Dark Predator d-22

by Christine Feehan

  Put your hands on the wound and apply pressure. Go deep, Marguarita.

  She’d dealt with lacerations, but never anything like this. She was no nurse, but she was all Ricco had. She closed her eyes and did as Zacarias instructed. Her hands sank into blood and gore with a horrible sound.

  Soft laughter teased her mind. I have to see, kislány kuηenak minan—my little lunatic. Keep your eyes open.

  Swallowing hard she did so. She felt heat move through her body. Her hands tingled and grew hot. Her fingers moved of their own accord and somehow, for one moment, she was no longer inside her own body, but tied to Zacarias and moving through Ricco’s body. It was an odd wrenching sensation leaving her physical body behind and streaming through another human. Her stomach rebelled, but she fought hard to stay in control, breathing deep.

  Just as abruptly she was back, a little dizzy and feeling weak. She could tell Zacarias was even weaker than she was.

  That should hold him until he gets to a surgeon, but he’s lost too much blood, Marguarita. I will have to give him mine or all of this is for naught.

  Do you want us to bring him back into the house? Can you make it up this time of day?

  Do not take the chance of moving him again. I will come to you.

  But you can’t. He couldn’t. The sun would burn him. What had she done? Please don’t sacrifice your life.

  Again she felt that brushing caress go through her mind, as if he’d trailed fingertips over the inside of her skull.

  Lea was in the pilot seat, already going through the checklist, preparing for flight. Marguarita lifted her hand to attract Julio’s attention. Frantically she wiped her hands and scribbled a note to Julio.

  Tell her we have to stabilize him before she can fly him out of here. Zacarias did what he could through me, but he says he needs his blood to survive the journey. He’s coming out and Lea can’t see him. She can’t know he’s in residence. I’ll explain as soon as I can.

  Julio nodded. She was grateful he understood the gravity of the situation and didn’t waste time arguing with her. Outside the sky darkened and ominous clouds gathered and spun as if angry.

  “We’ve got to go,” Lea shouted.

  “Not yet,” Julio protested. “Marguarita has to stabilize him or he won’t make it.”

  “The weather’s turning ugly,” Lea said. “If we don’t get moving we’re not getting him to the hospital.”

  “The storm will pass fast,” Julio assured. “Trust me on this.”

  I will be out in a couple of minutes. Zacarias’s voice entered Marguarita’s head.

  I’ll tell you when it’s safe for you. There’s someone here who shouldn’t see you. She’s not one of us and I think her brother is a danger to you.

  She will not see me.

  Marguarita felt close to panic. She might not want to betray their friendship, but Marguarita didn’t know her well enough to count on her to remain silent if her brother insisted on the truth.

  She handed Julio the note.

  Take Lea somewhere for a few minutes.

  Julio bent down and whispered into Lea’s ear. She nodded and tossed her headphones aside, sliding from the helicopter. They both ran toward the house. The sky darkened even more, the turbulent clouds casting dark shadows across the ground. The horses began to act up, half rearing and pawing the air, tossing their heads and dancing around. Marguarita waved the men away from the area, sending a calming touch to the horses.

  In the midst of the storm clouds, she made out a stream of vapor moving through the shadows, staying beneath the canopy of trees and the various rooflines. Zacarias made his way through the yard to the large hangar.

  He moved quickly into the large building, staying to the darker corners as he approached the helicopter. Marguarita moved to allow him inside. There wasn’t a lot of room with Ricco lying so quiet and still, taking up a good deal of space.

  He’s barely breathing, she pointed out.

  Zacarias took his human form, his wide shoulders and larger frame crowding Marguarita as he bent over the wounded man. “His lungs sustained damage.” Using his teeth, he opened the vein in his wrist and pressed it against Ricco’s mouth. “You will drink what is offered and you will stay alive. Do you hear me?”

  Ricco’s mouth moved against Zacarias’s wrist. Marguarita couldn’t look away. It was repelling and fascinating at the same time. She knew Zacarias’s blood flowed in her veins; it was only because of him that she had lived through the vicious vampire attack. If Ricco lived, he would owe his life to Zacarias.

