Dark Desire (Dark #2)
Page 8The storm moved in slowly, blanketing the land in a peculiar, dreary drizzle. All day it blotted out any chance of sunshine and hid the mountain range in sheets of silvery rain and a shroud of thick fog. In an abandoned shack, three men huddled by the fire and tried to escape the water leaking through the cracks in the roof.
Don Wallace sipped at the scalding-hot coffee and stared uneasily out the window into the gathering dusk. "Unusual weather for this time of year." His eyes met the older man's in a long, knowing stare.
Eugene Slovensky hunched his shoulders against the cold and regarded his nephew with reproach. "The weather is like this when the land is unsettled. How could you allow the woman to slip through your fingers, Donnie?"
"Well, you had her when she was a mere baby," he retorted. "You let her escape you then. You couldn't even trace her mother between Ireland and America. I was the one who did that, nearly twenty years later. Don't act like I'm the only one who bungled this."
The older man glared at him. "Don't take that tone with me. Things were different all those years ago. We didn't have the advantages of all the modern technology you have now. Maggie O'Halloran had people help her escape with her little demon whelp." He sighed and glanced once more out the window at the fog and rain. "Do you have any idea the risk we're taking coming into their territory?"
"I believe I was the one who tracked and killed those vampires we got a few years back while you stayed safe in Germany," Don snapped, irritated.
"You weren't very discriminating about who you marked as vampire, Don," Eugene pointed out waspishly. "You enjoyed yourself whenever the mood struck you."
"I was the one taking the risks. I should be allowed to have some fun," Don snapped back. "Well, this time concentrate on why we're here. This is dangerous work."
Don's eyes flattened, hardened. "I was with you when we found Uncle James's body, remember? Happy fifteenth birthday, Donnie. Instead of a real live vampire to stake, I get my uncle's body buried in a pile of rubble. I know how dangerous it is."
"Never forget that sight, boy, not ever," Eugene cautioned. "Twenty-five years it's been, and we still don't have his murderers."
"At least we made them pay," Don pointed out.
Eugene's eyes burned. "Not nearly enough. It will never be enough. We have to wipe them out. All of them. Wipe them out."
Jeff Smith stirred and glanced at Don Wallace. The old man was crazy. If there really was such a thing as a vampire, Jeff wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to become immortal. They had killed fourteen so-called vampires, and Jeff was fairly certain a couple of them had been the real thing. No human could have taken the kind of punishment Wallace had so eagerly dispensed and survived so long. Most of the victims definitely had been human, though, Wallace's enemies. Don had really enjoyed those sessions.
Jeff was also certain Shea O'Halloran was no vampire. He had researched her very carefully. She had gone to a regular daytime school, had eaten in front of other children. She was a bona-fide surgeon, respected in her profession. A child prodigy, all her professors spoke highly of her. Jeff couldn't get her out of his mind. Her voice, her eyes, the fluid, sexy way her body moved. The crazy old man was obsessed with finding her, and Don always did what his uncle said. Don's uncle, old Eugene Slovensky, held the purse strings, and the money was considerable. If they found the woman, Jeff was not going to let them kill her. He wanted her for himself.
"Why do you think she's is this area?" Slovensky demanded.
"She always uses cash, so we can't follow a money trail, but she often leaves her signature behind anyway." Don grinned, an evil facsimile of a smile. "She just has to help people in these isolated villages. It's kind of amusing, really. She thinks she's so clever, but she always makes the same mistake."
Eugene Slovensky nodded. "The brilliant ones never have any common sense." He cleared his throat nervously. "I sent word to the Vulture."
Don Wallace's hand jerked, and hot coffee spilled over his wrist. "Are you crazy, Uncle Eugene? He threatened to kill us if we didn't leave the mountains the last time he saw us. The Vulture is a true vampire, and he doesn't exactly like us."
"You killed the woman," Eugene said, "he warned you not to. I warned you not to. You just had to have your fun."
Furious, Don hurled the mug across the room. "We're hunting a woman right now. We've followed her for two years, and now that we're close, you call in that killer. I should have put a stake through his heart when I had the chance. He's a no-good vampire like the rest of them."
Slovensky grinned, shook his head in denial. "Not like the rest of them. He hates, Donnie, my boy. He hates with an intensity I have never seen before. And that can always be useful for us. He wants a certain woman this time, the one with the long black hair. He wants her and those close to her dead. He has their trust, and he'll deliver them into our hands. He may be beneath contempt, a snitch, but he is powerful."
