Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator

than prepared to go honorably to the next life. She had changed all of that, destroyed his every plan and she should have realized the enormity of what she’d done. She had no right to risk his soul— ever. Not ever. Not in this year and not a hundred years from now.
    Marguarita writhed, her eyes going wide with shock, hands flying to her stomach. A ripple of unease slid down his spine. His gaze jumped to her. All attention focused on her. Clearly, she was in pain. In all his centuries, he’d never seen a human turned. He simply didn’t associate that closely with them. His brothers had done it, but he’d never bothered to inquire about just what happened. Three blood exchanges were necessary and that should take care of it—as long as she was psychic, which Marguarita clearly was.
    Apprehension became knots in the pit of his stomach. Surely nothing could go wrong. He had powerful blood, but the darkness ran deep in him. Shadows crept into the dark room, into his mind, disturbing, haunting possibilities he hadn’t considered. Had he made a mistake?
    “What is wrong?” he demanded.
    She drew her legs up, rolling to her side in the fetal position, her face contorting with pain. She closed her eyes, as if the sight of him was unbearable. Unexpectedly, a pain knifed through his heart. He tasted fear in his mouth.
    “What is wrong? When I ask you I want an answer.”
    He couldn’t wait, not when she began writhing in pain, tears streaming down her face and her body contorting wildly. For the very first time in his life, panic welled up, a frightening feeling. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He reached for her mind, needing to feel what she was feeling, needing to share her same skin, to know what was happening to her. He reached, but came up against a wall.
    She refused him. Refused him. His lifemate. His woman. She not only disobeyed him, paving the way for total disaster, but now, she was refusing their most intimate, private path. She’d blocked him out, and judging by the strength of that door, it would take a battering ram to open it.
    She had a natural barrier, he knew that, but she had always allowed him through. Now, with his blood flowing in her veins, that shield was even stronger than it had been. He’d been afraid of damaging her before; now, if he destroyed that barrier, he had no idea what would happen to her. And the only way she was going to let him in was if he tore it down.
    “Let me in.”
    She made no reply, stubbornly drawing up her knees to her chest, rocking her body, her hair spilling around her face, shutting him out. She was in pain—that much was more than apparent. He was across the room instantly, reaching down to put his hand on her stomach. There was more than one way to get the information he sought.
    She took a deep shuddering breath, as if the pain was receding, and turned her head, her dark eyes glaring at him. Strands of hair fell across her cheek, damp now from sweating. Her body was coated in a fine sheen. When his palm and fingers made contact with her skin, she shuddered and tried to slap at his arm.
    Get away from me. I mean it. I don’t want you here.
    Marguarita couldn’t believe he would do this to her. Everyone, every thing had known—even the horses—what a monster he was, everyone but her. He was uncaring, a dark, dangerous predator with no real feeling. Everything she’d believed about him had been a fantasy. He’d shattered her heart, and she had nothing left but pride. She couldn’t bear to look at him and she wasn’t about to let him inside her mind—never again would she willingly share herself with him. He would have to take what he wanted from her. The pain of her shattered heart was far worse than the physical pain he thrust on her.
    Zacarias was shocked. He hadn’t expected absolute rejection, but she kept him from her mind, and now she thought she could keep him from her body. Before he could say anything else, he saw the next wave building, a sweep of her body, every muscle going rigid, the breath slamming out of her lungs. Her eyes went wide, glazed with pain. Her back bowed, then arched, her body convulsing, nearly thrown from the bed.
    He caught her, held her firm, afraid she’d hurt herself more. His hands slid over her skin, now burning with fever. Every organ twisted and threatened to burst inside of her. Her skin was so hot he nearly pulled his hand away. He tried to send healing warmth through her skin, but it seemed to make