Carpathian 02 - Dark Desire

Her agony was worse for him than his own, his rage at his impotence growing until he was consumed with it. Fingernails lengthened to murderous claws, tore holes in the sheets. Outside the wind picked up, howled at the windows, and ripped through the trees. A low growl rumbled in his throat, in his mind, increasing in volume. She was trying to protect him. He was a male of his race, his duty to take care of his own, yet she was suffering the fires of hell and refusing his aid lest she somehow give him her illness. He knew it was hers alone, that the fire twisting her insides was something important. She had to come to him; he did not know why, but every instinct, every cell in his body demanded her compliance.
    You must come to me. I cannot get to you. There is no danger to me, little red hair. I must insist on your obedience. It was an imperious demand, the voice a soft yet steely thread of sound. Very Old World, heavily accented. At the same time his voice was brushing at her skin, soothing her, promising his aid.
    In the bathroom, Shea splashed cold water on her face and rinsed her mouth. She had a minute or two before the next wave hit. She could feel the wild man's mixed emotions. He was frustrated with his inability to help her, was determined to reach her should she not respond. She was amazed that he needed to help her. It was an all-consuming emotion that vibrated in the air. Shea wanted to do as he commanded but was terrified of infecting him. The way her body was convulsing and pulsing with pain, she was certain it would kill him. Yet she wanted the comfort of another being.
    I cannot come to you. You must come to me. His voice was pitched low, black velvet enticement, impossible to ignore.
    Shea pushed herself off the wall and stumbled back to the bedroom, her face starkly white, shadows under her eyes. The bruises and wounds on her throat stood out plainly. She looked so fragile, he was afraid she would break if she fell again. He held out a hand to her, the expression in his dark eyes a mixture of demand and gentleness.
    "You probably gave me rabies," she muttered rebelliously, but already the fire was eating at her spleen, her kidneys, spreading from tissue to muscle, bones, and blood.
    Come now! I cannot take your suffering a moment longer. Deliberately he used that same mesmerizing tone, so that she felt an overwhelming need to do as he asked her. The voice seemed to be echoing in her mind, impelling her forward until she made it to the bed, rolling into a ball, burying her face in the pillow, hoping for death.
    His hand gently, almost tenderly, pushed back the heavy fall of hair from around her face, traced his thumbprint on her neck. He made an effort to search inside his mind for information. There was a key somewhere, a way to end her suffering, but, like his past, it eluded him. He was failing her when she had already endured so much to ensure his survival. He wanted to roar at the heavens, tear someone's throat out. They had done this to him.
    Two humans and a betrayer. They had taken his past, shattered his mind, and imprisoned him in a living hell. Worst of all they had taken away his ability to protect his lifemate. They had created a monster the likes of which they could not conceive.
    He touched her swollen throat, examined her wounds. Shea was beside him, locked in her own world of Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    suffering. This was so wrong. His head ached, splintered. He damned himself and wrapped an arm around her waist, offering her what comfort he could. The dawn was upon them, and he inadvertently did the one thing he needed to do. He issued a sharp command and sent them both to sleep.

Chapter Three
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    The silence in the cabin was broken by the hum of night creatures singing to one another. The sun was setting, and the land was once more theirs. Air filled lungs, a chest rose and fell, a heart began to beat.
    The rush of agony always overwhelmed him, took his breath, his mind. He lay still, waiting for his mind to accept the atrocities that had been done to his body. Hunger rose, a sharp, gnawing emptiness that could never be assuaged. Rage flooded, consuming him, a need to kill, to fill the terrible emptiness.
    Into the middle of that cauldron of intense, violent emotion suddenly came something soft and gentle. A wisp of memory. Courage. Beauty. A woman. Not any woman, but his woman, his lifemate. All red hair and