Dark Fire by Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 6

Tempest began stirring restlessly. Darius went to her immediately, lying down beside her to encircle her shoulders in his arms, drawing her up so that she could rest her head against his chest. Her long lashes fluttered, but she didn’t lift them. Darius traced the curve of her cheek and slipped his palm over her throat to feel her pulse beating into it.

“Wake up, honey. I need you to open your eyes,” he coaxed softly.

“I’m thinking about it first,” she answered tiredly.

“Thinking?” he echoed. “You took centuries off of my life, and you are thinking before you open your eyes?”

“Tell me what I look like first.” Her voice was a mere thread of sound.

“You are not making sense.” His voice was a black-velvet caress.

“Have my teeth grown? Do I look like a hag? I don’t feel deranged, but you never know.” Her lashes lifted, and she glanced up at him, laughter in the depths of her green eyes. “I could be, you know.”

“Could be what?” She was so beautiful, she took his breath away.

“Deranged. Aren’t you listening? After all, I decided on a lifetime of sucking blood from the necks of men.”

“From the necks of men?” He could breathe again, really breathe. It was safe to allow his heart to beat again. “You will never, at any time, be sucking on the necks of men, unless, of course, it happens to be mine. I am a jealous man, baby, a very jealous man.”

“Why don’t I feel like I want blood? Shouldn’t I have cravings?” She turned her head to look up at him. His color was back, his clothes once more immaculate. How did he do that? She didn’t really care. She was so tired, she just wanted to sleep. “I still don’t like closed-in places. I thought I might wake up wanting to hang upside down like a bat or something,” she teased.

He caught the worried note, the one she was desperately trying to hide from him. His fingers tangled in her hair in a soothing massage. “We will get through this, Tempest. I cannot believe you took such a chance with your life. I will have much to say to you when you are feeling better. You were told the decision was made, and yet you deliberately chose to place your life in jeopardy. I will not get over this for many centuries.” He would never get over her courage, the act of sheer love she had committed for him. For him. His heart was melting even as it was pounding in a kind of terror for what would follow.

“Stop lecturing me, Darius,” she said softly, pressing a hand to her stomach. Her insides were beginning to feel hot and uncomfortable, as if they were suddenly twisting and turning. “Oh, God, I’m sick.”

Instantly he placed his hand over her stomach and felt the writhing inside her body, the building waves of heat. He swore softly. The breath rushed out of her, tore a cry of pain from her throat. She jerked up, then slammed back against him. He laced his fingers through hers.

“It has started, my love. You are going through the conversion.” He merged his mind with hers, focused, shouldered as much of the pain as he was able.

The first wave of pain lasted several minutes. An eternity. Darius was sweating and swearing in every language he knew. When she grew quiet, he wiped the beads of blood from her face with shaking fingers.

Tempest moistened her lips, her green eyes cloudy with shock. “If you leave me in the first century after this, Darius, I swear to you, I’ll hunt you down like a dirty dog. They said painful. Remind me to tell them that’s an understatement.”

“They may not be alive for you to tell,” he threatened, brushing back the silken strands of her hair, now damp and clinging to her skin. He wanted to strangle Syndil and Desari for their interference.

She tightened her grip on him, her muscles going rigid. Darius had to hold her down as her body seized and contorted, the fire racing to tissue and bones. It squeezed her heart and lungs, reshaping, changing her organs, the pain so intense that it drove all color from her face even when he shouldered the agony with her.