Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator

here. Right now.
    His eyebrow shot up. “If I am going to kill you, I will choose the time and place, not be dictated to by a woman who does not know the meaning of obedience.”
    She pulled a pen and notepad from her pocket and began to write. Zacarias swept both items from her hand and pocketed them.
    Use our blood bond.
    Mutely she shook her head and reached toward his pocket.
    He shook his head just as resolutely, no longer shocked that she disobeyed him. He was certain she had an infirmity, some rare, peculiar mental disorder from birth, that made her do the opposite of what any authority figure told her.
    “I read all forty-seven missives this night. I do not wish to read another.”
    All forty-seven? You went into my private room? They were in the wastebasket. Thrown away. Obviously not meant for you to read.
    So she would use the blood bond when she chose. Something close to satisfaction rose in him. The fear had faded enough that she responded much more naturally to him. “Of course they were meant for me to read, kislány kuηenak minan —my little lunatic. They were clearly addressed to Señor Zacarias De La Cruz.” He bowed slightly. “Very formal and proper of you. One would think you would be able to carry out simple instructions.”
    Give me back my paper and pen.
    “You will use the blood bond between us.” He knew it made her uncomfortable because it was a much more intimate form of communication, but he found himself craving the intimacy of their bond.
    Her eyes went even darker, turned obsidian, flaring like shiny fire-stones. She clenched her teeth together in a snapping bite. The whiteness of them caught his attention. Without thought, he gripped her upper arms and yanked her close, turning her head toward him so he could see the intense color—gleaming white, like little pearls. Not gray. Not the dingy brownish white he was used to. For a moment there was nothing else in the world, but those small, white teeth and her incredible almost black eyes.
    Something smacked his chest, not hard, he barely noticed, but her little yelp made him look down. She had slammed her palms against his chest and had obviously hurt herself. He frowned at her. “What are you doing now?”
    I’m hitting you, you brute. What does it feel like?
    She had a temper. He recognized the smoldering fire now. She’d hurt herself though, and truthfully, he’d barely felt a thing. “Is that what you call it? You really are a little crazy. No wonder Cesaro tried to remove you from the house. He feared I would be upset with your insanity.”
    Insanity?
    Marguarita closed her fist and took a punch at him. Judging from the way she threw it, someone had taught her how to fight. He ducked to the side before she could land the blow and caught her, spinning her around, crossing her arms over her breasts and holding her tight against his body. His breath came out in a burst of sound that shocked him. He went very still, resting his mouth against her neck, against that warm pulse that beat so frantically and called so loudly to him. Laughter? Had he laughed?
    Had he really laughed? That was impossible. He had never laughed. Not that he remembered. Maybe as a young child, a mere boy, but he doubted it. Where had that sound come from? Was it possible this crazy, dim-witted woman was his lifemate? By all that was holy, it could not be. He could not in any way be mated to someone incapable of following the simplest of directions. And his emotions and colors should have returned at once. But truthfully, he felt more alive in that moment than he had in a thousand years.
    Like him, she had gone quite still in his arms again, like a frightened little rabbit. She shivered, her wet, muddy clothes clinging to her soft, feminine form. The moment he became aware she was cold, he removed the mud and rain from her clothing, his body heating hers. Such things were natural to his kind, and with her, he had to remember mundane things.
    “I will make excuses for you as you did not have a mother to teach you proper etiquette, but my patience will go only so far.” He whispered the words against her ear, determined that she would learn who was in charge. Certainly not some little slip of a thing, so silly she went out in the rain forest unescorted and at night. “You have certain duties.”
    I know my duties. What time is it?
    Puzzled, he glanced up at the boiling sky. “About four in the morning.”
    Exactly. I am off duty. This is my