Dark Desire

Shea looked at her then, this woman who had been a part of Jacques’ life. “I’m Shea O’Halloran.” Her voice was husky and ragged. “Jacques has been unable to use his voice since I found him.”

Raven touched Shea’s bruised throat with gentle fingers. “Someone had better tell me what happened here.” Her blue eyes were studying the dark smudges closely.

“Help her to the bed,” Gregori interceded, distracting Raven from her study. You owe me one, old friend,he sent to Mikhail.

Raven smiled very gently at Jacques. “Do you mind if I help her? Shea is quite weak.” Not waiting for his approval, she slipped an arm around Shea’s waist, supporting her as she tried to stand.

Instantly Shea felt the ripple of unease coursing through Jacques. The others felt it as the ground shifted and rolled. The flames in his eyes glowed a brilliant red, and a slow hiss escaped him.

Raven glared at Mikhail over her shoulder. He shrugged helplessly. I am not doing it, little one. Jacques is unstable. He does not like the woman apart from him.

Temper tantrums seem to run in your family.Ravenwas careful to keep Shea close as Gregori lifted Jacques in his arms. With his tremendous strength, the healer carried Jacques as if he were a child and gently laid him on the bed.

Jacques didn’t so much as look at him. His eyes were always on Shea. Raven made certain Shea was beside him every step of the way.

“Lie close to him, Shea,” Gregori instructed. He stepped back so Raven could help her into the bed. The woman was very weak and could not survive another attack. All of them had to take great care not to set Jacques off.

Raven lit the candle Mikhail produced, then lit pungent herbs. Mikhail, Byron, and Raven all joined together, in low murmurs reciting the ancient healing chant in the language of their people. Gregori laid his hands on Jacques, closed his eyes, and sent himself seeking outside his own body and into Jacques’. The physical wounds had begun to heal, with the exception of the one Shea had just repaired. Gregori examined her work, found it flawless. She was a true healer, human or not. Few could have equaled her medical expertise. He began the painstaking project of healing Jacques from the inside out.

Jacques was uncomfortably aware of another’s presence in his body, in his mind, of a new burning sensation inside him. The presence was vaguely familiar. The chant, the scent of herbs, and the flickering candlelight also seemed familiar. But he couldn’t catch the memories and hold on to them. As fast as they shimmered in front of him, they swirled in a teasing eddy, crystallized, and dissolved.

Automatically, in his frustration and hopelessness, he reached for Shea, the one path his mind knew and could hold on to. She was drifting, floating, yet she watched Gregori intently, trying to follow his every move despite her physical weakness. As always, information was massing, computing in her brain at a speed that amazed Jacques. He concentrated on her, found she was terribly weak, her blood volume insufficient. Alarmed, Jacques jerked himself from the half-trance the healing ritual had induced and clamped his hand like a vise around the healer’s forearm.

Gregori instantly withdrew from the wounds in Jacques’ body. The room fell dead silent; the very air itself stilled, thickened. The flames vanished from the candles, plunging the room into the total darkness of night, yet it was no darkness to the group. Little beads of perspiration dotted Gregori’s forehead, the only indication of how difficult the healing process was on the healer.

Silver eyes slashed to the hand gripping his forearm, jumped to Jacques’ gaunt face. There was the glitter of death in those pale eyes. Jacques met the ice-cold gaze, stare for stare. His mind struggled to tune itself, find a path. When he could not, Jacques reached for his voice. The words formed in his brain but were lost before his vocal cords could find them. Black fury swirled at his own inadequacy, but he pushed it aside. Shea needed blood, needed help. He had caused her enough suffering. “Blood.” The single word was more of a growl than anything else, but the healer heard.

Gregori regarded him dispassionately, silent for a long moment. His movements were unhurried as with his free hand he calmly punctured his own wrist just above Jacques’ menacing fingers. His silver gaze remained locked with Jacques’. Gregori’s blood was powerful, ancient like Mikhail’s. It would speed the healing process as no other’s could. Rich blood dripped and beckoned as he offered it silently to the Carpathian male lying so battered and torn, yet so willing to do battle.

Hunger rose so swiftly and sharply in Jacques that it was a compulsion. He dragged the proffered wrist to his mouth and fed voraciously, at last finding the hot, rich blood he needed to survive, to heal and grow strong, to pass on to Shea. The liquid nourishment poured into his starved body, spreading to every withered cell. Tissues and muscles swelled with strength. Power surged through him, built and built until he felt alive, really alive. Until colors were vivid, brilliant even, until the sounds of the night beckoned and called to him as one of them. Creature of the night.

“Enough.” Gregori’s voice was a whisper of beauty, of purity, so compelling it would have been nearly impossible to disobey him, Jacques closed the wound on Gregori’s wrist and immediately reached for Shea. He pulled her into the circle of his arms, cradling her light, nearly insubstantial body to him. He focused his attention, blocked out his own pain and merged his mind firmly with Shea’s. You must feed.

He could feel the ripple of unease ru

You must, little red hair.Hestrengthened 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.