"All their woman have long black hair. How am I supposed to know the difference?" Don pouted. "Do you remember the kid? The one about eighteen? He hated that kid. He really wanted that kid to suffer." He smiled with satisfaction. "He did, too. Most of all he hated the last one we caught, the one with the black eyes. He ordered me to torture him, burn him. He wanted it to last forever, and I made sure it did. The Vulture is evil, Uncle Eugene."
Slovensky nodded. "Use him. Let him think you respect him, that he is the one in charge, giving the orders. Promise him the red-haired woman, too. Tell him we'll give them both to him if he will deliver James's murderers. My poor brother James."
"I thought you said we needed to study her, that she wasn't as strong as the others and we had a better chance of controlling her. In any case, she doesn't have black hair." Don got up abruptly and paced across the floor to hide his expression from the others. It had been far too long since he'd had a woman completely in his control. His body grew hot and hard at the memory of his time in the basement with the last one. She had lasted three delicious weeks, and every moment of it she had known he would eventually kill her. She had tried so hard to please him, done anything and everything to please him.
He wanted Shea O'Halloran in his hands for a long, long time. She would learn respect. The icy contempt in her vivid green eyes would be replaced with pleasing, begging. He fought to control himself, cursed the others sharing the small confines of the cabin keeping him from indulging his fantasies. Don turned his head to catch Smith watching him. His mask slipped into place, his friendly smile. Smith was weak, always whining. He got off watching Don perform, but he rarely had the guts to do anything exotic himself. One of these days, Don resolved he would show Smith just how weak he really was. Their longtime partnership was coming to an end.
Slovensky dragged a blanket around his shoulders. In his sixties, he felt the chill of the rain seep into his bones. He detested these mountains and all the memories that came with them. Twenty-five years ago he had brought his younger brother, James, on a vampire hunt with other members of a secret society dedicated to wiping out the loathsome creatures. They had trapped a vampire, but it had killed James.
Shea O'Halloran was the key to all of it now. He would use her to ferret out his brother's murderers and deliver retribution, as they deserved. Donnie would put a stake through the Vulture's heart and rid the world of a detestable worm. And then the society could study the woman, obtain the proof they needed to be finally recognized as scientists, as they deserved.
"How long are we going to be stuck in this hellhole?" Smith demanded.
Wallace and Slovensky exchanged another long, knowing look. Wallace shrugged, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and shook one loose. "You should know by now never to go outdoors when the land is so unsettled. It means they're out tonight."
"Every time it rains we're locked in? Damn, Don, the least we could have done was get decent accommodations."
"Stop whining," Slovensky snapped. "The last thing we want to do is advertise our presence here. They control the locals, bind them to them in some way so that the villagers are loyal to them."
Jeff turned away from them, staring out at the darkening land. Slovensky was a total whacko. Wallace he had met in college. Don had been everything Jeff was not. Cocky, self-assured, handsome, and tough. Wallace had cornered one of Jeff's constant tormentors, held him, and encouraged Jeff to beat the kid to death. The sense of power was incredible, and the two of them became inseparable. Don was sadistic, violent. He'd enjoyed watching snuff films, shared the experience with Jeff, and eventually became obsessed with the idea of making them. Jeff filmed Don's private performances, each of which became a classroom for torture. At first they'd used prostitutes, but twice they were able to lure a student to their warehouse. Afterward, Don was always mellow for several weeks, a month or two even, if the sessions had been to his liking. Jeff knew that the need to kill was riding Don hard now, and anyone close to him had better keep a low profile.
When the older man went outside to relieve himself, Jeff went to stand beside Don. "You ever think what it would be like, the power we'd have if we forced one of them to make us like them?" He whispered it softly to be sure Slovensky could not possibly overhear what he would consider sacrilege. "We'd be immortal, Don. We could have anything we ever wanted. Any woman we wanted. We could do anything."
"You sure?"
"Superstitious crap. All the people around here are superstitious. They believe these vampires can direct your mind, even shape-change. If they had all these great powers, Jeff, why didn't they use them when we were having-fun with them?"
Jeff shrugged, disappointed. "Maybe you're right. But they just hang on to life so long..." He trailed off.
"Hate keeps them alive." Don laughed in anticipation. "They're almost as much fun as women." He looked thoughtful. "But there's the Vulture."
