He simply watched her with his disconcertingly steady gaze. Shea inhaled, wrinkled her nose, desperate to change the subject to something safe. He was supposed to be half-dead. He should have been dead. No one should be able to kiss like that after the agony he had been through. She had never, ever responded to anyone the way she had to him. Never. It was shocking, the effect he had on her.
There was a sudden glint in his eyes, somewhere between a flame dancing and amusement. No other man must ever make you respond to him. I would not be pleased.
“Quit reading my mind!” Her cheeks flushed a bright red; she glared at him. “This is a totally improper conversation between a doctor and a patient.”
Perhaps, but not between us.
She clenched her teeth, her green eyes smoldering. “Shut up,” she said rudely, a little desperately. She had to find a way to get control back, and he wasn’t cooperating. She took a deep, calming breath to restore her dignity. “You need a bath. And your hair could use a good wash.” Shea stood up and gingerly touched his thick ebony hair, unaware that the gesture was curiously intimate. “You were number seven. I wonder if any of the others live. God, I hope not. I have no way to find them.”
As she turned, he caught her wrist. What is number seven?
Shea sighed softly. “Those men, the ones who hunt me, had photographs of some of their victims murdered around seven years ago. Eight bodies were found, though likely there were more victims than anyone knew. People refer to them as the ‘vampire’ murders because the victims were killed with a wooden stake driven through the heart. The picture numbered as seven was yours. You. It was you.”
His eyes questioned her further. Hunger was intruding, becoming a sharp, distracting ache. He was so much in her mind, she couldn’t tell if he or she was in desperate need of blood. “Do you know your name?”
There was the impression of confusion. You know, you are my lifemate.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Lifemate? You—you think we know one another? I’ve never met you before in my life.”
His black eyes narrowed. His mind pushed at hers in confusion, in sudden dismay. He seemed certain she was lying to him.
Shea shoved a hand through her hair, the action parting her robe slightly, lifting her breasts. “I dreamed about you. Sometimes I thought about you… maybe even felt your presence. But I never actually laid eyes on you until two nights ago.” Was it only forty-eight hours? It felt like a lifetime. “Something drew me to that forest, to that cellar, I didn’t know you were there.”
More confusion. You did not know? He was probing her mind. She could feel him sharing her head, and it was strange. He felt familiar to her; she recognized his touch. It was strange, exhilarating, but frightening to have someone capable of learning such intimate knowledge of her. Shea told herself she endured his examination only because he was clearly agitated.
She had a physician’s need to soothe him, to take away every pain from his body and his mind. The urge had nothing to do with the way he made her feel.
Everything around her seemed so different. Colors were more than just vivid, they were startling in depth. She was uneasy with her acceptance of so many bizarre events, uncomfortable with the facility with which he slipped in and out of her mind. His fingers suddenly tightened like a band around her wrist. I am Jacques. I am your lifemate. There is no question that I can share your mind. It is my right, as it is yours to share mine. More than a right, it is a necessity for us both.
She had no idea what he was talking about, so she ignored his statement, worried that he seemed so distressed over her lack of knowledge of him. She found herself needing to touch his hair with gentle fingers. “Can you use your voice at all?”
His eyes answered, impatient, frustrated at his own inability.
Her fingertips found his forehead, calming, soothing. “Don’t worry. Your body’s been through a lot. Give it some time. You’re already healing amazingly fast. Do you know who did this to you?”