Instructing the Novice

by Evangeline Anderson

  “Gods, you are.” He looked at her, his eyes shining. “Your voice is as beautiful as it ever was.”

  “Thank you.” Lizabeth felt her cheeks getting warm with his compliment. “But…how did you do it?”

  A little smile played around the corners of his sensual mouth.

  “With love and patience and tenderness. I’m your mate, Lizabeth—at least partially. My body wants to heal yours.”

  “Oh, Lone…” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him—very softly—on the mouth. “Thank you,” she said, pulling back at last. “Thank you so much—I really didn’t want to have to get an artificial voice-box implanted. It sounded even worse than the skin grafts Commander Sylvan offered me.”

  “Skin grafts?” He frowned. “You mean for…” He gestured to her thighs and Lizabeth bit her lip. Why had she brought up her other injuries?

  “Yes,” she said reluctantly. “The…the places where the Shaman used…used the hot knife on me. There are…scars.”

  “Gods…” Abruptly his gray eyes were hard and cold. “I wish I could have gotten to your sooner—wish I could have made that bastard pay even more for what he did to you.”

  Lizabeth shuddered, remembering the bloody retribution Lone had exacted from the hapless Shaman.

  “You did a good enough job,” she assured him. “But I really don’t want to think about it right now. I’m…trying to forget.”

  “You were tortured, Lizabeth,” he murmured sadly. Stroking a lock of hair from her eyes, he looked at her. “That’s hard to get over, sweetheart. You might need to talk about it—it’s better than trying to bury it.”

  “All right, but I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Lizabeth said. “We were doing just fine a minute ago. Can’t we just…go back to that?”

  Lone raised an eyebrow at her.

  “To me healing you, you mean? Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do.”

  But then, to her surprise, he lifted her off his lap—again as though she weighed no more than a doll—and sat her firmly on the couch.

  “Why did you do that?” Lizabeth asked, frowning at him.

  “So I could do this.”

  Lone slid to his knees before her and placed his big hands on her thighs. Looking earnestly into her face, he murmured, “Mistress—may I heal you lower?”

  “Heal…heal my thighs, you mean?” Suddenly Lizabeth’s mouth seemed almost too dry to speak.

  Slowly, Lone nodded.

  “I want to erase the marks they put on you—I want to try and ease the pain you feel because I didn’t get to you in time. And because I love you,” he added softly.

  “Oh Lone, I don’t blame you for any of what happened—you know that.” She reached out to run a hand through his thick, dark hair affectionately and Lone nuzzled against her palm. Turning his face, he placed soft kisses on her seeking fingers.

  “Let me heal you,” he murmured. “Please, Lizabeth.”

  “Well…” Lizabeth thought about protesting that there was no way he could actually erase the marks on her skin. They were mostly scars now—scars she would carry the rest of her life. But after the way he had magically healed her ruptured vocal chords with kisses, she felt like anything might be possible.

  “All right,” she said at last, feeling self conscious. At least she had just taken a shower. “If…if you really want to try.”

  “I do.” He was already nuzzling between her legs, coaxing her knees apart and asking her silently to spread her thighs. “Please, Mistress—open for me,” he murmured.

  Lizabeth felt another little shiver of pure desire run through her. She reminded herself again that it was useless to feel this way after the damage the Shaman’s knife had done between her legs but she couldn’t seem to help it. At least she had on lacy panties which hid her pussy from view, she reasoned with herself. With a soft sigh, she allowed her thighs to drift apart and watched as Lone pushed up the hem of her lacy white gown.

  When her scarred inner thighs at last came into view, she heard Lone draw in a breath and a barrage of emotions came through their partial link. Sorrow, anger, pity…all flowed between them as he took in what had been done to her.

  Looking down, Lizabeth saw herself as he must—the twisted, mangled flesh…the straggling alien alphabet burned into her skin…the ugly scars. God, she was disgusting! Disfigured for life.