The sun gave up its feeble fight, the storm and the late hour completely obliterating its paltry light. The sky darkened still further, and the clouds grew heavier. The wind began to strengthen, driving the rain so that it pelted the ground hard enough to bruise leaves and vegetation. A low moan rose, echoed through grotesquely swaying branches.
The wind raced northward, howled down a canyon, rushed through the darkened forest, and climbed higher into the steep mountains to find a cabin dark and silent. Inside, away from the sheets of silvery rain and the monstrous wind, two bodies lay motionless, entwined on the bed. Shea was curled up, small and slight, her wine-red hair spilled across the pillow like blood. Jacques' much larger frame was curved protectively around her. Jacques' arm was firmly locked around her waist, holding her to him. His heart began a rhythm, a strong, steady sound in the silence. He drew air into his lungs to inflate them, to resume their normal function.
Jacques waited for the familiar rush of agony his awakening had triggered these last seven years. It would surge through him with the first circle of life, blood heating every cell and nerve ending. The rush didn't come. Instead he was sore, his muscles ached, but he felt strong and alive again. The healer's blood was incredible, his internal healing beyond Jacques' wildest expectations.
Gregori. The dark one.
The words came floating out of nowhere, one of those elusive fragments he could never seem to hold on to. Jacques tried to do so, wanting the information, knowing it was important, yet pain exploded in his head.
It didn't matter. He calmly allowed the fragment to drift away and slowly released his hold on Shea. Before giving her the command to wake, he scanned their surroundings to locate possible danger. There were others of his kind close by. It put him on edge. It was imperative for a Carpathian male to find a female, his true lifemate. If he did not succeed in binding Shea to him, every male in the vicinity would be pressing his suit, hoping against hope his chemistry would match hers. As with all the knowledge that came to him, he felt the truth and rightness of it, knew it was real and not imagined.
A silent snarl lifted his lip, revealing his white teeth. Deliberately, Jacques stretched, a slow, languid movement designed to reacquaint himself with his muscles, with his strength. His body was still a little sluggish, but it was alive again. As he moved, he felt the softness of Shea's body brushing along the hardness of his. His body responded, a sweet ache unknown to him for centuries, now ever present. He turned on his side and stared down into her still, pale face.
His body hardened aggressively. His hand went to the buttons of her shirt, his fingers brushing against her cool, creamy flesh. His heart jumped, and his breath caught in his throat. Such exquisite torment. He'd had no idea anything could be so soft. As he pushed her blouse from her shoulders, he leaned close to her ear. "Wake, little red hair. Wake needing me." He kissed her eyes, took her mouth, tasting her first breath, his hand closing over her breast to feel the way her heart raced into his palm.
Blood rushed, a symphony of sensation sending heat and need and an urgent ache coiling through Shea. Jacques' mouth was magical, reverent, a slow seduction, while his hands traced the contours of her body. He could feel her awakening, her mind opening to his. Her emotions were mixed - longing, need, a reluctant caring for him, overpowering fear of what she was, and a deep sorrow. He brushed his hand down her face to trace every beloved line already committed for all eternity to his mind, to his heart. Her face was damp. Jacques bent his head and followed the trail of tears down the slender column of her neck. Her skin was warm honey flowing up from melting ice, the combination irresistible. His tongue swirled over her pulse, and need slammed into him so hard that his body clenched painfully. Shea made a sound, a soft moan somewhere between despair and acquiescence. Her body was arcing into his, pressure and hunger building to drown out all good sense.
"You are safe with me, little Shea." Jacques used his voice, a blend of heat and velvet. He was willing to utilize every weapon in his arsenal of centuries of experience to bind her to him. "I need you." His body moved restlessly, aggressively, his mouth finding the hollow of her throat while his hand slid down her narrow ribcage, fingers splayed possessively across her flat stomach. "I know you are afraid. I feel it in my mind. Let yourself feel what I am feeling. There is no doubt, no other love for me. I know you are my other half. Give yourself into my keeping." His beautiful husky voice rasped softly, slightly hoarse as the fire began to spread. Flames were leaping, hunger rising, and the beast inside was fighting for freedom. Dark purpose began to swirl as Carpathian instincts fought with the man.
The effort to control the wild cravings, the need for dominance, a frenzied, heated mating, his stamp of possession, was riding him hard. He found her mouth a little desperately, pushed further into her mind, not waiting for complete acceptance, afraid it might never come. Her mind was a mixture of tears and sorrow and smoke and flame and burning desire.
