Page 34 of Alien Healer’s Mate

The warlady’s lips curved slightly. “You are honest.”

“I’m too short to be anything else. Lying takes height and a sense of gravitas I just don’t have.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the warlady made a sound that might have been a laugh, low and brief, and the tension in Delilah’s shoulders eased a fraction. She was doing it. She was holding her own.

You’ve got this. You’ve been charming your way out of trouble since you could talk. This is just Harper’s parent-teacher conference all over again, except the teacher is an alien warlady who could definitely kill you.

Then the warlady’s attention shifted back to Kellat. She leaned forward slightly, amber and turquoise eyes narrowing with interest.

“Healer V’Raav. I’ve read your work on neural pathway reconstruction. Your theories on adaptive regeneration are… most unusual.”

Kellat inclined his head. “I take that as a compliment.”

“You should. Unusual is rare in medicine. Most healers are content to repeat what they were taught.” She rose from her seat in a single fluid motion. Delilah’s eyes widened. She was tall, with a capital T, easily as tall, if not a little taller than Kellat.

She stepped closer, tilting her head as she assessed Kellat. “I have a case that might interest you. A warrior with spinal trauma that has resisted every treatment we’ve attempted. Your particular discipline might be what he needs.”

“I would be honored to consult,” Kellat said, his voice smooth and professional. “Perhaps after the morning session⁠—“

“Now.” The warlady smiled, and it didn’t reach her unusual eyes. “I find that opportunities have a way of disappearing if one waits.”

She turned, gesturing to the cluster of males behind her, and Delilah looked at them properly for the first time. Heavily muscled and ripped as hell, they stood in a loose semicircle, watching the warlady’s every movement. Delilah frowned; they didn’t seem to be guards or assistants.

“She’s got the full collector’s set there, “ Delilah murmured, the words out before she could stop them.

The warlady glanced back, one elegant brow lifting, and her face went hot. But the woman didn’t look offended. If anything, she looked amused.

“Something like that. They are my harem,” she said, and turned back to Kellat, her hand lifting to rest on his arm. “Come. I’ll show you the case file.”

She didn’t ask Delilah to come, or even look at her.

Kellat hesitated. His gaze cut to Delilah, something flickering behind it, but the professional mask was already sliding back into place.

“Of course,” he said. “Lead the way.”

The bottom dropped out of Delilah’s stomach as he walked off.

Okay. Okay, this is fine. This is work. He’s a doctor. She’s a warlord—lady… whatever. This is literally what he came here to do.

“Right.” Her smile snapped into place so fast it almost hurt. “I should go find some food anyway. I saw a buffet table on the way in, and I’ve been thinking about it for the last ten minutes.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” she called out after the warlady, bright and easy. “Your hair is amazing. The braids? Stunning. I’d ask for your stylist, but I’m pretty sure I couldn’t afford them.”

The warlady said something in reply, but Delilah didn’t hear it. She was already walking, her sneakers silent on the crystal floor, the smile pinned in place.

She made it to the edge of the hall before she let herself stop. Finding a spot by a pillar, out of the flow of traffic, she stood with her hands clasped in front of her, her heart racing.

He didn’t say no. He didn’t even hesitate. She touched his arm and he just… went.

Her eyes stung. She blinked hard, forcing it back. Not here. Not now. So she turned, just once, and looked back across the hall.

Kellat stood with the warlady, their heads bent together over a data screen, her hand still resting on his arm. They looked like they belonged in the same frame, two of a kind. Both powerful and brilliant. The harem stood arrayed behind them, beautiful and devoted, and Kellat fit into the picture as if he’d always been part of it.

She didn’t.

She turned away, her throat tight, and started walking toward the buffet table. Perhaps they would have pastries. Pastries didn’t judge.

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