If the jackals, and Hector in particular, would let her, that was. Remembering how the young jackal had fled as if his tail was on fire, Rana regained her composure, keeping her hands occupied with putting her supplies away. “Was that necessary?”
Hector sauntered further into the room, hands behind his back, observing her every move. Rana instinctively tracked him, trying to dismiss the sensation of being stalked. “He’s a cub. Hardly a challenge for you.”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need my patients to challenge me.” She moved to a cabinet to restock the bandages, telling herself that she wasn’t retreating from him. Not really. “May I ask to what I owe the honor of this visit? Our weekly update meeting isn’t until tomorrow.”
The meetings shouldn’t have been with him at all. She was supposed to have these meetings with Tia. Part of Tia’s duties as Anput, the female embodiment of Anubis, was to see to the physical welfare of the jackals. Rana had worked with Tia to completely redesign the infirmary, and the weekly meetings were to give the Anput a status check on the general health of the clan.
For some unknown reason, Hector had taken over the meetings as of last week. She hadn’t questioned it—clan business wasn’t her business, after all—but sitting down with Tia was a lot easier than sitting down with Hector.
“You’ve noticed by now that we have few women. While many females have two mates, that still leaves numerous men without a partner. Many of them have never known a woman’s touch.”
“Seriously?”
His hard gaze roamed over her. “The younger ones are still settling into their nature, their discipline. You and your fellow priestesses have upset that discipline.”
She forced herself to continue putting away her supplies. “If your men have a discipline problem, it’s not because of anything that I have done.”
“Truly?” His eyes narrowed. “How many warriors have come to you with injuries?”
A surprising number, enough that made her wonder if “practice” for jackals meant fight to the death. “More than I would have thought.”
“Too many,” he agreed, his tone sharpening. “Willing to risk permanent damage just to know your touch. Therefore, you are not to treat any jackal for anything less than bone protruding from flesh. Even then, if a jackal enters the infirmary under his own power, he is not injured enough to require your services.”
The brusqueness of his tone stiffened her back. “You can’t ask me to do that!”
He bared his teeth. “I’m not asking.”
Rana dropped the roll of gauze, her hands settling on her hips. “And you most certainly can’t order me to do that, either. I refuse!”
He blinked in surprise, as if no one had ever dared defy him. Rana probably wouldn’t have, either, over anything but her calling. When it came to healing, she answered only to the gods themselves, and she’d question them if they wanted her to do harm.
His gaze narrowed. “Watch your tone, witch!”
“Is that supposed to be an insult, jackal?” Acting before thinking, Rana crossed to him, stopping when they were nose to nose. “Yes, I’m a witch—a damn good one, if I say so myself. And I’m also a doctor. I went to med school, did emergency-room rotations and spent some time in Africa with Doctors Without Borders. I have stared down warlords and children with rifles, so all your growling and chest beating have zero effect on me.”
She jabbed her forefinger into his chest with every sentence she spat. “You don’t decide whom I treat. You don’t decide how severe an injury is. You don’t decide anything about the infirmary at all. Your commander, Markus, put me in charge of this infirmary, and as long as I’m here, I will treat anyone who comes to me for assistance, whether that is a pup with a scraped knee or a guard with a gaping wound. This is my charge and my duty, and I won’t let anyone keep me from doing it. Not even you!”
A tense silence fell between them. Her fingertip hurt from poking it into Hector’s rock-hard chest. Realization sank its claws into Rana’s awareness as Hector’s eyes glowed molten. She was probably the first person to challenge his authority. And most likely the last.
Oh, crap.
His hand covered hers on his chest. Her palm flattened out, cupping one very well developed pectoral muscle. Heat sped from her hand, up her arm to burn her cheeks and enflame her insides.
“So much fire,” he said, his voice low with wonder. “I always thought Isis witches were cold.”
That insulted her more than being called a witch. “I’m not—”
“I know.”
His hand stroked over hers, flat against his heart. She could feel the fast tempo of a jackal’s heartbeat through her fingertips, sure and strong. Your body is amazing.
His fingers tightened on hers. “My body’s what?”
Gods, did she say that aloud? “Uh—I mean, your physiology’s amazing. I don’t know much about jackal biology, but I’m hoping the information I’m gathering can be used to heal.”
A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. “So we’re nothing more than guinea pigs to you.”
Stung, she tried to snatch her hand away, but he wouldn’t let her. “Of course not! But the more information I gather, the better I’ll be able to help you, all of you.”
“Why?”
She blinked, surprised at the simple question. “Why what?”
“Why are you so...passionate about helping jackals?”
“I don’t care if they’re jackals or wolves or humans or Daughters of Isis. They’re patients first. If they need my help, my healing skills, I’m going to give it to them.”
He cocked his head, his skepticism clear. “You can so easily forget that we were enemies, not even two months ago?”
Butterflies formed in her belly. “I’m only three hundred years old, so the tragedy that severed our alliance was the equivalent of a history lesson to me. No jackals have ever personally caused me harm. I hadn’t even met a jackal until your clan came to the coven to defend Tia from the Lost Ones and my—and Amansuanan. If anything, that event proved how wrong the Daughters were to blame you and fear you. It made me even more determined to help your clan.”
She stared up into those amazing silver-green eyes, trying to read him. “Do you still think of us as enemies?”
“Not all of you.” Distrust and a healthy dose of confusion pushed back some of the anger in his expression. “Not you.”
Their gazes locked. Hector’s nostrils flared. She didn’t know if she swayed forward or he did, but their cheeks brushed as each inhaled the other’s scent. Gods, he smelled good.
He felt even better.
“What is it about you?” Wonder filled his voice.
Again she tried to pull her hand away. Again he restrained her. “I don’t understand what you’re asking. I’m just standing here.”
“No. There’s something about you.” He leaned closer. “Something that makes my men careless in practice just so that they can have you tend to them. I would know why they choose to risk my wrath to come to you.”
“I don’t do anything other than ask them questions as I treat them,” she managed to say, painfully aware of the frenetic beating of her heart. “Same as I have done for the female jackals, for the children. Getting a medical history is standard practice.”
He stared down at her, skepticism silvering