  She tried to shut her thighs—tried to hide the awful sight from both of them—but Lone wouldn’t let her. He put one big hand on either knee and held her open. Though Lizabeth struggled to break free she couldn’t.

  “No, Lizabeth,” he murmured, his low voice broken. “No sweetheart, let me look. I need to see.” When he looked up at her, his gray eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “I felt your pain as we came down the mountain,” he said in a low voice. “I knew they were hurting you but this…”

  “Can you heal it?” Lizabeth surprised herself by saying. Half of her was embarrassed to ask him to kiss the ugly scars that now marred her formerly smooth inner thighs. But she couldn’t seem to help herself—the other half of her desperately wanted to be healed. Even if it was embarrassing and unsightly. She wanted the pain to be stopped and the scars erased—she didn’t want to remember what had been done to her every time she looked down at herself. “Please, Lone,” she repeated. “Can you?”

  A burst of determination came through their partial bond and he set his jaw.

  “I’m damn well going to try, sweetheart,” he murmured. “So just relax back against the couch—this might take a while.”

  Lizabeth tried to do as he said but she couldn’t help feeling stiff and uncertain. Her throat had been painfully injured but the damage had been on the inside. With her thighs, the ugly scarring was right out in the open—it was hard to believe that Lone would even want to touch her there, let alone lick or kiss her, even to heal her.

  “Oh, sweetheart—of course I want to heal you,” Lone murmured, looking up at her. “You’re beautiful to me—always beautiful—no matter what.”

  “You…did you hear what I was thinking?” Lizabeth asked uncertainly.

  He shook his head. “Our bond isn’t complete so I can’t hear your thoughts. But I’m picking up your emotions loud and clear—self doubt, uncertainty, unhappiness with how you look…”

  Lizabeth had to admit she had been feeling all those things.

  “Well…” She sighed. “Yes, I guess that’s pretty accurate.”

  “I want you to do something for me,” Lone told her. “I want you to open yourself to my emotions as I heal you. Try to feel what I’m feeling for you. Can you do that for me, Lizabeth?”

  She nodded. “I…I’ll try.”

  “Good. Now open a little wider, Mistress…” His gray eyes flashed. “I need room to work.”

  Lizabeth sighed and relaxed back against the couch cushions as he bent to place a soft, soothing kiss on her right inner thigh. The feel of his hot breath against her scarred flesh was intense and she had to bite her lower lip to keep from making a sound when he began placing soft, feather-light kisses along the marks the knife had made.

  She closed her eyes as he kissed her and tried to do as he had asked—tried to open herself to his emotions instead of concentrating on her own.

  Love…fidelity…caring…compassion…flowed from the big Kindred between her thighs. She sensed a sincere and earnest wish to heal her as well but there was more than just altruistic emotions coming from Lone. As he kissed and licked her inner thighs, working his healing magic, she felt more coming through their bond.

  Desire…yearning…craving…need…she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen…the only woman he wanted…the only woman he would ever want and he craved her like he craved his next breath.

  “Oh, Lone,” she whispered reaching down to ruffle his dark hair with one hand. “You’re amazing. Do you really feel all that for me?”

  He looked up at her, his eyes half-lidded with desire.

  “All that a
nd more…Mistress.”

  There was his use of her Yonnite title again—his obvious desire to serve and please her. Lizabeth wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She had assumed he was only playing a role while they were at the Tower of the Higher Mind. But could it be possible that Lone wanted to play her Novice here on the Mother Ship, even though it wasn’t necessary?

  “Lone…” she began but he interrupted her.

  “Look at yourself—at your thighs, Lizabeth. You’re healed.”

  “Am I?” She was almost afraid to look but after what he’d done for her throat, she couldn’t doubt that it was so. Looking down between her legs, she examined her inner thighs which were still damp from the way he had kissed and licked them.

  To her amazement the twisted burn scars were all gone. In their place was skin as soft and baby-smooth as though she’d never been marked at all.

  “Lone,” she whispered, looking up at him. “This is…amazing. Incredible! I know I shouldn’t be surprised after the way you healed my voice but this is just…I never expected it to be so…so perfect.”

