Kenyan Heat (Darkin World Book 1)

Chapter Four

Four days later, Ife was still thinking of the man she'd taken home after the full moon. There'd been two bombings in Nairobi and a handful of others in outlying areas. Zaire was out of the city with a large portion of his army. His peace was no more.

When new patients came in, the shifter's was the first face Ife searched for in the sea of wounded. The mystery man was never among the casualties, however. She could only hope he wasn't injured or worse.

It was a ridiculous fear as Ife knew he was a shifter. Most wounds weren't fatal to their race. Besides, were he severely injured, human medicine wouldn't help. Shaman healing and nature would be the mystery werelion's best chances for recovery if that were the case.

Ife worked long hours putting humans back together. The most heart-wrenching cases were the children. The ugliness of war should never have touched them. But those who fought targeted the innocents first. They knew how best to destroy their enemies.

Ife was on her way to check on such a child. At six years old, he'd been born before the war, yet it was all he'd ever known. He'd come to her hospital yesterday, covered in burns and broken bones.

"How are you feeling today, Tumaini?" Ife called in a calm, comforting tone as she pulled the curtain back with one hand. His name meant "hope."

In the crook of her other arm, Ife cradled his chart. She gave it a quick look to see if there were any worrying changes, waiting for the boy's reply. When one wasn't forthcoming, she glanced up to find the smiling Tumaini wasn't alone. Her pulse immediately picked up its pace, and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

"We meet again, Dr. Bayo," he greeted with a smile. Ife could only stare stupidly. His grin widened as the silence stretched.

"Mr. Allen saved me," the boy named Hope cut into their silent exchange. Even though he was injured and on pain medication, excitement emanated from his small form. His soul was alive with it and it seemed as if it filled every pore before it was emitted in the air around them. It seemed to be Tumaini's natural state. The feeling was contagious, and Ife found herself smiling.

It dimmed as Ife recalled why the boy was in her ward. There'd been a missile strike, the first in months. Judging by the burns on the child's skin and the impact fractures in his bones, Tumaini had been near when it struck. "That was very brave of Mr. Allen," Ife said, grateful to finally have a name to put to the man who occupied her thoughts.

The werelion preened. Taking a deep breath, Ife smelled him under the antiseptics and medicine. The scent of his spicy, musky scent calmed her racing heart.

"Please, call me Nate. I came in with Tumaini yesterday," Mr. Allen explained further.

A slight frown marred her brow as Ife bent to check the progress of Tumaini's healing. She hadn't seen him the previous day when the boy was admitted. "Is that short for Nathan?" Ife asked inanely.

"Yes," came his somewhat distracted answer. Nate took the opportunity her diversion with the boy's chart afforded and looked Ife Bayo up and down. She had broad cheekbones that tapered down to a small chin. Today, her hair was a free mass of blonde-tipped curls that framed her heart-shaped face. It reminded him of the mane of his beast, causing him to smile. She saw and returned the gesture haltingly, uncertain at its cause.

In his ear, a barely audible Corporal Tony Anderson said, "I don't know if you are equipped to flirt, Allen. It's painful listening to you." The barely discernable, tiny earpiece was turned down low enough that no other shifter could listen in on the conversation. His kind had the best hearing of all the races.