  No, emnim—my woman, he will owe his life to you. I did this because you asked it of me. I do not meddle in the affairs of humans.

  Thank you. He’s important to me. Ricco has served your family since he was a child and he’s always been loyal.

  “It is enough that you asked me, Marguarita.” He whispered again to Ricco and took his wrist from the man’s mouth, closing the laceration. He ran his hand down the length of Marguarita’s hair. “Come back to the house and allow them to take him to the hospital. If he fights, and they have a good surgeon, he will live.”

  You can’t be seen here. I’ll come as soon as Julio gets back. She was anxious for him to stay out of sight.

  Zacarias flashed her a careless smile and her heart stuttered in her chest. He looked virile, so strong, it was hard to conceive that in the daylight he was vulnerable and even weak.

  “You think I cannot handle a mortal? A female at that?”

  She made a face at him. His ego was going to get him into trouble. The door to the house banged and she knew Julio was warning them that he was on the way back with Lea.

  They’re coming back. Go now. Hurry. Disappear. She felt desperate. She didn’t trust Lea, or anyone else for that matter, not to talk about seeing him. He was too mesmerizing, too different. Too dangerous. You have to go.

  Zacarias’s smile reached his eyes. He wrapped a length of her hair around his hand. “I like when your hair is a mess. You look as if we have been hours playing in the bedroom.”

  He’d never said anything like that to her. No one had. She felt the blush start and go all the way down to her toes. Anxiety poured through her. She pushed at the wall of his chest. You have to go. I’m not joking.

  He captured her hands, pressing her palms tight against his chest. Her heart accelerated until she thought it might jump out of her skin. He laughed softly. “There you go again, touching me without permission. How should I punish you? I wonder . . .”

  She looked over his shoulder at Julio and Lea. Lea carried an armload of blankets. Please. Just go. Please hurry. You can do whatever when you’re safe.

  “I can do whatever?” His eyebrow shot up. “That leaves me a lot of room.”

  Julio glared at her, signaling frantically.

  Zacarias!

  He dissolved right in front of her. One moment he was solid, his heavy muscles under her palms, and the next he was gone and she was alone. She stepped quickly from the helicopter, giving Julio room to leap in beside Ricco.

  “Has he helped then?” Julio whispered.

  Lea handed in the blankets and climbed into the pilot’s seat. Already the clouds were dissipating just as fast as they’d formed.

  Marguarita nodded and hurried back to the house while the helicopter rose into the sky.

  10

  Zacarias stood in Marguarita’s bathroom, inhaling her unique fragrance. The clawed tub was deep and the scent of peaches and cream wafted up from the porcelain. His slumber had been disturbed by the pebbles hitting her window. He was so tuned in to her now, so much a part of her mind, that even in his sleep, he was aware of her.

  He was a little stunned at the excitement flaring, his nerve endings alive and sizzling with the anticipation of being in her company. He was looking forward to sparring with her. He’d even teased her a little about touching him without permission and as shocking as he found that—he’d enjoyed it.

  He’d been all over the world, climb
ed to the highest mountaintops, descended into the deepest of caves, lived in the rain forests, roamed free and never once in all that time, in all those centuries, had he felt alive—until now. Standing in a small room drawing the scent of Marguarita deep into his lungs made him feel more than he ever had—or could ever remember.

  He looked forward to seeing her, touching her. Hunger beat in his veins, a raw, frantic need that echoed through every cell in his body. His physical body took up that call, an urgent demand for the taste and feel of her. Marguarita, his beautiful lunatic. His woman. He allowed the thought to seep into his bones and settle in his soul. He couldn’t remember a time when he had called anything his. Warriors were never attached to anything or anyone. But Marguarita had somehow found her way inside him—become a part of him. He didn’t even know how it happened. She was just there, in his mind, filling all those shadowed places and connecting broken threads he hadn’t known—or cared—existed.

