catch up with her eyes.

They were tall, taller than the Lathar, and she hadn’t even thought that was possible. They were also broad-shouldered, with powerful frames.

“They’re red,” she whispered to Kellat as they walked that way.

He slid her a sideways glance down. “Yes, I am aware.”

Then she clocked the eyes themselves. Every male had the same ones… catlike and slitted, an impossible amber that glowed faintly in the faceted light. And every single pair was angled toward the center of the group, toward a figure seated on a low, curved bench like it was a throne.

She was older than the rest, her red skin marked with a single pale scar running from temple to jaw, and she held herself with a stillness that made Delilah’s hindbrain sit up and pay attention.

“Scary lady,” she murmured.

Kellat’s hand shifted on her back, steering her toward them, and her stomach dropped.

Do I have to go over there?” she asked, hoping like hell he said no.

“Yes.”

“They look like they could snap me in half.”

“They will not snap you in half.”

“You sound very sure about that.”

“I am.”

She was still hunting for a comeback when they arrived, the crowd parting around them, and suddenly there was nothing between her and the scary red aliens but a few feet of air.

Kellat inclined his head, formal and precise. “Warlady. I am Kellat V’Raav, Lead Healer of Devan Station. May I present Delilah Sawyer, of Earth.”

“Amaelii,” the woman said simply. “Warlady of the Vorrtan.”

Her gaze moved to Delilah, studying her openly… taking in the dress, the hair, the way she stood. Delilah’s smile froze at the edges.

“And what are you to the healer?” the warlady asked. Her voice was low and smooth, her odd accent clipping the edges off each word.

The question landed square in Delilah’s chest, and for half a heartbeat she had nothing. Colleague? No. Patient? Not really. Not after last night and this morning and the way he’d held her in the shower. She slid Kellat a glance, hoping he’d help her out.

“His guest,” she said, and her voice came out bright and steady, not even a tremor. “And his patient, technically, but I’m trying to get him to stop leading with that. It’s terrible for my ego.”