Jacques.
Hisname was a whisper echoing in his head. Her hands were on his, stopping him from pushing the jeans from her hips.
He deepened the kiss, possessive, erotic, deliberately sharing the urgent hunger, the burning desires in his own mind.
You gave me back my life, Shea. Give me my soul. I need you, only you. Make me complete again.
The tension went out of her hands enough that he could slide the jeans from the curve of her hips, down her legs, exposing the beauty of her body to him, to his exploring hands.
Shea heard Jacques' swift indrawn breath, felt his heart jump, his body savage with need, his mind a red haze of burning hunger. The intensity of his emotion was overwhelming to her, threatening to her. She closed her eyes, her arms creeping around his neck, knowing she could not find the strength to refuse such a terrible need in him. Anyone else, but never him.
He inhaled deeply, breathing her scent into his lungs, his hands moving slowly over her body, taking his time with her, fighting off the beast raging to possess her. He had already hurt her too much, taken from her parts of her life he could never give back. He wanted her first time with him to be beautiful, to be as right as he could make it.
"Don't cry, love," he whispered softly into her throat, his mouth resting over her pulse, his tongue stroking the frantic rhythm. His body clenched; pain and hunger rose until it beat at him, at her. His teeth scraped her neck, a sweet torment for both of them. He nuzzled her breasts, marveling at how soft she was, how perfect. Her bones felt small beneath his seeking hands, yet her muscles were firm and her skin like satin.
He was trembling now, a shudder of effort to hold back his wild nature, a fine sheen of sweat bathing his body. Sensations and textures danced with swirling colors and heat. After centuries of no emotion, no feeling, after seven years of damnation and pain, Jacques would never forget the feel of this moment. The way she looked, smelled, and felt to his touch, the reluctant love, the sorrow, the matching hunger and desire in her mind was forever etched into his soul.
Shea felt the change in him, in the way his hands caressed her thighs, the absolute conviction in his mind. She felt his fierce hunger, the burning in his body, his urgent need. His body blanketed hers, imprisoned her, his knee effectively parting her legs. Her body clenched hotly as he pressed against her, hard and insistent. Her heart jolted in sudden rebellion, but his mouth was on her breast, driving out sane thoughts. With every hot pull of his mouth, moist heat throbbed and beckoned him deeper until he met innocent resistance.
His mouth reluctantly released her breast, found her pulse, where his tongue swirled erotically. "You are my lifemate." His teeth scraped her soft, creamy flesh. Liquid heat bathed him invitingly. "I claim you as my lifemate. I belong to you. I offer my life for you." His hands found her small hips, cupped her in his palms. His body was a relentless, savage ache of burning hunger. "I give you my protection, my allegiance, my heart, my soul, and my body. I take into my keeping the same that is yours. Your life, happiness, and welfare will be placed above my own for all time."
"Stop it, Jacques," Shea whispered desperately, feeling every word, every breath weaving them so tightly together that she couldn't tell where he left off and she began.
"You are my lifemate, bound to me for all eternity and always in my care." His teeth sank deep; his body surged into hers. White-hot pain exploded over both of them, leaving shimmering flames leaping high and hot.
Shea's cry was lost in her throat. She wrapped her arms around his head and cradled him to her. Welded together, body, mind, and heart, her life flowing into him, his body took command of hers. He moved - a slow, careful test of her response to him. She was hot and tight, the friction threatening to engulf him in the frenzied, uninhibited sexual mating of a Carpathian male. With effort he controlled himself, savoring the sweet, hot spice of her blood, the velvet fire gripping his body.
He moved gently, tenderly, a long, sure stroke designed to coax her, to calm him. Her muscles clenched around him, and he surged forward, buried himself deep in her very core, his mouth drawing the essence of her life into his keeping. The world narrowed, receded, until she was his breath, his heart, the blood flowing in his veins. There was no darkness, no shadows, only Shea's body with its heat and flowing colors and leaping flames.
Shea's soft little keening cries were muffled against him, yet they echoed in his mind. His body craved hers, more and more, harder and faster and deeper. He drove on and on, reaching for the stars, the universe, reaching for the meeting of their souls. Her blood fed his insatiable hunger, no taste ever better, so erotic and perfect that he indulged himself, giving himself up to lust and greed and wave after wave of unbearable pleasure.
