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bed, she staggered to the door.
    Unheeding of her nakedness—what had she to hide?—Jane flung open the door of the hut and found herself confronted by two large, dark-skinned men. Guards.
    They blocked the way with strong arms and long spears, and seemed to have no intention of allowing her to leave. Jane didn’t know what she would have done if Cold Eyes hadn’t walked up at that moment.
    “I demand to see Zaren,” she told him, standing straight and tall—very aware of the hot gazes from the spear-wielding men. “Take me to him now.”
    Cold Eyes swept her with a disinterested look and appeared ready to ignore her demand, but she would have none of it.
    “Take me to him or I will bring down my wrath on your people,” she pressed. “If I am angry, they will know whom to blame. And I can be very angry. And very unaccommodating.” She cut a dark, warning look at the guards, who’d stepped back in the wake of her furious words…but still ogled her jaunty breasts tipped with nipples that were still bright red from Dahla’s determined mouth.
    Jane had no power here but the villagers’ belief in her as a goddess, but she would use that advantage as long as she could. If Cold Eyes wasn’t so disliked and distrusted by his people, she would never have this leverage.
    “Of course, goddess,” said Cold Eyes when he felt the measured weight of the two guards’ attention pass from her to him and back.
    Even Jane recognized their uncertainty. They couldn’t understand their words—which was a benefit to her. They just knew she was angry, and that Cold Eyes had acquiesced to her.
    “You may see the man. He’s feverish and has yet to awaken, though he has been well tended to.” Then Cold Eyes’s thin lips curved into a flat smile. “And you might wish to rest before tonight. I suspect you shall be even busier than last evening.”
    Jane swallowed hard and her pip gave a sudden little pulse, as if to remind her how willing her body was to accept this role. “Where is he?” she demanded by way of response.
    “There, of course.” He gestured languidly with a large hand, pointing to the healer’s hut.
    Jane wasted no further time. She didn’t even grab anything with which to cover herself—what was the point?—and darted over to the hut. After that one animalistic cry, she’d heard no other sounds of pain or anguish.
    She flung the door of the hut open—she was a goddess, after all—sending a myriad of young female attendants scattering with startled squeaks. The elderly healing woman was nowhere in sight, but there was Zaren, sprawled on the same pallet on which she’d left him…yesterday? Late yesterday afternoon.
    He didn’t move or otherwise acknowledge the sound of her entrance, and Jane rushed over to him.
    He was hot to the touch, and her pulse spiked with fear. His skin had a fine sheen of perspiration glossing it, and his breathing was raspy and rough. Covered only by a scrap of cloth draped over his hips, the rest of his glorious, powerful body was naked. Jane felt a sharp pang of lust and some stronger, deep emotion as she knelt on the pallet beside him. He was so strong…surely he would fight through this.
    “Zaren,” she whispered, stroking his arm and smoothing the springy coils of hair from his face. Tears gathered at her eyes and a pang of fear shot through her. He had to recover. He must live.
    At her touch, he seemed to become more aware. He mumbled something that sounded like her name—rough and coarse, but definitely something like “ Jaaaane ”…and he reached out blindly.
    Her heart leapt with hope and she grasped his powerful hand. His fingers curled around hers as if she were a lifeline. He muttered something again, pulling her down next to him…next to his too-hot, too-damp body. His grip was surprisingly strong, and Jane allowed herself to be imprisoned: brought up tight to his torso, enveloped by him.
    She closed her eyes, exhausted, afraid—but home.
    And when his