Hot Blooded

back
.
    Gramps
? said the tiny spark of her consciousness.
    I love you
, he said again, uncertain how to respond. If her
grandfather could call her back, that's who he'd be.
    She made a sound no mortal could have heard, a broken whimper that felt as if
it issued from his own throat. Her pain ripped at his heart. Bonded with her as
he was, he could not doubt she was his mate, the woman who could be his queen.
Every instinct he had screamed out that truth. He couldn't lose her. He'd rather
follow her into the dark. Had he been certain they'd be together… but he was
not. Death, and the rules by which it worked, was as much a mystery to him as to
anyone.
    His words came from the deepest recess of his soul.
    I've been waiting for you
, he pleaded.
Don't you want to stay
with me
?
    Â 
    SOMEONE held Mariann, someone with a strong, warm chest and a deep, male
voice. Another man was answering, a gentle murmur above her head. Pine needles
muffled the tread of their feet. She was being carried through the woods. A
fired burned in her ribs and along one arm, her bones crackling oddly like Rice
Krispies in milk.
    They're broken, she thought, the pain as distant as a dream.
    She didn't have the energy to open her eyes. She tried to remember if she had
rescued her grandfather's book, if she'd gotten to the bakery on time.
    In the jumble that was her mind, she kept seeing a running wolf. The funny
thing was, as soon as she thought it, she knew who her rescuer was. She couldn't
understand why that felt so right.
    "You're fine," said Bastien Luce, pressing his lips to her hair. "Even now
your injuries heal."
    Her temple rested on his shoulder, barely jogged by his tireless steps. When
she listened for his heart it beat very slowly, though his body had none of the
coolness it had shown before. Maybe he was a yogi to control such things. Maybe
he slept on a bed of nails. She smiled at the silly thought. The way he carried
her made her feel as safe as a child.
    "Always," he said. "You'll always be safe with me."
    She knew she was dreaming then. No one could be safe always.
    Â 
    WHEN she woke, Mariann could not for the life of her think where she was. She
felt really good—which didn't seem right—as if she'd been to an expensive spa.
Wherever she was, the room she'd slept in was completely dark, and the bed
definitely wasn't hers. The sheets were silk: impractical, heavy silk, their
weight like sun-warmed water on her naked skin. Aroused by their slippery clasp,
she had a powerful urge to pull them closer and roll around.
    Instead, she forced herself to be still, her nipples sharp, her belly and
knees tingling with unusual sensitivity. As she lay there, listening, she
couldn't shake the sensation of being watched.
    This, strangely enough, was the most erotic awareness of all.
    The rasp and flare of a match confirmed her suspicion. Bastien Luce stood by
what turned out to be a low platform bed, as gloriously naked as any daydream
she'd ever had. One shade paler than his sheets, his skin was a pure, rich
ivory, his eyes like jewels cut out from a Caribbean sea. His long, glossy hair
shone black with garnet undertones, a cape around his broad shoulders. She felt
ashamed for calling him pretty. In this light, on this night, he was
heartbreakingly beautiful.
    As if his appearance—and never mind his presence—were natural, he touched the
match to a beeswax candle, which he set into a sconce that curled from the wall.
    Despite her curiosity at her surroundings, her gaze couldn't stray long from
him.
    She noticed her eyes weren't working the way they should. Colors danced
around him sheer as veils, the likes of which she hadn't seen since one of her
more adventurous boyfriends had convinced her to try a funny mushroom. She felt
a bit like she had then, just a heck of a lot less queasy and a hell of a lot
more turned on.
    "Don't be afraid," he said. "You're perfectly safe where you are."
    Maybe she should have been afraid. Maybe she would be once whatever this was
wore off. For the moment, she could only feel ebullient. She looked at his
shapely arms and hands, at the cloud of hair on his chest and the mouthwatering
six-pack to which it led. His navel caught a pool of shadow that made her throat
too tight to speak. Whatever mickey Bastien had slipped her, he had gotten his
money's worth. As her gaze trailed irresistibly down the furry line to his sex,
she imagined she