Her body gripped his, shuddered, clenched, and the earth itself seemed to roll and shake. Molten heat coiled around him like a volcano, and he was crying out, his seed spilling into her, his body going up in her flames.
Her mouth moved over his neck, his throat, and his body raged at him, swelled and hardened to fill her completely. His heart jumped as her lips caressed his chest. Her tongue swirled around his flat nipples, moved over his heart in little nibbling motions. Jacques pulled back, waiting breathlessly, waiting while his body screamed at him to bury itself in her once again, to take her over and over.
"Just once, Shea, say you need me, too," he whispered.
She lifted her head, her green eyes moving over his sensual face, meeting his black eyes. She smiled a slow, sexy, very wicked smile. Then she dropped her head down to his chest, stroked the heavy muscles with her tongue. Her teeth scraped once, twice, teasingly, then sank deep.
Jacques' voice was hoarse in his mind, in the darkness of the room. The sensation was beyond his imaginings. His body plunged wildly into hers as she drank from him. His palm held her head to him, pressed her closer as his body took hers again and again. He could never get enough. Colors whirled and danced, and the earth shook, and he soared higher and higher, taking her with him in body, mind, and soul. In that perfect moment she was his, her life connecting wholly with his for all eternity. Two halves of the same whole, never to be apart again. His release was shattering, Shea with him every step of the way.
They erupted into the heavens and floated together to earth, Jacques anchoring them safely.
Shea's tongue closed the wound over his heart, and they lay spent, their bodies locked together, so close that their minds and limbs were still rocking with the aftereffects. Little shocks sent shivers of pleasure through them, in them.
Shea lay very still, unable to grasp the wonder of what had happened. She knew it was forever. She knew he had somehow completed the ritual of binding them together. Her body felt as if it didn't belong to her, that he had taken possession of and failed to return some intrinsic part of her. She appeared outwardly calm, but panic was welling up, fear, sheer terror. She had always been alone; she knew no other way.
Jacques' hand stroked the length of her hair, lingered on the curve of her bottom. "I have never experienced anything like this," he said softly, attempting to find the words to fight her panic.
She swallowed hard, listened to the frantic pounding of her heart. "How would you know, silly?" she teased back, trying desperately to appear normal. "You can't remember your past." The pounding of her blood was a roar in her ears. Nothing would ever be the same again. She felt weak. Maybe Jacques had taken more blood than she had exchanged. It was affecting her mind, slowing her thoughts. Unless it was fear paralyzing her ability to think. That had never happened to her before. Her intellect had always dominated. But now her emotions had pushed aside all good sense, and she literally felt lost.
Very cautiously, she eased her body away from his, felt the loss as if it were some terrible sorrow. She wanted him for all time. She needed him with her. She might actually love him. Her throat closed, and Shea felt as if she were suffocating. She had let this happen, let him take control of her. She was as foolish as her shadow of a mother had been. Love wasn't supposed to be a part of her carefully controlled world. Neither was need.
"Shea." He said her name softly, gently, even tenderly, as if to a wild animal trapped in a corner.
She sat up abruptly, gasping for air, her eyes growing enormous, wild, her heart thumping loudly. She leapt up, long hair swinging around her slender body like a cape. She ran on bare feet toward the bathroom.
Jacques pulled on a pair of jeans, carelessly buttoned them up the front, and padded after her. His eyes never left her slim, fragile figure. Shea looked as if the smallest thing might shatter her. She was going through human gestures, movements. Brushing her teeth, standing in the shower allowing the water to cascade over her, staring out the window. Jacques held the mind touch lightly so that she wasn't aware of his intrusion. Her fear didn't recede with these human activities. Instead, panic was building to overwhelming proportions. Jacques leaned one hip lazily against the wall, his dark eyes watchful, simply waiting for the inevitable.
"I can't do this, Jacques." Her voice was so low, he barely caught the thread of sound. Shea dressed with shaking hands, donning jeans, cotton-ribbed shirt, hiking boots. She didn't look at him.
Jacques waited silently, feeling her confusion and fear, wanting to comfort her but instinctively holding back. Shea was a strong woman, courageous enough to return to save a demon, a madman who had viciously attacked her. Yet the thought of loving Jacques, of needing or wanting him, terrified her.
