A Hunger Like No Other

by Kresley Cole

  Not to mention the fact that he couldn't seem to give her enough of his luscious blood.

  Was she becoming this Lykae's Patty Hearst?

  Didn't matter. The bottom line was that she wasn't his mate, so even if he did seduce her and they had a little some-something going on, she'd be merely idling time until he found his true one. And if she got herself nailed and bailed by a man like Lachlain, she thought she might turn into one of those blubbery, weepy females. Which was not an option.

  She was relieved she wasn't this mate of his. She was. If she had been his mate, it would have been like a life sentence. He would never let her go, she'd be browbeaten and miserable with him, and if she escaped he would come for her until her aunts finally killed him.

  Her coven would delight in it. If they found out he'd kissed her and touched her intimately, they would unleash hell on him and his kind. As far as she knew, she was the only one of her coven ever to be touched by a Lykae.

  And her mother had been the only one to fully succumb to a vampire.

  *

  Emma woke at sunset, sensing something.

  She scanned the darkened room, popping up her head, peeking over the side of the bed, but saw nothing. She told herself it was nothing, even as she hastily dressed and packed, then rushed to Lachlain's room.

  She found him still clad only in those jeans, with no blanket to cover him because he'd used his to secure her window. Right before her eyes, he began shuddering as though in the grip of a nightmare. He rumbled words in Gaelic, and his skin grew slick with sweat. All the muscles in his body tensed as if he was in great pain.

  "Lachlain?" she whispered. Without thought, she hurried to him, reaching out to run her fingers down his cheek and through his thick hair, trying to soothe him.

  He did still. "Emmaline," he murmured, without waking. Was she in his dreams?

  She herself had had a doozy of a dream, the most realistic one she'd ever experienced.

  She absently stroked his forehead as she recalled it. It seemed to be from Lachlain's point of view--she could see things that he saw, smell scents he smelled, feel as though with his fingers.

  He was in a shop under a tent. Jewels were spread before him, and a beautiful woman with long, coffee-colored hair streaked from the sun and sparkling green eyes was by his side.

  He selected a pounded-gold and sapphire necklace and purchased it from the shopkeeper. By the design of the jewelry and the currency he used, Emma knew this was long ago.

  The woman sighed and said, "More gifts."

  "Aye." Lachlain was irritated with her because he knew what she was about to say.

  The woman, whose name Emma somehow knew was Cassandra, said, "Nine hundred years you've waited. I've waited almost as long. Do you no' think that we--"

  "No," Lachlain interrupted sharply. How many times will she broach this? he thought.

  Cassandra might not believe, but he did.

  "I'd accept a night with you."

  "I doona see you as more than an old friend. Know that that can end." His ire was growing. "And you are of the clan and will meet her. Do you possibly think that I would put her in that uncomfortable position?"

  Emma shook her head at the bizarre dream, still thrown by how authentic it had felt. He only had to mention jewelry and she was dreaming up wonky scenarios.

  She glanced down and saw with a blush that she'd begun stroking his chest. She didn't stop, just marveled at how gorgeous his body was, marveled that he wanted to make love to her with it--

  His hand shot to her neck, tightening before she could scream.

  When he opened his eyes, they were completely blue.

  15

  Emmaline was touching him gently, murmuring his name. More of the nightmare--she would never do that, would never seek to comfort him. He saw nothing but a red haze, felt nothing but fire melting away his skin. He'd sensed his enemy for three days and now it was near his mate. He attacked.

  When the haze cleared, he couldn't comprehend what he saw. Emma's neck was clenched in his tightening grasp, her claws embedded in his arms as she gasped and fought for her life. Before he could even react he saw a vessel in her right eye burst.

  He yelled and released her, lunging away from her.

  She fell to her knees, struggling for air, coughing. He rushed to her to try to help, but she flinched, shoving her hand out to ward him off.

  "Ah, God, Emma, I dinna mean . . . I'd sensed something . . . I thought you were a vampire."

