Dark Desire (12 page)

Shea went very still, forced her mind away from panic and fear, back toward logic. He had called to her in need. The moment she realized that, she relaxed, holding him in her arms with acceptance. He needed her, and she could do no other than help him. His hands were everywhere, rough, hurting even; his teeth bit at her much too hard.
Jacques.
Deliberately she sought the red haze of his mind. She was calm, tranquil, accepting of his bestial nature.
Come back to me
.

He latched on to her like a drowning man, merging his mind with hers. He was breathing hard, in such pain. She could feel the dark desire beating at him, the demand that he claim what was rightfully his. Jacques struggled for control of the monster within him. Shea kissed his throat, the hard line of his jaw, a soothing, gentle touch.
It's all right. Come back to me.

He buried his face in her neck, crushed her tightly to him. He was exhausted, in pain, afraid he had driven her even further away. It was Shea who stroked his hair, murmured soothing nonsense, Shea who lay soft and pliant close to his heart. Her palm shaped the side of his face, a physical contact; her mind merged firmly, wholly, with his.

I am sorry
. Jacques rested his chin on top of her head, unwilling to face the condemnation he feared would be reflected in her eyes.

Ssh, just be still. I should never have left you alone
.

You did not cause this.
His arms tightened momentarily.
Shea, do not think that. You are not to blame for my madness. My body needs yours. The mating between lifemates is not exactly the same as human mating. I nearly hurt you, Shea. I am sorry
.

You're the one in pain, Jacques
, she pointed out gently.
She realized she was using their mental link, accepting it as natural. She sighed, reached up to kiss his chin.

They held each other like two children after a terrible fright, taking comfort in one another's closeness. Shea became aware after a time that her skin was against his, bare, sensitive, her breasts pressed into his side. “I don't suppose you want to tell me what happened to my shirt.” She lay motionless, drowsy and content. Being so close to him should have bothered her, but it simply seemed normal. Her gaze found the material slashed to ribbons, scattered on the floor beside the bed. “You were in a bit of a hurry, I see,” she pointed out, making an effort to get up to get dressed.

When Shea would have pulled away from him, Jacques refused to relinquish his hold. Instead, he reached lazily for the quilt and pulled it around her. His smile was in her mind.
Tell me of your childhood
. He dropped the words into the silence, felt her shock, her pain, her instant withdrawal.
I want you to tell me this yourself, Shea. I could look into your memories, but it is not the same as your trusting me with something so personal
. He had already seen her childhood, the terrible way she had grown up alone. Jacques wanted her to share it with him, to give him the priceless gift of her trust.

Shea could hear the strong, steady beat of his heart, a soothing rhythm. It seemed only fair that she share her nightmare when she had glimpsed the dark stain on his soul. “I became aware something was wrong with my mother at a very early age. She would withdraw for weeks at a time, never noticing if I ate or slept or was hurt. She had no friends. She almost never left the house. She rarely showed interest or affection.”

Jacques' hand slid over her hair in a caress, found the nape of her neck in a comforting massage. The distress in her voice was almost more than he could bear.

“I was six years old when I discovered I was different, that I needed blood. My mother had forgotten me for several days in a row. She just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. I would go into her room every morning to kiss her good-bye before going to school. She never seemed to notice. As the days went by, I became so weak I couldn't walk across the room. She came to me, and I watched as she cut herself and bled into a glass. She told me I had to drink it—to drink blood often. After she died, I only used transfusions, but…”

She was silent for so long that Jacques touched her mind, felt her childhood self-loathing, her fears, and her sense of isolation. His arms tightened, drew her closer to his powerful frame, wanting to shelter her for all time. He knew what it meant to be alone. Totally alone. He never wanted her to feel like that again.

Shea felt the light brush of Jacques' mouth on her forehead, at her temple, in her hair. His tenderness warmed her when she was shivering inside. “My mother wasn't like me. No one was like me. I could never tell anyone, ask anyone about it. She took me to Ireland to hide me because when I was born, my blood was so odd it stirred interest in both the medical and scientific fields. I had to be transfused daily, but I still grew weak. When I was a few years old, two men came to our house and asked her a lot of questions about me. I could hear their voices, and I was afraid. I hid under the bed, afraid she might make me see them. She didn't. They scared my mother as much as they did me. She packed us up and moved us away.”

You are certain your mother never touched blood?
He probed gently, afraid she would stop sharing what were obviously painful memories. He had no real way to ease her hurt except with the strength of his arms and the closeness of his body.

“Never. She was like a beautiful shadow already gone from the world. She thought only of him. Rand. My father.”

The name touched a painful fragment of memory in him. It was so intense, he let it slip away before he could catch it.
You never met him?
The mere thought of the man she called her father brought splinters of glass stabbing through his head.

“No, he was married to a woman named Noelle.”

Shocked recognition, an inconsolable grief, a woman once beautiful, beheaded, a stake through her heart. The memory was so vivid, so intense, Jacques choked, shoved the information far away from him. But he had recognized her.
Noelle
.

Shea lifted her head, green eyes searching his black gaze. “You know her.” She shared the memory in his mind, saw the same fragments of images. The glimpse sickened her, the brutality of that death. The woman had been murdered using the ritual “vampire” slaying techniques. Beheaded. The stake.

She is dead
. He said it with certainty, with sorrow.
She was my sister
.

Shea's face went white. “Did she have a son?”

A male child
.

“Oh, God!” Shea tore herself out of his arms as if burned, leapt up and away from him, her arms covering her breasts, her eyes wild. “This gets worse every minute. My father was probably your sister's husband.” She backed away from the bed in horror.

You do not know this. It is a big world
.