  He knew the moment she entered the house. She washed her hands in the kitchen and then went to her bedroom. He heard the rustle of clothes and moved silently into her room to stand behind her, just observing. She stood in front of a full-length mirror, and as he came up behind her, he made certain his reflection didn’t show in the glass.

  There was something beautiful about a woman doing the simple task of undressing. The skirt pooled at her feet and she stepped free of the material, revealing her slender, shapely legs, and her rounded bottom encased in a very sheer scrap of lace. His breath caught in his throat as she slowly opened the buttons of her blouse and inch by slow inch revealed the creamy swell of her breasts molded by another sheer, lacy undergarment.

  Her skin was flawless, so soft it was difficult not to reach out and run his hand down her back. He liked her hair wild, a black cloud of silk cascading like a waterfall to below her waist. Zacarias stepped close to her, his hands sliding around her to link just below her breasts. She inhaled in a kind of shocked delight, her eyes jumping to the mirror. He allowed his own form to materialize behind her. He was a good head taller than she was, his shoulders much wider than hers. He cupped the soft weight of her breasts in his palms and leaned down to bury his face in the cloud of her hair.

  “I love how you smell,” he whispered into all that silk. He loved how she felt, how her hair felt against his skin. How they looked together, her feminine body so completely engulfed by his masculine one. Simple things. Pleasurable when there had never been pleasure.

  She didn’t tense or push him away as he expected. He would have allowed her freedom, but she leaned back into him and closed her eyes, relaxing against him. Such a small thing, but for him, intense.

  He nuzzled her neck, his fingers moving over her breasts, the sensation astonishing. He felt the softness beneath the pads of his fingers and each touch fueled more heat in his body, driving his temperature up. He did nothing to control the rush, allowing it to spread through his body, marveling at the miracle of woman. He stroked caresses over all that soft skin. His shaft swelled, became full and heavy, and he pressed closer to her soft body.

  “I want to exchange blood with you. This time it will not hurt. I will make certain you will enjoy it. Will you trust me?” He whispered the words, a blatant seduction. He wanted her to agree, to give herself to him. To be part of him willingly.

  She went still, but there was no rejection, not from her body, or in her mind. She slipped her arm back over her shoulder, hooking her hand around his neck as she tilted her head back. The action lifted those soft, full breasts, her nipples tight and pushing at the lace.

  Kiss me. A soft wisp of heat curling in his mind. Sheer temptation.

  His cock jumped. Pulsed. She was sensual without even knowing it, enticing him when he no longer had the will to resist her. He had known when he answered her call that he was making a commitment to her. He hadn’t considered that he would make her fully his. She had never been in so much danger and yet she didn’t seem to have any self-preservation.

  “If I kiss you, kislány kuηenak minan—my little lunatic—I do not know if I will stop there.” The ache was there. The need. The hunger clawing deeper than it ever had.

  She nuzzled his neck. You would stop if I asked you to.

  There was complete confidence in her voice. She should have been afraid of him. He had given her reason to fear him—deliberately had done so, yet he felt her confidence. She was giving herself into his keeping and he didn’t understand why. He truly didn’t trust himself with her—so how could she? She was every bit the lunatic he had named her, yet now, it was an endearment. Now, he thought her beautiful and brave. He thought her—his.

  Kiss me, she whispered again into his mind. An enticement. A seduction.

  Her fingertips traced his earlobe and his body tightened. He felt the breath leave his lungs. There was no resisting that soft lure. He turned his head to find her mouth with his. He brushed his lips gently, almost reverently over hers. He felt the impact right down to his toes. Electricity sparked along his nerve endings.

  He took his time, tracing her lips, committing the shape and feel of her to memory. He had refused for so long to retain anything in his memory that didn’t add to his fighting abilities, but now, learning all about her was as necessary as breathing. He didn’t want to hurt her. Not again. He’d spent a great deal of time thinking about how she felt his emotions when he couldn’t. How she saw inside of him when he was unable to do so.

