You must, little red hair. He strengthened the command. Feed.
As weak as she was, Shea resisted him, her hand going to her pounding head. Don’t make me do this in front of them.
The little catch in her words warmed his soul. Her words created an intimacy between them that belonged. He had been insane, a mad darkness taking hold of him, but she had been there, by his side, fighting for him, believing in him. He owed her more than his life, he owed her his sanity. There is only you and me, my love. Feed now. You must do so to survive, so we both survive.
There was no way to deny him. Jacques’ will was iron, his voice hypnotic, his mind locked with hers and reinforced the command. Shea was weak and tired and hurting. She sank into the compulsion, nuzzling his neck, his throat, her lips soft satin skimming across his chest.
Jacques bent over her to give her what privacy he could from the others in the room. His body clenched hotly, unexpectedly, as her tongue swirled over his pulse. His fingers tightened in her hair, and he glanced up, angry that the intruders were witnessing their intimacy.
Gregori was in a far corner, leaning against the wall, his dark head bent to Mikhail’s wrist, clearly replenishing his own blood supply. Raven was on her knees, picking up the shattered glass of a lantern, soaking up the oil with a towel. Byron was working on the door. His eyes alone slid over the couple, dwelt on the curve of Shea’s hip, her abundance of wine-red hair.
There was helpless envy in Byron’s stare, and Jacques deliberately shielded Shea’s face from his view, knowing she still had an aversion to the necessary and natural function of taking blood. Her tongue stroked across the steady pulse in his neck, and his heart jumped in response. His body stirred restlessly, need rising. Soft velvet caress, moist and erotic. His blood surged hotly.
Shea had far too much passion in her to simply yield to compulsion. This was Jacques, and her body craved his. Her natural inhibitions slipped away. Her small teeth barely scraped his skin, but it was enough to send darts of fire racing through his bloodstream. He had to bite back a groan as the white-hot heat pierced his skin and he flowed into her, his very life force, his very soul. Her hand curled around the back of his neck, another intimacy binding them together like the silken skeins of her hair. She didn’t simply drink, she feasted. Her mouth moved seductively, her body restlessly, deliberately enticing his. Jacques wanted her with a hunger he had never known. He lowered his head to brush her temple with his lips.
So, Gregori. Mikhail’s voice was a mere thread of sound in the healer’s mind. Tell me what you found.
The woman would have healed his wounds eventually. She is an excellent physician. It is a miracle he managed to keep himself alive until she found him. His mind is completely shattered, Mikhail. Very dark and violent. He has bound the woman to him, and the tie is strong. Gregori’s reply was thoughtful.
Why do I hear the inevitable but in there? Mikhail, a little weak from donating blood, sat down to rest.
Gregori righted a chair and sat facing him. I think he turned the woman, maybe accidentally, maybe on purpose. She is Carpathian, yet human. She is weak, as if her internal organs had very recently suffered a trauma.
How could you know this? You have not touched her, Mikhail pointed out.
His mind never quite releases hers completely. She anchors him. He is extremely dangerous, Mikhail. His rage seethes in him. A good part of him is pure animal instinct. His nature is predatory—you know that. What was done to him has shaped his life for all time. That I cannot change.
Mikhail rubbed his forehead, unconsciously sought to touch Raven’s mind with his. Immediately she was there, flooding him with warmth, surrounding him with love. His lifemate could take away every sadness with one melting look from her blue eyes, one touch of her mind to his.