“How many Rands are there from the Carpathian Mountains, someone like you? Someone married to a woman named Noelle, who gave birth to a boy? It was all in my mother's diary.”

Vampire hunters drove a stake through her heart. Years
ago. Years before they got me. I do not remember more. Perhaps I do not care to
.

Shea found another shirt, dragged it on. “I'm sorry for her. I'm sorry for my mother. This is all so wrong.” She waved a hand, encompassed the bed. “We're probably related or something.”

Lifemates are born to one another, Shea. There is only one for each. What your parents or my sister chose to do with their lives has nothing to do with us
.

“Of course it does. We don't know who you really are. We know virtually nothing about you. What I'm doing here with you is against the rules of my profession. We don't even know if you're married or not.”

There is only one lifemate, Shea. I know this is all new and frightening to you, but as I must lie here in frustration, you must have patience. We are finding out information in bits and pieces. I cannot remember details I know are important to us. I ask that you be patient while we sort these things out
. He shifted uncomfortably.

The movement brought her back to herself, calmed her as nothing else could. “You aren't taking care of yourself, Jacques. You can't be moving around.” She bent over him, her hand cool on his burning skin. The hole below his heart was beginning to heal. Her long hair fell over her shoulder, brushed his abdomen with fire. The warmth of her breath as she leaned over him to examine the wound was like a dancing flame on his skin.

Jacques closed his eyes as every muscle in his body clenched in response. His reaction to her more than anything else told him that he was healing. His hand knotted in the silk of her hair.
I know you think to leave me, Shea, when I am at full strength
. Her enormous eyes jumped to his face, watched as he crushed her silky hair to his mouth.
You fear me. I can see the fear in your eyes
.

Her tongue moistened her lower lip. She looked thought
ful. Jacques found her mind using its ability to shove her emotions aside as it did when she felt threatened in some way. Her intellect took over, assessing the situation between them. “I don't know what you are, Jacques, or, when you're perfectly well, what you're capable of doing. I know nothing of your past or your future. I'm a medical researcher, and, once you recover, it's very possible we won't have a thing in common.”

His black gaze did not leave her face. Hard. Watchful. Even his body seemed utterly still.
You fear me
. He wanted her to face the real issue, not push it aside.
You have no reason to fear me
.

She tilted her head to one side, red hair cascading in all directions. “You think I don't? Jacques, you threaten everything I have ever known about life. You changed me. If I was only half Carpathian, or whatever it is—vampire, maybe, I don't know at this point—you did something to bring me all the way into your world. I'm different now. I can't eat, I have no human bodily functions, and my hearing has increased even more. All my abilities. Everything. You took away the life I knew and replaced it with something neither of us knows anything about.” She shook her head, then gave in to the desire to tangle her fingers in his jet-black hair. “I will not be like my mother, Jacques, living only for a man. When he deserted her, she waited only until she thought I no longer needed her, and she killed herself. That isn't love, it's obsession. No child of mine will ever suffer what her sick obsession with Rand put me through.”

He breathed in her scent, and again the heat was upon him, scorching him with the urgent demand to bury himself in her, to become truly one.
I need you, Shea. Is it so impossible to think you might actually love me? I feel your complete acceptance of me. I know it is in you. Rand and your mother have nothing to do with us. You saw the darkness in me, the beast struggling for control, yet you re
mained. My imprisonment may have destroyed whatever I originally was, and I do not know who I am now. But I know that I need you. Would you really leave me alone?

She felt his despair. “Don't start believing you're a monster. The way you touch me sometimes, with such tenderness, that is no monster.” Her body was restless, a need moving over her, through her, a need she had never known before. “You wanted me, Jacques, yet you stopped yourself. You're no monster.”

Maybe my wounds stopped me, not my self control
. She had stopped him with her acceptance of the beast in him.

“You're tired, Jacques. Sleep for a while.”

He caught her hand, his thumb feathering across the inside of her wrist.
I am not a vampire. I have not turned
.

“I don't understand.”

He closed his eyes, smiled in his mind. She was back to using her professional, scientific voice.
You were worried that I had turned. Earlier, in the woods, you were afraid I was a vampire. Just now you thought our people might be vampire. We are Carpathian, not the undead
.
Unless we turn.

“Would you stay out of my head? Wait until you're invited.”

If I waited for an invitation from you, little red hair, I would be centuries old before it ever came about
. The smile in his mind was just a little too sexy for her peace of mind.
I was merely attempting to ease your fears
. Now he sounded innocent.

She laughed softly. “Do I have
naïve
stamped on my forehead?”

Has anyone ever complained about your bedside manner?

Shea raised her eyebrows. “I'm a surgeon. I don't need a bedside manner. And in any case, I've never had such an outrageous patient before. Stop calling me
red hair.
And
little red hair
. And all the other things you call me. Dr. O'Halloran is appropriate.”

For the first time his sensuous mouth softened, curved into a grin. The effect on her was shattering. It wasn't right for a male to look that sexy. He should be banned from all female company.

Handsome and sexy. I must be getting somewhere after all
. His tone was lazy, teasing, a little bit husky.

Shea laughed softly. It was impossible to be annoyed with him when he was in this mood. “You
are
handsome and sexy, but don't let it go to your head. You're also arrogant, dominating, and too ruthless for my taste.” She squashed him without a qualm.

Jacques tugged on her hand, drew her close to the bed so that he could bring her palm to the warmth of his mouth.
I am exactly to your taste
.

She yanked her hand away as if he had burned her, rubbing her palm along her thigh. The feeling didn't go away, and neither did the butterflies he had sent winging in her stomach. “How do you know you're not a vampire?” She needed to distract him, distract both of them. “Maybe you forgot. You're certainly capable of acting like one.”