  Her fingernails traced around the upper curve of his ears. She turned her head a little more and found his earlobe with her mouth, biting gently, and then suckling, her tongue a velvet rasp, sending spiraling heat to his aching groin. Her fingers found his thick hair in an erotic massage that added to the sensations streaking to his cock.

  The physical feelings were intense now, gathering like a fireball in the pit of his stomach and spreading through his body like a wildfire. He hadn’t felt anything for so many centuries and now she had brought his icy body to volcanic, fiery life. And she knew what she was doing. She wanted him to feel.

  It doesn’t hurt you to feel. Her voice slipped seductively into his mind, proving she was lodged deep in his being—proving she knew his thoughts. Feel me, Zacarias. Feel what I’m feeling when you’re touching me.

  “This is dangerous,” he whispered, knowing he was already lost.

  His hands, of their own accord, pushed aside the flimsy scrap of lace covering the soft weight of her breasts. He tugged at her nipples, his mind already firmly entrenched in hers. He could feel exactly what each tug and roll did to her, the sizzling streaks of fire racing to her core. He could become just as addicted to feeling her pleasure as he was fast learning about his own. “You are dangerous.”

  I won’t hurt you.

  The words brushed in his mind like silk against his skin. He felt her smile, that tender, outrageous, amazing gift of a smile.

  “I am afraid of hurting you. You have no idea what I am capable of.” He was fighting for her, yet he couldn’t stop his hands from exploring all that creamy flesh. She was so soft and warm and beautiful. The heady scent of her arousal enveloped him and fed the fires burning and clawing at his belly.

  Her fingers continued that slow, erotic massage along his scalp. Her lips whispered over his ear, his neck, her tongue tasting his pulse. She was temptation and he was too weak to resist.

  I see you. I’m inside your mind just as you’re inside my mind. I see inside of you, Zacarias. You would never hurt me. Never. It isn’t in you.

  I did hurt you. Several times.

  Her soft laughter rippled through his groin, so that he felt himself swell more. Felt the first drops of need weeping for her. You were striking at yourself, Zacarias, not at me. You know what I say is truth.

  He hoped she was right, because there was no way he could stop himself from tasting heaven. Not now. Not with her soft body moving against his and her wild hair brushing like silken skeins over his skin. Not with her breasts in his hands, his fingers rolling
and teasing and tugging at her sensitive nipples. Every shiver that went through her body, every electrical spark, he felt in his own. He heard himself groan as she bit down on his neck, that sweet sensitive spot where his shoulder joined. She was killing him slowly.

  Hunger beat at him, raw and desperate. The sound of her pulse throbbed in his own veins. He didn’t hide his need from her. He wanted her to see who he was—what he was. She had to accept the truth, not some girlish human fantasy. He was pure predator. He had no gentle edges, or soft spots. She was rousing the devil, and if he took her, he would never let her go.

  “I need your blood.” He said it deliberately, his mouth moving over that sweet pulse that called so deeply to him.

  He waited for her to panic, to pull away from him, to save herself. Instead, her lips moved back to his ear, tugging on his earlobe and sending another streak of fire straight to his groin.

  Kiss me. I won’t be so afraid of you taking my blood if you kiss me. You can’t lie when you’re kissing someone.

  Did she think he would lie to her? He knew nothing of relationships. He’d long ago buried his mother and father from his existence, refusing to ever allow them into his mind—or heart. They were gone along with every scrap of humanity that had ever been in him. On some level, he recognized that this woman, this human woman who had no reason to even like him, was fighting to save him. It was in her mind, in her heart.

  Kiss me, Zacarias.

  His heart felt brittle. He feared it would shatter in his chest. Kissing her again would be claiming her. Making her irrevocably his. Her body was amazing, a sensual lure he doubted few could ever resist, but it was that tenacious determination, her resolve that she would pull him into the light that drew him like a magnet. She mesmerized him. She had no thought for herself, and she refused to abandon him to the fate of all predatory Carpathians.

  How did one fight that? How did he find the strength to walk away from someone that courageous? He was lost for the first time in his life. And for the first time, he wanted to fight for his existence—for her. To match her courage.