Jacques bent his head to find Shea’s temple with warmth and tenderness. His arms closed around her, pulled her resisting body in close to his hard frame. “Shea, I believe the healer is right in this.”
I can’t believe you would betray me like this. You’re siding with them. Why, Jacques? You owe me more respect than this.
Because without you, I am far too dangerous to the world. Because what I feel for you goes far beyond the human emotion of love. Jacques tipped her chin up and forced her green eyes to meet his black ones. At once she could feel his will bending hers to do his bidding. She was falling forward into the depths of his eyes. His voice was murmuring in her head, a low command she tried hard to resist. You will accept what the healer offers.
Gregori was already moving forward, his soft voice adding to the power of Jacques’. He bit carefully into his wrist and held it to Shea’s mouth. The scent was overpowering, triggering the terrible hunger and need in her. Jacques’ palm was pressing the back of her head, forcing her toward the liquid of life, the healing ancient blood that would pour power and strength into her body.
“She is strong-willed, Jacques,” Gregori counseled softly. Shea was fighting the compulsion to feed. The rich blood, so potent, flowing into her starving body, did not weaken her resistance, it merely made her stronger. Gregori could see that Jacques was wavering as he watched Shea fight the compulsion. Jacques’ mind might be fragmented, he might even be mad at times, but his feelings for Shea were strong and healthy. The healer purposely dropped his voice another octave, using the purity of his tone to persuade Jacques. “Our women are few, the only hope for our people. The one sure way to wipe out our people is to murder our women. They must be guarded at all times. The assassins have returned to our land. The very soil groans under their boots.”
“Shea has seen them.” Jacques watched warily as Mikhail approached, still not trusting himself with the man who had come so close to strangling Shea. “They have nearly caught her twice.”
“Feed, Jacques. I offer my life freely to you as you have so many times done for me.” Mikhail slashed his wrist and held it out to his brother.
The moment the richness spilled into his mouth, the taste and surge of power brought a rush of fragments of memories. Mikhail laughing, pushing Jacques from a tree branch playfully. Mikhail’s body crouched low, protectively, in front of his as a vampire with brown-stained teeth began to grow long, dagger-like nails. Mikhail holding Raven’s limp body, a river of blood, the earth and sky erupting all around them while Mikhail looked up at Jacques with the hopeless resolve to join his lifemate in her fate.
Jacques’ eyes jumped to Mikhail’s face, examined every inch of it. This man was a leader, a dangerous, powerful predator who had skillfully steered their dying race through centuries of pitfalls. One whom such as Gregori chose to follow. Something stirred inside Jacques, the need to protect this man, to shield him. Mikhail.
Mikhail’s head jerked up. He heard his name echo clearly in his head. The path had been there for one heartbeat, familiar and strong; then just as quickly it was lost.
Jacques was so distracted by the pieces of memories floating in his mind, his hold on Shea slipped. Shea felt his inattention and gathered herself, waiting, waiting. The moment the compulsion lifted, she wrenched her head from Gregori’s wrist and leapt away. Jerking the heavy door open, Shea fled into the fury of the storm.
The air in the cabin stilled, thickened with a kind of malevolent darkness. Jacques’ features were a granite mask, his black eyes flat and hard. He took one last swallow of the powerful” liquid, carefully closed the wound, and lifted his head. “I thank you for your assistance, but I must ask you to leave. Perhaps tomorrow night you will try your hand at mending my mind, healer.” His gaze was on the night, a dark purpose creeping into his tone.