Shea shoved at her hair. Her tongue swept her lower lip, teeth biting nervously. It was something out of a fairy tale. Or a horror film. Impossible. Wasn’t it? A man could not survive seriously wounded, buried seven years in the earth. No way. It couldn’t happen. But she had found him. It wasn’t a lie. She had uncovered him herself. So how could one’s sanity remain after seven years of being buried alive, of being in agony every moment? Her mind shied away from that question. She didn’t want to dwell on it.
And what was happening to her body? She was different. Many changes had started seven years ago, with sudden pain driving her to the point of unconsciousness. That episode had never been explained. Then the nightmares, so persistent, so relentless, never giving her a moment’s peace, had started. Jacques. Always Jacques. The picture, two years ago, the human butchers had shown her. The seventh one. Jacques. Something drawing her, calling her insistently to that horrible place of torture and cruelty. To Jacques. They had to be connected. Somehow, some way. Intellectually it seemed impossible. By every standard she knew it was impossible. Yet wasn’t her very existence strange? Her need to transfuse blood wasn’t psychosomatic; she had tried everything to overcome it. So maybe there was another explanation, one her human mind and prejudices could not comprehend, even with the facts in front of her.
Shea! The call was loud, a flood of fear and confusion, an impression of strangling, of darkness and pain.
I’m here, Jacques. She sent her answer back so easily it startled her. To reassure him, she tried to fill her mind with every beautiful thing she saw.
Come back to me. I need you.
She smiled at the demand in his voice; her heart somersaulted at the raw truth in his voice. He never tried to hide anything from her, not even his elemental fear of her leaving him to face the darkness alone. Spoiled brat. She sent it tenderly. There’s no need to sound like the lord of the manor. I’ll be right in. There was no reasonable explanation for the joy flooding her at the touch of his mind lingering possessively in hers. She shied away from looking at that one too closely, too.
Just come to me. He was more relaxed now, beating back his fear of isolation. I do not want to wake alone.
I do need an occasional break. How was I supposed to know you would wake at this precise moment?
She was teasing him. Warmth curled in the pit of his stomach. He had no memory of such a thing before Shea. There was no life before Shea. There had been only ugliness. His world had been torment and hell. He found himself smiling. Of course you should know when I wake. It is your duty.
I should have known you would think that way. Shea laughed aloud as she raced across the rough terrain back to the cabin, reveling in her ability to do so, at the sudden surge of strength she had never before experienced. For just a brief moment a heavy weight seemed lifted from her shoulders, and she knew carefree happiness.
Jacques found he couldn’t take her eyes from her. She looked so beautiful, her red hair tangled and wild, just begging for a man’s fingers to straighten it. Her eyes were sparkling as she came across the room to his side.
“Are you feeling any better?” As always she examined his wounds to see for herself if he was making progress.
He lifted a hand, needing to touch the silk of her hair. Much. It was a blatant lie, and she scowled at him.
“Is that so? I’m beginning to think you need a monitor like we have for newborns. I want you to lie quietly. I can tell you’ve been squirming around again.”
I have nightmares. His black eyes never left her face, burning his brand into her heart. No one had the right to have eyes like his. Hungry eyes. Eyes that held fire and the promise of passion.
“We’ll have to do something about them,” Shea said with a slight smile. She hoped her own eyes weren’t revealing her confused, unfamiliar feelings for him. She would get over them soon; it was just that he was the sexiest thing she had ever encountered.