The Beholder by Connie Hall

tried not to look at the line of hair that went down his belly and below his jeans while she extracted the blood-soaked bandages. She cleaned the wounds on his chest, shoulder and arm, then moved down his belly tothe caked blood that had pooled around the waist of his jeans.
    She stopped there and assessed the wounds on his chest. Two were very deep and jagged on his upper shoulder. Three were on his forearms and biceps. An open gash slashed very near the base of his neck, but it wasn’t as bad as his shoulder injuries.
    She tried to use the butterfly strips, but he was bleeding too profusely and they wouldn’t stick. If she didn’t do something soon, he’d die for sure.
    She glanced around, then walked over to the fireplace and pulled out the poker. She’d never attempted this before, but she’d seen it done in the old Westerns her grandmother liked to watch. She prayed it worked. She thrust it into the fire and didn’t take it out until the tip was burning red hot.
    She gulped, summoned her courage and thrust the poker down into the deepest gashes, cauterizing them. He bucked and thrashed but didn’t wake up. Thank goodness, because she could smell the scent of burning flesh, and it sickened her. It was the same scent the gleaner had left behind when he’d killed Emma Baldoon. Bile rose in her throat, and she ran to the bathroom to vomit. After she rinsed her mouth and splashed icy water on her face, she returned to his side.
    Once cauterized, the wounds stopped bleeding. She smeared antibiotic ointment on them and bandaged them tightly, winding the gauze around his whole shoulder. She couldn’t help it, but her fingers itched to touch his powerfully built body. It seemed safe enough. Her fingers trembled as she explored his muscular contours.He really was an exquisite male specimen. Her heart began to pound as she felt her body becoming excited. She’d never explored a man’s body at her leisure. She’d just never gotten that close to want to stroke a man intimately. She’d petted two-skins in animal form, but that was different. She was helping them. Touch was a powerful tool for healing. But touching Kane’s bare skin didn’t feel useful, it felt naughty and forbidden, something she could easily grow to enjoy. She pulled her hands back, afraid of her own response. He was her abductor, she reminded herself.
    She meant to draw her hands down to her side, but her fingers paused over the swollen wounds. It was a shame, but now his chest would be as scarred as his back. Seeing such perfect male beauty damaged in such a way saddened her, and she wondered again who had put the wounds on his back.
    He was shivering now, uncontrollably, his teeth chattering. It brought Nina back to her senses and she scolded herself for enjoying the wicked little pleasure of exploring his body. She went in search of blankets and found them in the bedroom cedar chest, along with a down comforter—a nice surprise.
    On her way into the living room, she paused before the dresser. She held the candle close to three pictures sitting there. One was of a beautiful woman, standing outside. She had bright blond hair, laughing, upturned, catlike brown eyes and full, smiling lips. Her face exuded confidence, and Nina was willing to bet she was an alpha female seniph. She was stunningly gorgeous. No doubt one of Van Cleave’s conquests. An unwelcomepang of jealousy nagged at her. Silly, she chided herself, but it wouldn’t go away.
    The other picture was of a couple. Gray streaked the man’s golden hair. He wore the stern, harsh expression of an unforgiving taskmaster. The woman was smaller, auburn-haired, and her face held a frail smile. Her eyes looked trapped and needy and full of sadness. If the picture was any evidence, they weren’t a happy couple. Were these Kane’s parents? The man’s handsome features resembled Kane’s in many respects.
    The last photo was of Kane, his arm around a younger man. They each held up two huge bass