  She coughed, then rasped, "I--am . . . ."

  "No, I thought there was . . . another, one of the ones that imprisoned me." The bite, the blood, must've triggered the nightmares in full fury. "I thought you were him."

  "Who?" she bit out.

  "Demestriu," he finally grated. Against her weak protests, he drew her in his arms. "I never wanted to hurt you." He shuddered. "Emma, it was an accident."

  But his words had no effect. She shook in his arms, still afraid.

  She didn't trust him--never had--and he'd just reminded her why.

  *

  Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw him take one hand from the steering wheel, reaching out once more to touch her. As he had each time before, he closed it to a fist and brought it back.

  She sighed, leaning her face against the cool glass, staring out, seeing nothing.

  Her emotions were so torn over what had happened, she didn't know how to react.

  She wasn't angry with him over this particular incident. She'd been stupid enough to touch a Lykae in mid-nightmare and had paid the price. But she regretted that her throat hurt and that she couldn't take a pill to ease it. And she regretted what she'd learned about him.

  She had wondered if it was possible that the Horde had imprisoned him, but she'd dismissed the idea because prisoners simply didn't escape the Horde. She'd never heard of a single instance. Even her aunt Myst, who'd actually seen the inside of a Horde stronghold, hadn't escaped until rebels had taken the castle--and until a rebel general had freed her in order to make love to her.

  Having ruled out the Horde, Emma had figured that since he was the Lykae leader, this was political, possibly some kind of coup by his own kind.

  Yet it had been Demestriu, the most evil and powerful of all vampires, who'd imprisoned him. And if the rumors were true about Furie, if the tales of her torture at the bottom of the sea were correct, then what had he done to Lachlain? Had Demestriu ordered him drowned as well? Chained him in the earth and buried him alive?

  For one hundred and fifty years they'd tortured him until he'd escaped the inescapable.

  And she feared he'd somehow lost his leg to do it.

  She couldn't imagine the pain--endless pain that he'd experienced for so long only to culminate in that . . . ?

  What had happened tonight wasn't his fault. Though judging by his bleak expression he certainly thought so. Yet now, knowing what she did, she resented him for keeping her with him. What in the hell had he been thinking? After what he'd been through, Emma now knew that the incident tonight had been inevitable. Eventually he would have exploded in rage at her, and might do it again.

  She wouldn't allow this to happen again. She might not survive it. And if she did, she didn't want to have to tell people she had bruises circling her throat and a starburst of blood radiating from her pupil because she'd run into a sodding door. Why had he kept her with him?

  To take out his pain on her.

  He'd treated her like a vicious vampire. Disdained her as one for days. If he didn't watch out, she'd begin to behave like one to protect herself.

  They'd make Kinevane tonight, and at sunset tomorrow she'd be gone.

  *

  Emma leaned against the window and had that thing in her ears, though she didn't sing as she had last night.

  He wanted to remove it and talk to her, apologize to her. He was fiercely ashamed of his actions, had never been more ashamed, but he thought if he took it away from her, she would break. Since he'd sei
zed her, he'd terrified and hurt her, and he sensed she was at her limit, barely coping with the events of the last four days.

  The streetlamps shone down from overhead, illuminating her face--and the bruises on her pale throat, making him wince again.

  If he hadn't come to his senses when he did, he could have . . . he could have killed her. And because he didn't understand why he'd done it, he couldn't ensure it would never happen again. He couldn't guarantee her safety around him--

  A bell pinged, startling him.

  She leaned over to look, nodding at the fuel gauge that was now lit red. She pointed out the next exit, still without saying a word. He knew she was silent because it hurt her to speak.

  He was distracted, restless in the car that now seemed far too small for him, clenching the steering wheel. Yes, he'd been through hell, but goddamn it, how could he have choked his mate in any state of mind? When all he'd wanted to do was find her?

  When she'd been his salvation?

  It didn't matter that he hadn't claimed her--if he hadn't found her and been near her, been eased by her soft words and gentle touches, right now he'd be in a back alley, irretrievably mad.

