Page 38 of Alien Healer’s Mate

She wasn’t fine, though. The smile and too-bright tone were all wrong, and he had no clue what to do about it.

Laarn would call the day a success. Two techniques, two willing trades, both halves of Charlotte’s cure closer than ever before. By every measure he’d been sent here to meet, he’d done exactly what he came to do.

But as he watched Delilah work her way down the buffet, bright and brittle and not looking at him, he felt like an utter failure.

Later. He’d find her later and fix it.

He just wished he believed it.

She was dressed for the occasion, thanks to Kellat, who had provided another beautiful gown, but she’d never felt so out of place in all her life.

Delilah sat at one of the long banquet tables at the evening reception, her back straight and her smile fixed in place, watching the room around her. Delegates in robes and leathers and sashes moved between the tables, their voices a low hum.

She’d been seated near the head table but not at it. Close enough to see everything, far enough to matter not at all. She snorted… it was the adult version of the kiddies table. Kellat was three tables away, deep in conversation with a cluster of healers, and the Vorrtan warlady was draped over the chair beside him like she’d been poured there. Her hand was on his forearm, her clawed, elegant fingers red against the dark leather of his sleeve.

Delilah’s jaw tightened. Kellat wasn’t moving away.

She took a sip of her wine and looked away. She was fine. This was fine. Utterly fine. Why wouldn’t it be? She was at a fancy party in a giant crystal space-station thingie wearing the most beautiful dress in the galaxy. She’d had mind-blowing sex with the most beautiful man in the galaxy just this morning.

Utterly fine.

The woman to her left had tried to make conversation earlier, but it had veered into tissue-regeneration protocols inside two minutes, so Delilah had smiled and nodded until the healer turned to someone else. Which left her sitting there with a full plate she couldn’t imagine eating and a front-row view of the alien warlady flirting with Kellat.

But she didn’t have a claim on him. They’d spent a night together. One night, one morning, some very enthusiastic shower time, but that didn’t mean anything. Latharian men claimed their mates and got those mark things around their wrists. Everyone knew that.

Her throat tightened, and she took another sip of wine. A bigger one this time. If Kellat wanted her, if he wanted to claim her and get those marks… some kind of tattoo or something, she was sure… then he would have let her know by now, surely?

She turned her head and caught the guy next to her looking at her.

He was handsome, his dark hair swept back from a broad forehead, with features that were almost Latharian but not quite, the cheekbones sharper, the jaw harder. He wore a suit in deep browns and golds, his eyes and skin were the same as the warlady’s.

Vorrtan. He was Vorrtan.

“I’m sorry,” she said, heat burning across her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

His lips curved. “You weren’t staring. You were looking somewhere else, and I was in the way.”

She gave him a small, uncertain smile. “That’s a very generous interpretation.”

“I’m a very generous person.” He inclined his head, formal but not stiff. “I’m Rhav. You’re the human. Delilah, yes?”

Surprise washed through her. “You know my name?”

“My lady mentioned you. The healer’s guest.”

The healer’s ‘guest’. Yeah, that stung.

“Yeah. That’s me. The healer’s guest.” She tried the wine again, then set the glass down before she finished it.

“You’re part of the warlady’s… delegation?” she asked carefully.

“Delegation? Polite way of putting it. Yeah, I suppose I am.” He reached for his glass and smiled at her over the rim. “For once anyway.”

Delilah frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She has… favorites.” His lips quirked, and he took a drink. “I’m often not one of them.”

Oh.