Originally Human

muscle but leaving his innards intact. One of the thigh wounds was no more than a deep scratch. The other…
    I sighed, unhappy with what I saw with the blood cleaned away. "How good are you at healing? The muscle is badly damaged, and I'm not sure my sewing skills are up to putting it back together right."
    "Sewing? You wish to sew my muscle?"
    "I'll have to, unless you can do something."
    He was silent, but with an inward look that suggested he was checking things out in his own way. A moment later, the wound began to close.
    It was fascinating to watch. Flesh touched flesh as if hands were gently urging the sides of the wound together, then gradually meshed into unity like dough kneaded back into a single lump. And a delicious energy surged through me, conveyed from him to me through my hand on his leg. My fingers tingled. I licked my lips.
    And snatched my hand back. He was a guest, not a meal. Shaken, I let go of my hold on the white, interior space. The slow knitting of his flesh was still fascinating, but my vision was colored by compassion now.
    When he finished, the gash was nearly closed and his face was the color of mushrooms. I patted his knee in a motherly way. "Very impressive."
    His voice was flat with fatigue. "I cannot do the rest now."
    "None of the others are as deep. They'll heal on their own, I imagine." I stood. "Now, if you can stay awake a little longer, you need fluids. Since I can't provide an IV, you'll have to drink as much as you can. Water or orange juice?"
    He licked his lips. "Water. Molly?"
    I waited.
    "What are you?"
    I could have pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. That was my first impulse. He was weak, lost, sundered even from his name. He wouldn't be hard to deceive. I could have asked what he meant, then unraveled whatever chain of logic had led him to ask that question. I'm good at that. I have to be. And the thought of how he'd react to the truth ached like a fresh bruise laid down over old wounds.
    But those blue eyes held steady on me, and there was something about them… "I'm a succubus."
    His eyes widened.
    "Cursed, not damned," I added firmly. "A long time ago, by someone who knew what She was doing when it came to curses. I'm not a demon. Originally, I was human."
    "Ah." The tension went out of his face, and his eyelids drooped. "That explains it. Better hurry… with water." His speech was slurring as he let go of whatever force of will had been keeping him awake. He smiled at me. "Thank you, Molly."

----
Chapter 3

    HE liked television. And he loved the remote.
    At ten-twenty the next morning he was propped up on my couch, channel surfing madly. He'd woken when Erin arrived and had insisted on moving there, over my objections. But he was doing amazingly well.
    Erin was outside, readying herself and the spell. She wouldn't perform it out there—between dogs, children, and nosy neighbors that simply wasn't practical. But she needed earth beneath her feet for the preparation.
    I'd shown her the spot where my guest arrived last night. Erin had hmm'd and frowned, nodding now and then like a doctor examining a patient, then sent me away.
    I was in my galley—it's too small to be called a kitchen—putting together a
bouquet garni
for the chicken simmering on the stove. The connection between chicken soup and healing may not have been established scientifically, but I'm sure it exists.
    "Arthur?" I suggested. "Adam? Aillen?"
    He looked away from the television, a sudden smile lighting his face. "You find me handsome?"
    "You know Gaelic!" I exclaimed. Another puzzle piece, but I had no idea what to do with it. He looked Celtic, but that lovely, upper-crust British accent… I shook my head and plucked a bit of thyme from the pot on the counter by the window. "Of course I find you handsome. You're gorgeous. You know that. Even if you don't remember, you've seen yourself in the mirror." Before occupying my couch, he'd asked where he could relieve himself. I'd had to explain the plumbing.
    He touched his jaw as if reminding himself of the face he hadn't recognized. "It seemed to be a pleasing face, but standards of beauty vary widely."
    "I wonder if you talk that way in your native language. Have you remembered any more of it?"
    "Any more?"
    "You said something to me in another language when you first arrived."
    His brows knit. "I don't remember. What way do I talk?"
    "Correctly. Formally. Did any of those names ring a bell?"
    "Ring a bell… oh. You wonder if