  “You’re the one who’s perfect,” he murmured, dipping his head to place another soft kiss on the inside of her knee. “I’m so glad I was able to heal you completely—I don’t want a single mark to be left on you to remind you of that awful time.”

  “Of course. Not…not a single mark.” But somehow Lizabeth couldn’t quite make the words come out sounding as light and normal as she wanted them to. She couldn’t help thinking with shame of the one mark that was left—the one that would scar her forever even though it wasn’t visible right now.

  Lone frowned and sat back on his heels. He had his head cocked, almost as though he was listening to a sound so faint only he could hear it.

  “What are these emotions I feel coming from you, Lizabeth?” he asked her. “Why are you suddenly so sad and guilty? Is there someplace else you’re injured? Someplace you don’t want to tell me about?”

  Lizabeth nibbled her lower lip, debating with herself. She knew what he would have to do to heal her—knew where he would have to taste her. He had done it before, when they were at the Tower—several times, in fact. But still, it was embarrassing. Also, despite the miraculous way he’d healed her other injuries, she wasn’t sure healing would be possible with this one. She kept seeing the sad look on Commander Sylvan’s face when he told her that the nerves had been both cut and cauterized and there was nothing even Kindred medical technology could do to restore her sensitivity.

  “Lizabeth?” Lone murmured, raising an eyebrow at her. “You might as well tell me, sweetheart. I’m going to find out somehow one way or another.”

  “It’s embarrassing,” she said stiffly. “And…and I don’t know if you can heal it. Commander Sylvan seemed to think there was, uh, no hope of recovery.”

  “What is it?” He put his hands on her thighs, looking up at her. “What did they do to you, Lizabeth?”

  “Pretty much what they set out to do, even though that damn Shaman didn’t get to finish the job.” She couldn’t help the bitterness she heard in her voice. She was angry at what had been done to her—angry and resentful and filled with regret and loss.

  Lone seemed to feel all she was feeling because he put a hand to his heart and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his forehead wrinkling with the intensity of her emotion.

  “So much pain, sweetheart,” he said hoarsely. “Please—even if you don’t think I can heal you, please tell me where it is. Please let me at least try.”

  “Well…” Lizabeth sighed, seeing that he wasn’t going to give up asking until she told him. “It…it’s between my legs,” she admitted, relenting at last. “After…after he finished carving those damn words into my inner thighs, that bastard started to cut me…to cut my…” She shook her head, trying to get the words out. “Remember the Friezens practiced female mutilation?” she asked, trying again.

  “Gods…” Lone’s face went pale. “I didn’t think he got to you there. Did he cut out your—”

  “Not all the way,” Lizabeth said quickly. “He started to but just as he made the first stroke, that’s when you came in.” She shivered, remembering Lone’s bloody entrance and the way he had torn out the assistant’s throat before he was even all the way through the door.

  “So he didn’t get…get very far?” There was a faint hope in Lone’s gray eyes.

  “No, not far,” Lizabeth said. “But unfortunately, he got far enough. Because the knife he was using was red-hot, he not only cut the nerves—he cauterized them too. And Commander Sylvan told me…” She sighed. “Told me that nothing can be done because it’s such a sensitive area.”

  Lone frowned.

  “Maybe nothing can be done in the med center, but I’m your mate, Lizabeth. I may be the one person who can help—will you let me try?”

  She started to ask if he really wanted to but the look in his eyes and the need and desire to heal that came through their link was so strong the question died on her lips. Lone wanted this—wanted it as much or more than she did. He wanted to serve her in this intimate capacity, to make her whole, and to bring her pleasure if he could as well. Because he loved her.

  It was that strong emotion more than anything else that made her nod her head.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, you can try. Even if you could restore just a little of the sensation, it would be nice. I’m just…numb down there right now and I hate it.” Tears stung her eyes and she tried to hold them back.