  In return, he'd made her life into a hell.

  Off the exit, he spotted the sign for a gas station. He turned into the dirt lot, parking in front of the fuel pump she indicated. Just as he shut off the ignition, she pulled the things from her ears. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, she gazed upward, sighed, and held her hand flat out--which meant he was to give her the credit card. He did, then followed her outside to learn how to fuel the car.

  While they waited, he said, "I want to speak with you about what happened."

  She waved her hand. "Forgotten." Her voice was hoarse, belying the ridiculous statement. Under the harsh, unnatural lights of the station, her right eye appeared awash with red. She had to be furious again--why hide it?

  "Why will you no' confront me? Rail at me? I give you free leave to scream at me."

  In a low tone, she said, "Are you asking me why I avoid conflict?"

  "Aye. Precisely," he said, then, seeing the glare on her face, wished he hadn't.

  "I am sick of everyone accusing me of that! Now someone who doesn't even know me has thrown that my way." Her scratchy voice was rising with anger. "The better question would be, why wouldn't I want to avoid conflict, because you'd be avoiding it too if . . ." She trailed off and looked away.

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. "If what, Emma?"

  When she finally faced him, her eyes were anguished. "If you always lost."

  His brows drew together.

  "Lose enough times, and guess what that makes you?"

  "No--"

  "When have I won a conflict with you?" She shrugged from under his hand. "When you kidnapped me? When you got me to agree to this insanity? When you got me to drink from you? You were imprisoned by vampires, Lachlain, and had just escaped them when you took me. Why in the hell would you keep me with you? You hate vampires--have shown me more disgust in less than a week than I've encountered in my entire life. Yet you kept me with you." She gave a bitter laugh. "How you must have loved your little revenges. Did you get off making me nauseated with humiliation? Get a perverse thrill by insulting me one second then shoving your hand up my skirt the next? And at every opportunity to let me go, you demanded I stay, knowing the entire time that I was in danger. From you."

  He could deny nothing. He ran his hand over his face as everything she said sank in. His feelings for her had become clearer to him, just as hers had reached a boiling point with him. He wanted to admit to her that she was his mate--that he hadn't kept her with him solely to hurt her. He knew he couldn't tell her now.

  "Like everyone else, you walk right over me and never even look back to see how I fared," she said, her voice cracking at the end, making regret cut at him. "Whoa, better shut myself up before I get too upset. Don't want to offend you with my repulsive tears!"

  "No, Emma, wait--"

  She slammed her car door shut, seeming surprised by her strength, then stalked away over the dirt lot. He let her go, though he moved to keep her in sight.

  He saw her sink down on a bench beside the station building and put her forehead in her hand, sitting like that for many moments. Just as he finished refueling, a strange chill wind blew, bringing a mist of rain with it and brushing a flower against her knee. She plucked the spent flower, smelled it, then wadded it up in frustration.

  He realized she'd never seen one blooming in the sun. His chest tightened with some unfamiliar feeling, so strong it shook him.

  The problems between them weren't because he'd been given the wrong mate. They were because he couldn't adapt--

  Three vampires appeared out of nowhere just beside her.

  To take her away from him forever.

  In an instant, he knew he should let her go to her family and free her from his hatred and pain. Earlier, as he'd tightened his hand around her throat, she'd stared up at him, begging him. She'd believed he was going to kill her. He could have so easily.

  The bruises on her neck stood out like an accusation in the harsh lights.

  But she gaped at them, as if shocked they'd just appeared when this was the way they traveled.

  The scene hit him as wrong. He leapt over the top of the car for her and they turned. The largest one was . . . a demon? Yet all of their eyes were solid red. A demon turned vampire?

  "Stay back, Lykae, or we'll kill you," one of the vampires grated.

  As Lachlain charged for her, the oddest thing happened.

  Crying his name, she sprinted for him.

