Carpathian 02 - Dark Desire

him, closing the wound.
    For a moment he dropped his head over hers, savoring the closeness of her body, her scent, savoring the beauty of her spirit. He could no longer bear to be alone, separated from her even for a moment.
    Seven years of darkness, of total isolation, of believing she had deliberately allowed, even prolonged, his suffering. To know it wasn't true, that, indeed, her courage had saved him, had given him back hope, a chance at living. Jacques would never survive her loss. He could not let her out of his sight, out of his mind. He was so fragmented, she alone was holding him together.
    He released her will slowly, watching her closely, intently, black eyes burning possessively. Her long lashes fluttered, and the cloudiness vanished, leaving glittering emeralds behind, flawless and mysterious.
    Cool beauty fired to flashing flame. "What have you done this time, Jacques? You absolutely cannot take care of me. I mean it. You have no idea just how close to death you really are. You cannot afford the loss of blood."
    His faint smile was in her mind. You are my lifemate, always in my care. I can do no other than provide what you need.
    She shook her head slowly. "What am I going to do with you? You need every drop of blood we can get our hands on. I'm used to getting by on tiny amounts."
    Getting by is not good enough. He growled it at her, black eyes glittering.
    Shea rolled her eyes heavenward. "At least have the decency to try to look guilty. You needn't be so smug and annoying." Her fingers found his tangle of hair again, brushed it from his forehead. "I wonder about you, Jacques. Where your family is."
    Confusion reflected in his eyes, a black void suddenly filled with splintering pain. She caught at his hand, reeling under the impact of her mind sharing, even for a split second, the agony in his. "Stop, Jacques.
    Don't try to force your memory. It will come back as you heal. Just relax. I'll bathe your wounds and wash your hair. It'll be soothing to you."
    Her fingers were soothing on his skin, sending coolness into his burning mind. His body responded, relaxing muscles clenched taut, releasing a bit of the pain wracking him. Her touch gave him a flicker of light to follow, hope that the pain would actually end someday. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to her ministrations. The sound of her moving so lightly around the house was comforting. Her natural fragrance and the faint aroma of herbs and flowers that drifted from her skin and hair seemed to surround him like arms holding him close.
    Shea touched him gently as she examined his wounds. Her sponge seemed to skim over raw, damaged flesh, leaving a curious tingling in its wake. The warm water pouring over his hair as she cradled his head Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    in her arm felt so good, it was almost sensuous. As her fingertips massaged herbal shampoo into his scalp, he concentrated on the feeling, for a few minutes able to push aside his world of pain.
    "You have beautiful hair," Shea said softly, rinsing the suds away with more warm water. Her arm was aching with the effort to hold his head up over the plastic basin, but she could sense she was bringing him a measure of peace. She removed the basin, maneuvered a towel onto his pillow, and helped him slide back to his original position.
    As she dried his hair, her hands lingered in his scalp; she enjoyed touching him. "You're very tired. Go back to sleep."
    More blood. The husky, drowsy note echoing in her mind turned her insides soft and warm.
    Without hesitating, Shea poured a unit into a glass and busied herself dumping the wash water and mopping up the floor.
    As she moved past the bed, his hand snaked out, fingers shackling her wrist, drawing her close.
    "What?" Shea perched on the edge of the bed, a faint smile on her face, her eyes soft, even tender, although she was unaware of it.
    His palm slid up her arm; strong fingers massaged her aching shoulder. Thank you, little red hair. You make me feel alive again.
    "You are alive, Jacques," she reassured him, smoothing back his hair. "Disrespectful but definitely alive. I don't know a single physician referred to as 'little red hair.'"
    Her quiet laughter remained in his mind long after he fell into the mortal state of sleeping. On some level he was aware of her closeness as she mixed soil, herbs, and saliva for his wounds, and it soothed him, kept rage, pain, and the terror of his