Free Vengeance Born (The Light Blade #1) by Kylie Griffin

His groin started to ache and throb. He had no control over his body’s response, and that confused him.
    Careful not to touch her more than was necessary, he eased the material over her abdomen and hips. He couldn’t stop himself looking at her. The pale glow of dawn lightened bare flesh at the junction of her thighs and her skin took on a tawny hue. She had curves in all the right places, undeniably a woman, but her limbs were lean like a female warrior’s. There was strength in her well-toned muscles, even while relaxed. He swallowed dryly as his arousal increased, and tried to fight it.
    Merciful Mother, give me strength. Sucking a breath in through his teeth, he forced his thoughts back to the task in hand. He’d treated female warriors on the field of battle, stripped them to tend wounds. Not once had he had this sort of instant physical reaction. Now should be no different.
    Checking the claw marks scoring her ribs, he saw that they were red raw but not bleeding. Thank the Lady . She couldn’t afford to lose any more blood. Rolling her onto her side, he checked her back, and was surprised to see a myriad of pale scars marking her skin, mingling among the twin trails of her body markings; old ones and none of them claw marks.
    Back in the tunnel there hadn’t been enough light to see them. He traced one of the longer ones with his finger. It had been made by something thin and straight, perhaps a cane or very thin belt. She’d been beaten. Disturbing.
    Quickly cleaning the blood off her body he spread a little vaa’jahn over the scratches to ward off infection. Her skin was smooth, silky, and as soft as it looked. And ice cold.
    “Fool of a warrior,” he hissed under his breath. Here he was staring at her while she froze. His arousal tempered by his thoughtlessness, he jammed the cork back into the jar and quickly drew the second blanket over her.
    Wrapping another blanket around himself, he sat against the cave wall and leaned his head back. Old bruises throbbed and his limbs were beginning to ache. He longed to lie down and sleep but, in unknown territory, instinct warned him to keep watch.
    Kalan pulled Annika’s healing pouch closer. The leather was soft but well crafted. He ran his fingertips over the sun etched into the flap. The symbol was a familiar one. It belonged to the Lady , an image used to remind believers of her power and goodness.
    Again the incongruence of the situation caught him off guard. The symbol was a reminder that a demon believed in Her . He had no doubt She had preordained Annika’s healing Gift and faith, but who had encouraged and guided her? The old healer, Hesia? Other human-slaves?
    The Na’Reish certainly wouldn’t have encouraged her. They ridiculed the Lady and desecrated any temple they found, murdering and obscenely displaying the bodies of any Handmaiden or Manservant discovered within.
    Kalan flipped open the pouch flap and peered inside. It was well stocked. He sifted through and examined various bags, jars, vials, bandages, and small instruments.
    “The tools of a healer,” he murmured, setting them on the ground beside him.
    Spotting a small pocket sewn into the side of the pouch, he felt inside, eyebrows lifting as his fingers brushed against something cold. It felt like a necklace. The feeble morning light caught on a small sun charm dangling from the silver chain. It was a Light Blade amulet, similar to the one that hung around his neck.
    Smoothing his thumb over the etching, he wondered at the woman who’d worn it. Had she been taken in battle? Annika was young, perhaps in her early to mid-twenties, several years younger than he, so that gave him a rough idea of when her mother had lived. The Council had records going back half a millennium of all the Light Blades killed or lost in battle against the Na’Reish . He had little doubt the warrior would be listed among them.
    Should he make it back home, Annika’s presence there would certainly cause uproar,