  16

  Before he could reach her, one tackled Emma to the ground, the impact wrenching her breath away. Lachlain bellowed with rage. If he couldn't reach her . . . if she couldn't fight hard enough . . . the vampire could easily trace her. The two others appeared between him and Emma, baring their fangs. When she dug at the earth to escape, the beast rose up inside Lachlain and he let it free. He'd never wanted her to see it . . . .

  Power surged through his body with the turning. Outrage. Protect.

  The smaller vampire hissed, "She's his mate!" just before Lachlain attacked, slashing at him. He ripped and bit his body to pieces as he warded off blows from the other.

  The mist turned to hard, stinging rain with lightning clattering all around. Lachlain twisted the vampire's neck with his fingers until he'd separated it, then faced off against the demon. It was strong, but coming off injuries. Lachlain's claws were drawn to the wounds unerringly, just as the demon aimed for his leg. From the corner of his eye, Lachlain saw Emma wrestle to get free of the third. She rolled to her back beneath him, then soundly knocked her forehead against her attacker.

  The fiend howled in pain and slashed down her chest, leaving deep furrows that gushed blood into the mud. Lachlain roared and leapt for the demon between them. One slash of his claws rent the demon's head from his body, sending both pieces flying in different directions.

  The last vampire, crouched over Emma, stared up at him in horror, frozen, seeming too shocked to trace. As Lachlain swung for the killing blow, he saw Emma had squeezed her eyes shut.

  Rid of the third, Lachlain fell to his knees beside her. She opened her eyes as if she couldn't help it, blinking up at him, stricken by his appearance, more shocked by him than her wound or the attack. As he grappled for control, he comprehended that she was struggling to speak, choking on her blood and the pouring rain. All the while still edging away from him. She'd run to him before, but after witnessing what he was, she fought him.

  Against her weak resistance, he scooped her into his arms. He shook his head hard, breathing in deeply. "I will no' hurt you." His voice was low, broken, and, he knew, unrecognizable.

  With a shaking hand, he tore open what was left of her shirt, and as the rain washed away the blood and mud, he could see the damage that had savaged her delicate skin down to the bone. He clutched her to him and
roared, needing to kill them again. She whimpered at the sound and, amid the rain, pink tears tracked from her eyes.

  That alone was enough to give him the strength to take control.

  When he reached the car, he threw open the back door to lay her down on the seat, gently pulling her long hair out of the doorway before shutting her in. He rushed into the driver's seat, then raced down slippery roads for Kinevane, glancing back every few seconds. Dread settled over him when half an hour had passed and she still showed no signs of regeneration. Her wounds continued to bleed freely with none of the closure he should already be seeing.

  Never slowing, he bit his wrist open and thrust it back to her lips. "Drink, Emma!"

  She turned her face away. He put it against her once more, but she refused, clenching her jaw shut. She could die if she didn't drink.

  He'd been so busy hating what she was that he hadn't worried about how she saw him.

  He pulled to the side of the road, reaching back to dig his fingers into her mouth and part her teeth. When he dripped blood into her mouth, she couldn't stop herself from latching onto him, closing her eyes and drinking deeply. She stopped bleeding at once. When she passed out, he sped off again.

  The drive to Kinevane was a new kind of hell for him. He ran his other arm over his forehead, sweating, not knowing if more would attack or where they'd come from. He didn't know if she was strong enough to sustain this wound. How had she known to run from them?

  He'd almost lost her four days after finding her . . . .

  No, he'd almost given her away, allowed them to take her to Helvita--which he'd never been able to find. He'd scoured Russia for it, perhaps had just gotten close when they'd ambushed him last time.

  So close to losing her . . . . Now he knew he would do anything to keep her.

  He could work past his pain and torturing memories because he'd seen tonight how different she was from the others. Her appearance, her movements, everything was different. Her nature wasn't about aggression and killing like the others'. Blood for her--and now for Lachlain--was about life.

  Her wounds had begun healing immediately when she drank from him. He could sustain her.

  Which was the least he could do, since she'd finally made his life worth living.