"I have to leave this place, go to Ireland. I have a home there." Shea twisted the length of red hair into a thick, haphazard braid. Her gaze was jumping from the window to her computer to the door and back again. Everywhere but at him. "You're safe now, with your family and friends. You don't need me anymore."
He moved then, in the way of his people. Silent, unseen, too fast for the human eye. He was suddenly behind her, his body against hers, his palms resting on the wall on either side of her head, effectively forming a cage. Jacques leaned close so that his male scent invaded her lungs, until he was the very air she breathed. "I will always need you, Shea. You are my heart and soul and my very sanity. It has been many years since I have been to Ireland. A beautiful country."
He felt her inhale sharply, fighting for air, fighting a tight, suffocating feeling. In her mind was a strangled denial of his words. She was desperately searching for a way to dissuade him. Not only was she shaking on the outside, even her insides were trembling. Jacques could literally smell her fear.
Shea's arms crossed her stomach, holding tight against the internal rolling. "Listen to me, Jacques. This..." She waved an unsteady hand, turned so that she leaned against the wall, so that it would hold her up. It was a mistake facing him. His hard, muscular body, his sensual features still ravaged by pain, the intensity of his black eyes. The hunger. Desire. Need. She tilted her chin at him, her sorrow so deep that he wanted to gather her close, but it was necessary for her to feel in control.
Jacques crushed down his natural predatory nature, held himself utterly still, her body imprisoned between his immovable one and the wall.
Shea cleared her throat, tried again. "It can't work. I have obligations. I can't afford a relationship right now. And you're looking for something intense, passionate, forever, some eternal bond. I'm just not like that. I don't have all that much to give anyone." Her fingers twisted together in agitation; he felt his heart twist in answer. The smile deep in his soul at her foolish words never found its way to his face.
Shea had a passionate nature, and her need for him was as great as his need for her. She knew it, and it terrified her. More than anything, that knowledge was what made her determined to run from him. She had taught herself to be a solitary person, had no idea how to share her life. She would never, could never be like her mother.
"Are you listening to me, Jacques?"
He moved closer, crowded her slender body. His arms swept her to him, nearly crushing her. "Of course I am listening. I hear that you are afraid. I feel it." His warm breath caressed her neck. The way he held her was completely protective, gentle, tender. "I am afraid, too. I have no past, Shea. Only a living hell that shaped a madman. Those people you call my family mean nothing to me. I do not trust them. Any one of them could be the betrayer." He laid his head over hers, a soothing gesture of unity. "I cannot always distinguish reality from the madness. There is only you, my love, to keep me sane. If you choose to desert me, I fear for myself and any who dare to come near."
Shea blinked back tears, found his wrist with trembling fingers, the lightest contact, a connection between them. "We make such a perfect pair, Jacques. At least one of us should be stable, don't you think?"
He brought her hand to the warmth of his mouth. "You came for me, from thousands of miles away. You came for me."
She managed a smile. "A few years late."
Something eased in the vicinity of his heart. He knew there was no escape for either of them. He might not understand fully, but he knew he had bound them irrevocably together for all time. "Is there not a saying, 'Better late than never'?" His thumb feathered over her wrist, found her pulse.
Her mind was calmer now, more accepting of their union. She rested her head in the niche of his sternum. "I feel so terrible that I didn't listen to my dreams. If only..."
His hand covered her mouth, stopping her words. "You saved my sanity. You came for me. That is all that matters. Now we have to find our way together."
She pulled his hand to her neck, held it tight against the satin texture of her skin. "Those men are following me, Jacques. Without me, you have a better chance of escaping. You know that you do."
The beast in him raised its head, fangs dripping triumphantly in anticipation. She could never possibly conceive of his wanting to meet the two humans who had tortured and imprisoned him. She had no concept of his immense power, of his rage, of what kind of dangerous creature he was. She was bound to him, yet she was so compassionate, she could not truly see his nature. She would keep running, avoiding confrontation for all of her life if need be. He preferred to be the aggressor. He would be the aggressor.
Shea touched his jaw with gentle fingers. "Thank you for watching out for me while I was unaware. You didn't let them put me in the ground."
Again he brought her hand to his mouth. "I knew you would not want such a thing." His dark eyes indicated the far side of the room. He raised his hand, and the door opened at his mental command.
