Carpathian 02 - Dark Desire

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    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 naive 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."
    This time he laughed, startling both of them. The sound was husky, low, and foreign to his ears, as if he had forgotten what it was like. His black eyes leapt to her face almost in fear.
    "Not bad, wild man. First a growl, and now a laugh. We're making progress." Her eyes danced at him, reassured him.

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    Joy welled up in the midst of pain. Shea. She had created a world where his soul could somehow touch light. Vampires feel nothing but the momentary high a kill brings. They are amoral, deviant creatures.
    Her chin lifted, eyebrows drawing together in concentration. "A kill?"
    They always kill their prey when feeding. They do not place them in a trance. It feeds their high to experience their victim's terror. They do not discriminate between man, woman, or child. The vampire has chosen to trade his soul for fleeting emotion.
    "Do you kill?" Her fingers twisted together, and her breath seemed caught in her lungs. Why had she asked him that? She already knew the answer; she had glimpsed the darkness in him on more than one occasion.
    Quite easily when necessary, but never my human prey. He answered matter-of-factly, without real thought. It was instinct, his predatory nature.
    ''People, Jacques," she corrected. "We are people."
    You are Carpathian.
    "I don't even know what a Carpathian is. Do you? Do you honestly know? Maybe you do have a rare blood condition, and somehow it gives you extraordinary gifts." Shea no longer seriously believed there was any hope of that. She was certain he knew the truth: he belonged to another species of people.
    Exhaustion was winning the battle with Jacques. Mortal sleep was not rejuvenating, but until Shea became accustomed to her new life, he would not leave her unprotected. He closed his eyes. I have existed for over eight hundred years. I existed before Leonardo Da Vinci. The words were slurred in her mind.
    She backed away from the bed until the wall brought her up short. Over eight hundred years? Shea pressed a hand to her head. What was he going to do next? Turn into a bat? A wolf? Nothing would surprise her now. I prefer the wolf, given a choice. There was a distinct smile in his voice, brushing in