  “Oh, sweetheart—of course I’ll try.” He stroked her thighs soothingly and then let his long fingers slide up until he was caressing the edge of her white lace panties. “But I’m afraid these will have to come off.”

  “All right.” Lizabeth lifted her hips as he hooked his fingers into the sides of the white, lacy panties and let him slide them off. Lone put his big hands on her inner thighs and she spread for him obediently. There was no sense in being coy, she told herself, even though her heart was pounding. He’d been here before. In fact, according to him, between her thighs was one of Lone’s favorite places to be.

  And anyway, it’s not like I can feel anything he does, she told herself.

  Lone looked up at her, framing her pussy with his warm hands.

  “I’m going to have to spread you open, Lizabeth,” he murmured. “To see where I need to heal you.”

  “Yes…go…go ahead.” Despite telling herself it was ridiculous because she could no longer feel anything, Lizabeth’s voice came out sounding breathy and her body seemed to ache all over. How she loved the feeling of his big, warm hands stroking up and down her inner thighs! How she wished she could feel more.

  “Gently now,” Lone murmured, looking up at her. “Let me see what we’re dealing with.”

  Using his thumbs, he parted her puffy outer pussy lips, revealing her pink inner folds. His gray eyes, serious and intent, scanned over her, assessing the damage.

  Lizabeth looked too, though she hadn’t been able to bear to examine herself earlier. The scarring here wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been on her thighs. In fact, you could hardly see where the hot knife had stabbed her at all. It was just a little dimpled place right over the hood of her clit but it was placed in just the right spot, deadening all her pleasure.

  “Oh Lizabeth—your poor little clit.” Lone’s voice was thick with emotion again. He leaned forward and kissed her there tenderly—a gentle, soft sucking kiss that Lizabeth could feel in the surrounding area, but not on her clit itself.

  Her heart sank.

  “Lone,” she whispered. “It…it’s not working. I can’t feel much of anything.”

  “Give me a chance to work on you,” he murmured, his eyes flashing. “I need to lick you, sweetheart. Need to bathe your sweet little clit with my tongue to spread the healing essence my body is making for yours all over the affected area.”

  Lizabeth bit her lip at his frank words but it only made sense, she supposed. And why shouldn’t he lick and ta
ste her here? She wouldn’t even feel guilty about it, she told herself. After all, it wasn’t like she could derive any pleasure from the act.

  “All right,” she murmured, spreading her thighs even wider for him. “Do what you want to me, Lone. I’m yours.”

  “And I’m yours, Mistress,” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to hers for a long moment. “Let me show you my devotion. Let me heal you.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he got back between her thighs and began to lick her…long, slow, movements of his tongue as though Lizabeth was a scoop of creamy ice cream in the sun and he was determined to lick her all up before she melted.

  Lizabeth bit her lip and let him do it, trying to relax into the intimate act which seemed to come so naturally to Lone. She let her thighs fall open wider and took a deep breath, willing herself to just let him work on her and not feel any shame or uncertainty. Willing herself to drink in the erotic beauty of the scene with Lone’s broad shoulders splitting her thighs wide…his dark head bent over her pussy…his long tongue caressing her pink, open folds over and over again with slow, infinite patience.

  She wasn’t quite sure when she started feeling something. It was a sensation of warmth at first—that same healing energy she’d felt flowing between them before, when he’d healed her throat and inner thighs. But soon the tiny spark of warmth grew to a tingle and then to a flood of heat that seemed to envelope her entire pussy.

  “Lone,” she whispered, almost afraid to talk about it for fear she might jinx what was going on. “Lone, I…I think I can almost feel something.”

  His only answer was to lick harder—lick more. His expressive eyes looked up, watching her as he lapped and sucked her pussy relentlessly. Slowly, the feelings inside her grew and grew.

  “Lone,” she murmured again, reaching down to run her fingers restlessly through his hair. “Don’t stop. It…it’s beginning to feel good. Really good.”

  In fact, the spark of heat had grown inside her until it seemed to fill her belly like a golden glow and her nipples were so stiff they ached.