Shocked at what he was imparting to her, even though she couldn’t completely understand what he was trying to convey, he kept his face buried in her fragrant hair and held her tight to him, trying to find a way to comfort both of them. He was prepared for any battle—but that of the heart. He was completely and utterly out of his depth for the first time in his life.
Marguarita’s heart slowed to the pace of his. Her lungs followed the lead of his. She shifted against him, tilting her head to look up at him. His heart staggered, and then dropped to his feet in a rushing plummet. Tears swam in her eyes.
Tears had never moved him. In truth, he had never thought about what they meant or why people cried. Sorrow was far removed from his existence, but suddenly, those tears were a knife through his heart, far worse than any vampire ripping through his flesh.
I’m sorry. I wasn’t prepared for the way it felt. I won’t fight you again.
She dropped her head just as quickly, but not before he caught the flash of apprehension.
Zacarias frowned. “Why do you fear my taking your blood? It is natural.”
He felt her heart jump against him and he kept her locked in the cage of his arms because he needed the reassurance of her heart beating, the warmth and softness of her. He wanted her capitulation, but not like this. His fingers found her chin and tilted it once again, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her eyes searched his, looking for something—reassurance maybe—that he wouldn’t be angry if she told him the truth.
“Tell me,” he insisted quietly. “Do not fear the truth.” Because he had to know. Understanding her reasoning was as necessary as breathing, which was a strange sensation—to need so much to comprehend why she fought him.
It took her a few moments to muster the courage to answer him.
It is not natural to me, the giving of blood in this manner. The vampire tore at my throat close to the spot where you’re taking my blood and I . . . panic. And then you . . .
He caught the impression of a wild beast attacking her. He hadn’t considered that his taking her blood would be construed as an assault on her. Her entire family knew the Carpathians existed on blood. They were sworn to provide for him, for his brothers and their lifemates.
“I would not harm you.”
Her hand crept up to cover the spot on her neck where his mark was the color of a bright strawberry with two distinct impressions of punctures. I know.
The impression she sent him was mixed. She didn’t know. She didn’t fully comprehend she really was the safest person on the planet. He was her guardian. Her protector. He would see to it that she was safe at all times. Even from herself, which looked to be his biggest job. But first, they had to get past her fears of giving blood.
“You do not know. You fear me.” Lies between them would not be tolerated, and lying to herself was even worse.
She swallowed hard and reluctantly nodded, pressing her palm harder against his bite as if it hurt her. His frown deepened. Had he hurt her? There was a natural numbing agent in his saliva, shouldn’t that keep any human from feeling pain in the process? He’d never really interacted as his brothers had with the species other than to take blood, or if he had done so, he remembered none of it. Perhaps he had felt nothing for so long even his memory was faulty. Even the men and women, who for generation after generation had served his family willingly, avoided him—and he them.
“It hurts you?”
Her first reaction was to nod, but he saw her expression change. It was her turn to frown as if she couldn’t quite decide.
“Show me how it feels.”
She turned her face into his chest and bit him—hard. The pain flashed through him and he cut it off automatically, shocked that she’d dared to do such a thing to him. No one ever put their hands—or teeth—on him. It just wasn’t done.
“What are you doing, kislány kuηenak—little lunatic?”
You said to show you. I did.
A wealth of satisfaction poured off her and he found that strange feeling of happiness—and laughter—welling up out of nowhere as it seemed to do so unexpectedly around her. She bit him and he did find it a little bit funny. “I did not give you permission to bite me. I meant in your head. Show me the feeling of pain.”
You felt pain when I bit you.
He stroked his hand down the long fall of silken midnight black hair. Now, even more than before, it was a true black, so shiny he could barely tear his gaze from it. “I do not feel pain.”
You do. You just don’t allow yourself to acknowledge it. I was connected to you and I felt it.
His hold on her tightened. What was she doing, putting herself in such a position that she would not only feel her own pain, but his as well? “I do not understand you, Marguarita. You make no sense to me. You fear I will cause you pain and then you deliberately connect to my mind to feel any pain you might cause me. Is that in any way reasonable?”
Her gaze remained locked for a long time with his. A slow smile brought his attention to her perfect, sexy mouth. His body responded aggressively again, a surge of hot blood rushing through his system to pool in one place. Her eyes had gone soft, that champagne melting to dark chocolate, a sea of glittering diamonds he feared he wanted to fall into. It was forbidden to him. He knew and accepted that. He was as shadowed as the flock of birds flying over the ranch searching for him—sent by the most evil of creatures walking the earth.
He had never known gentleness or tenderness. There was no give to him, no soft spaces inside of him and there never had been. Indeed, he’d been born without such attributes. Instead, he’d been born pure dominance and he had grown in a time of war and uncertainty into a solitary hunter incapable of caring about hurting another as long as he achieved his ultimate goal—the protection of his species. His belief in himself was absolute and those he protected believed even more.
That a man protected his woman above all else was a sacred law, and that she followed his lead without question was his only way of life, yet in the modern world that was no longer so. Perhaps it never had been. He was without civility and no amount of manners would soften what he was—a killer. He made no apologies for his ways and he never would. Perhaps in another time, long before this one, he would have tried to reconcile what he was with who he would need to be for her—but that time was long, long gone. It was impossible.
Her gaze remained locked with his. He took solace in the beauty of her. And the courage of her. She faced him in spite of her fears. She had saved him and when it came time for him to go, she would face his passing with equal courage. He would make it as easy on her as possible, although she would never know the cost to him. Her gaze searched for something in him, something he knew wasn’t there. He couldn’t give her gentle reassurance and promises of polite, courteous behavior. He didn’t even know those rules. He captured her face, holding her gaze to his.
“Make me understand.”
She licked her lower lip and he had a sudden urge to lean down and draw her tongue into his mouth—to savor her again—that indescribable taste he now craved in a new and different way. Because he spoke in commands, it came out that way, but he wanted her to want to help him understand.
You hurt me. Scared me. The first time. Like the vampire.
He scowled at her, shook his head in utter denial, in disgust that she would think such a thing. “It was a lesson—and one you desperately needed. He was foul, and he tore out your throat. He would have killed you for his own pleasure. If you were not so . . .” Dim-witted. The word vibrated between them, hovered right there in their minds. He cleared his throat as her eyes grew into a stormy brew. “So—stubborn—you would see the difference between us without effort and you would have no further need of a reminder that obedience must be instant and without question. That one lesson should be sufficient for a lifetime. It is not a good thing to cross me.”