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He blocked out everything and everybody extending his hand toward her. It seemed a solicitous gesture, but she knew better. Her hand trembled in his as she stood up, facing him. She wanted him to pull her into his arms and hold her. To comfort her. But his expression was as remote as his eyes. Ice flowed in his veins and formed a glacier in his mind far too thick to penetrate.

He was wholly focused on her; she felt his concentrated attention like a spear going through her heart. For Zacarias, no one else existed. He cared nothing for the men standing like statues in his yard. There was only Marguarita—and her disobedience.

His hand moved over her face, fingertips brushing every bruise, her swollen eye and cracked lip. His breath hissed out, a long, slow menace that sent another shiver creeping down her spine. Her heart accelerated and he heard it, but he didn’t soothe her. The pain in her face and head lessened with his touch—but that featherlight brush of fingers had been remote, not at all personal.

The sun has seared your skin.

His disapproval of her actions hit like a hard blow to her heart. She had known he had forbidden her actions and he would be angry, but this was more than anger. His remoteness cut her to the bone. Even her soul and heart. He was taking care of her, but there was no comfort in his actions.

She swallowed hard and tried to reach him. I couldn’t stay inside with the bodies and the spiders. It was too much.

The blue flames leaped, and for a moment his eyes seemed to glow with a strange, frightening fire. The bodies have been removed and the spiders are gone. Go inside now. I will see to the commander.

Marguarita refused to cry. She had known all along what she was getting into and Zacarias separated himself from emotions. He had all the long centuries of his existence. She’d put him in touch with feelings, allowing him to tap into them. He had suffered, lying there trapped beneath the earth while she was in danger. She had chosen her own path, disobeyed his direct orders, something probably no one did. She had told him she gave herself into his keeping, and pride and honor refused to allow her to weep.

She nodded her head and swept past him, head up, moving away from the crowd, knowing they thought Zacarias so solicitous of her.

Zacarias went next to Lea, giving her that same featherlight brush of his fingers, and softly whispering, his voice hypnotic, easing her grief a little, as well as the pain of the beating at DS’s hands. Marguarita could hear him assuring the girl that he would see to all arrangements and that Julio would take her home and stay just in case to watch over her.

Next came his low voice convincing the commander of everything he wanted the man to believe. Of course the commander went along with it all, half bowing to Zacarias, the elusive billionaire one heard so much about. He would have bragging rights; he met him in person and the De La Cruz legend would only grow.

Eventually everyone was gone and the house was dark and quiet. Marguarita was left to face Zacarias alone. She wanted him there, and yet she was very scared of what he would do. He had warned her numerous times she would face consequences. She couldn’t imagine him beating a woman. It simply wasn’t his style. He had taken the pain from her face, so he didn’t want her to suffer physically, right? She had to be right.

She wrung her hands together. Waiting. Where was he? It was worse waiting in the dark for him to appear and pass sentence on her than not knowing. She sat for a few minutes, her heart pounding and the taste of fear growing. Unable to sit still, she went to the open door and looked out. He was there, big as life, staring into the night.

He turned his head and looked straight at her. Of course he’d known she was there. His eyes burned through the screen, burned like a brand into her heart. She stepped back, her hand moving defensively to her throat. The lines in his face were etched deeper than usual and his jaw was set. There was no mercy in that dark expressionless face. His sensual mouth seemed a little cruel, and his eyes held nothing but all that blue, flaming ice.

He swung around in a swift fluid movement and was on her in a single beat of her heart. The screen never opened and closed. He stood a moment, holding her gaze, drinking in her terror, his mind closed to her, his heart and soul distant—so distant she couldn’t reach them. This was not her Zacarias. This was the predator.

I am both, and it is time you learned that lesson.

Without preamble, he gripped her upper arms, dragging her to him, his teeth sinking into her neck. Pain sliced through her, pain that slowly gave way to pure erotic heat. She struggled for one moment, still afraid, knowing his control had slipped dangerously. She couldn’t connect, he refused to let her in, yet he was there in her mind, commanding—demanding—she give herself to him. This time, she feared what he was asking.

The growing dread didn’t cease, even as heat swept through her body and her breasts ached for him, her core heated and wept for him. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. She found herself sinking into that place, that sort of subspace of mind where Zacarias became her world. Where there was only his strong body and phenomenal strength, his need and hunger. It was a primal place, forged by his will, older than time, where laws of the jungle applied.

In the midst of all that sensual heat a shiver started somewhere and began to increase. She was cold. Growing colder, as if the ice in his veins had poured into her veins and slowly was spreading throughout her body. Her legs turned to rubber, very wobbly as if she could no longer support herself. She caught at Zacarias’s neck to anchor herself, but her arms were too weak to hold herself up.

Even as she fell, his arm locked her to him, lifting her from her feet, but he didn’t stop. She had the sensation of floating, but her eyes refused to open. Panicked, she tried to struggle.

Stop. It’s too much. You have to stop.

I say when it is too much.

Marguarita heard the soft hiss of menace, the need for domination and his iron will that was implacable. She had no chance to save herself. Life or death. Live or die. It was up to him. She gave herself up completely, no longer struggling, not even in her mind.

Choose, then. She had no more strength left to fight him. He was taking her life’s blood, as if it was impossible to slake his hunger. There was an edge to his feeding, both sexual and dangerous, as if he’d made a decision he would not back away from. The resolve in him ran so deep, so dark, she couldn’t find a way to reach him.

I already have.

The words should have reassured her, but they sent another shiver through her body. It was the way he said them, the pure cold glacier that dripped like icicles from his voice. He carried her through to the master bedroom and laid her on the bed, his body covering hers, all the while draining her of her precious blood. She felt herself fading.

You will stay with me. Come to me, Marguarita. Now. Come to me.

She was too tired, too weak, to do anything but obey. Her spirit reached for his and he surrounded her, held her to him when her body wanted to slip away into another world she didn’t recognize.

Only then did he swipe his tongue across the punctures and open his shirt to slash his chest.

You will feed.

It was an absolute command. He was in control, her spirit locked to his. His hand caught the back of her head, forcing her to that dark rich Carpathian blood. Her mouth moved against him. This time, he didn’t distance her from the act. The blood flowed into her, his very essence, rushing to do its work, to claim her for all time, to make her his irrevocably. She knew that was uppermost in his mind. This was the consequence of her actions. His claiming her. She struggled to understand. He had tied them together in the way of his people. Why such satisfaction? Why this particular show of dominance?