MaryAnn heard Riordan's urgent yell to his brother, and she caught up the pillow and held it to her stomach, feeling sick. She had been the one to push Manolito into saving Luiz, but now she'd deserted all of them. Luiz was alone, facing a terrible ordeal. She didn't know what it was, but sensed it was traumatic both for him and the two Carpathian males.
Had they ever converted a male before? If it had never been done, maybe there was a reason why. A good reason. She'd been rash to push them into it. She buried her hot face in the pillow, feeling tears burn. Luiz was going to suffer, and somehow she knew Manolito would suffer right along with him. She wanted to hold onto her fury at his highhandedness in locking her in her room, forbidding her, as if she was a small child, from witnessing the change, but because a part of her was still there, with Luiz, with Manolito, and she felt
their agony, she couldn't sustain her anger.
She went into the bathroom and ran hot water in the tub, needing to relax her cramped, hard muscles. Her stomach was in knots. She caught impressions of convulsions, of Luiz's body contorting, wrenched into the air and dropped down hard. She could get glimpses only and realized Manolito was blocking her from merging with him. It had taken a bit to get the trick of their connection, and most of the time when she tried, she simply wasn't that good at it. But now it seemed impossible.
She took a deep breath and let it out. She would not desert Luiz at this stage, not when he needed her most. Manolito was trying to shield and protect her, but whether he knew it or not, he needed her, too. She concentrated on him. The feel and texture of him. The layers in his mind. The intimacy of the path between them-such an unexpected gift. As much as she thought him arrogant, she knew him better now, the gentleness he hid from the rest of the world. She saw his compassion as he held Luiz, felt the way he had reached to calm him.
She felt the cat rake and claw, fighting for survival, and then the sensation was gone. She let her breath out slowly and continued to picture Manolito holding the jaguar-man. She caught a small wave of compassion from both Riordan and Manolito and then the cat again, the alarm building to panic, snapping and biting as it defended itself against the onslaught of Carpathian blood.
She went to her knees, stomach heaving. She knelt, hands and knees on the bathroom floor, gasping for breath as pain rippled through her. She caught Manolito's startled awareness that she was with him, and he once again put her firmly away from him.
There was an agony in being alone, knowing Luiz was suffering and Manolito needed her with him. She felt the need, but couldn't do anything to help either of them. Manolito had been uncompromising, not realizing, or maybe he did, that he was asking her to go against her nature. Once more she pushed away fear and concentrated on Manolito, because in that moment she had connected with him, she felt his struggle with the shadow world. She might not be able to reach Luiz, but she could Manolito. The connection between them was incredibly strong.
And then she was solidly in his mind, in Luiz's mind, and saw for herself the true horrors of conversion. The agony wrenching at the jaguar-man as death called, as the cat fought. Manolito took way too much on himself, shouldering as much of the pain as nature would allow. Both men were stoic, each fully aware of the other, Luiz trying to bear it all with great dignity. Manolito strove to be compassionate and comforting while allowing the jaguar-man his self-respect. In that moment, with tears running down her face and her body writhing in the shared pain of the two men, she knew she could love Manolito wholly, with everything in her.
The attraction may have been started with some ancient ritual. She may have been obsessed physically with him, but in the end, she saw his true character. He was open to her as he tirelessly worked to help Luiz come fully into his world, and her heart responded in the only way MaryAnn knew-completely.
Chapter Twelve
^ ^ ^
The conversion was the most frightening thing she could imagine, a dark, painful death and rebirth. She
knew she was facing it and that Manolito, watching what Luiz had gone through, was not as certain as he had been that he wanted to risk her. Strangely, for the first time she did consider risking everything, because what she had learned here today was that Manolito De La Cruz was far more than a gorgeous man with a too-arrogant attitude, and she was already more than halfway in love with him.
She French-braided her hair in the tub, her hands adept at the familiar task, giving her comfort when she wanted to weep a little for what Manolito, not Luiz, had gone through. His brothers thought him insane. He even believed he might be, but he had handled the jaguar-man with great care and respect and had suffered greatly for it. He had known she was there, helping Luiz and soothing him as best she could, and he would have done anything to spare her that, but it only made her feel closer to him.
She pulled on lacy thong underwear in midnight blue, the ones with the tiny gold chain on either hip that made her feel sexy and courageous in the worst of circumstances. Her skirt was calf length and fell in ripples of material, a fall of royal blue that looked dynamite with her butter-soft matching blue knee-high boots with the cuffed tops. They molded to her feet like slippers and whispered when she walked. The skirt showed off her nicely rounded butt to the best advantage and she was going to need every advantage she could get with Manolito when she discussed with him the dos and don'ts of their relationship. Because she'd made up her mind they were going to give it a try.
Her demi push-up bra matched the thong, dark and exotic, giving her curves a nice allure and enhancing the fit of her short, royal blue sleeveless blouse with the little pearl buttons up the front. Accessories were everything, and she had plenty. As she pushed bangles onto her wrist, she conjured up his image.
The way he smiled. His thick, jet black hair, even more shiny and luxurious than she had realized the previous evening. His eyes. Oh, lord, he had those hot, demanding eyes and that wickedly sensual mouth, and what the hell was she dressing to seduce him for? She was trying to get a handle on her emotions, and she was definitely dressed to get him to sit up and take notice. She was playing with fire, and she knew enough about life to know that if she did that, she couldn't cry when she got burned.
The tension in the house was gone, and she let her breath out slowly and sank down onto the bed to wait for him. She could hear the clock ticking. Endlessly and loudly ticking. He was coming. Soon. Immediately. She waited, but as the minutes passed, the smiled faded from her face. Her teeth clicked together as she-dare she use the word-gnashed them. He wouldn't leave her locked in her room like an unruly teen. He had better come. Now. Before she lost her sweet forgiving nature for all time.
She stalked across the room and gave the door a thump with her fist. «Come on, jungle man. Enough is enough. Get me out of here.»
Silence met her demand. She was going to kill him with her bare hands. Her nonviolent beliefs were wasted in the rain forest and definitely obsolete with jungle man. «I take back every good thing I ever thought about you,» she yelled at the door, and smacked it with her open palm for good measure. Right where his face should be. «You need someone to slap you upside that hard head.»
And a good hard slap wouldn't be enough. She might have to think up other, much more savage punishments, although she didn't have that kind of imagination. Whips and chains. But that conjured up black leather boots with stiletto heels, fishnet stockings and a leather bustier. And that was so not happening, because he didn't deserve it to happen. What he needed was the smackdown of a lifetime. Those horrible shows on television with men fighting in cages and one of them pummeling the other, that would be the way to go, not leather and boots.