Instantly the wind blew rain into the cabin, a high-pitched moan rising above the scraping branches. Shea shivered, drew closer to the heat and protection of his body. It was wild outside, black fury, the rain driving down in silver sheets. Shea didn't need the flashes of lightning illuminating the forest to see clearly the deep, vivid greens and browns, the drops of rain like thousands of crystals reflecting the beauty of the trees and bushes. She saw with more than the eyes of a human; she saw with the eyes of an animal. She could feel the wildness of the storm in her own body.
Jacques tightened his hold on her as he felt her try to reject such intense and foreign emotions. "No, little one, look at it. This is our world. There is nothing ugly in it. It is clean and honest and beautiful." He murmured the words into her ear, his mouth finding the heat of her skin, his tongue caressing her pulse.
A shiver of excitement, of sensual awareness, rushed through her blood. Everything in her seemed to reach for him. Her body, her heart, her mind. Fear crawled in as she acknowledged her need of him. Her life was different now. She was different. If her father had been like Jacques, his blood had run diluted in her veins. Jacques had somehow brought her fully into his world. She found herself inhaling deeply, drinking in the sights and smells, something wild in her rising to meet the fury of the storm.
"It is ours, Shea. The wind, the rain, the soil beneath our feet."
His words brushed along her skin like a hand in a velvet glove. His teeth scraped seductively along her throat, sent her blood rushing, pooling. "Can we leave tonight? Now?" The wildness in her was growing, spreading. Her need of him was growing just as strong. She wanted to flee the woods, escape from whatever was inside of her and gaining strength with every moment she was here.
"We will have to make plans for shelter," he counseled softly. "Running blindly without thought will get us killed."
Shea closed her eyes tiredly. "There isn't any place for us to run to, is there?" The part of her that sorted data so perfectly told her she was trying to run from herself.
He folded his arms around her, cradling her tenderly. "You could not have existed for much longer in the half-life you were living. And you were never really happy there. You have never been happy, Shea."
"That's not true. I love my work, being a surgeon."
"You were not meant for a solitary life, little red hair."
"A doctor hardly leads a solitary life, Jacques."
"A surgeon does not need to interact with patients, a researcher even less so. I am in your mind, know your thoughts, and this you cannot keep from me."
Her green eyes glinted at him. "Has it occurred to you that I might not like you running around in my head? You're like a loose cannon. Neither one of us knows when you might go off." Amusement was creeping into her voice, and her body began to relax.
Jacques held back his sigh of relief. She was coming back to him, meeting him hallway. "It is the way of our people."
She turned back to stare out the door into the storm. "All the time?"
The information came easily this time, without the curious splintering pain in his head. "No. All Carpathians can communicate on one common path if they desire it." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I am not certain if I am able to do this. I cannot exactly remember the path, only that there is one."
"The others tried to speak to you," she guessed shrewdly.
"Each used a different path when they reached for me. I could feel their touch but could not tune it in. When Carpathians exchange blood, the mental bond becomes stronger. Each individual sharing creates an exclusive path that only the two participants can use." Another fragment of information came out of nowhere. "Males rarely exchange blood unless they have a lifemate."
Why?
Thequestion shimmered in his mind. Shea didn't even realize it.
Jacques made the mental equivalent of a shrug. "Once blood has been taken, we can track at will. The closer the bond, the stronger the trail. If it is an actual exchange, each can easily find and 'speak' to the other. Males can turn after so many centuries alone."
"I don't understand what you mean, turn."'
"After two hundred years we lose all emotion, all ability to feel. We are natural predators, Shea. We need a lifemate to bring back feeling, to balance us. As the centuries go by, it is easy to give in to the need to feel something, even if only momentarily. A kill while feeding brings a rush of power. But it also turns one. Once a Carpathian turns, he can never go back. He becomes the thing of human legend. A vampire. An amoral killer, cold-blooded, without compassion. He must be hunted and destroyed." A grim smile touched his mouth, did not reach his black eyes. "You can see why lone males rarely take the chance of a blood exchange. It is incredibly easy to be tracked after an exchange, and if one turns..."
Shea's white teeth scraped at her lower lip. Beneath his fingers her pulse was racing. "I don't want to believe what you're saying."
"You saved me from such a fate. I know my mind is still in fragments, but I am saved from walking the earth as the undead."
"Those men, the ones who came after me..."
"They are human killers." There was contempt in his mind, in his voice. "Those they destroyed were Carpathian, not vampire."
"So the one you called the betrayer..."
"Is a Carpathian... turned vampire."