The Prison Healer (The Prison Healer, #1)

by Lynette Noni

No one loathed Kiva more than she did herself, but she couldn’t regret her choices, regardless of the cost.

Kiva’s hand tightened around the razor before she forced her fingers to relax. The last thing she needed was for the guard to sense any spark of rebellion in her. Impassive and submissive—that was how she survived.

This guard was new, someone Kiva had noticed for the first time a few days ago, her watchful amber eyes cool and detached in her youthful face. Her skin was two shades lighter than the blackest black, indicating that she hailed from Jiirva or perhaps Hadris, both kingdoms renowned for their skilled warriors.

Kiva inspected his newly cleaned skin, taking in the considerable bruising across his abdomen. A kaleidoscope of color blossomed on his flesh,

With bright red hair and wide blue eyes, Tipp looked like a burning candle. He acted like one, too, full of energy and crackling with passion.

Again, Kiva found herself wondering what kind of life this man had come from that had led him to fall so far.

When Naari continued to stare down at him, Kiva did the same. High brows, straight nose, long lashes . . . the kind of angles a painter would be in raptures about. There was a crescent-shaped cut over his left eye that needed to be stitched, deep enough that it would leave a pale scar on his honeyed skin.

Kiva did what she had to—she healed people, but she hurt them, too.

“Pretty face or not, he’s still a man, Tipp.” “So?” “So,” Kiva said, “most men are pigs.” There was a loaded silence, the only sound being a quiet huff from Naari at the door—almost as if she were amused—before Tipp finally said, “I’m a man. I’m not a p-pig.” “You’re still young,” Kiva returned. “Give it time.”

I know thats right

He touched his brow, wincing when he found the bump, his fingers coming away red with blood. Kiva bit her cheek to keep from scolding him. She’d have to clean it again now, before adding the sutures.

“Tipp,” Kiva barked, his name a command.

“This doesn’t look like much from the outside, but it’s only an entrance to what’s below. Everything happens deep underground—not

But it was his scar that set him apart, cutting above and below his right eye, like an interrupted diamond.

Zalindov was getting to him, she could tell, even if it hadn’t yet broken him.

“She’s dangerous. If you value anything I say, stay away from her.” “I value everything you say, Kiva.”

So you’re right, you don’t need me fighting your battles.” He moved a step closer, his tone husky as he finished, “But . . . if you’ll let me, I’d like to be standing beside you as you fight them.”

Once upon a time, it had helped bring her peace; perhaps it would now, too.

Their story didn’t end as it should have. But I know for a fact that they’d live it all over again, even the ending, as long as it meant they could keep their beginning.” But, Papa, the endings are the best part. Sometimes, sweetheart. But other times, the beginnings are.

“Never apologize for loving someone. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”

“I’m here,” he said, holding her tighter. “You’re alive. You’re alive.” He said it like a prayer, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Kiva’s breaths sounded loud to her ears.