“No, I’ll keep it with me.”
Roke hesitated, as if he wanted to say something. Or maybe he wanted her to say something.
Maybe to ask him to stay?
When she kept her eyes averted, he muttered something in a low voice and turned to make his way toward the staircase that led to the lower floors.
As she felt the chill of his presence disappear, Sally heaved a deep sigh and headed toward the kitchen.
She’d hoped Roke’s departure would ease the restless frustration that was plaguing her. Instead, it only intensified it.
Unless she intended to follow him to his private rooms and fulfill her vivid fantasies, she needed to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied.
Roke went through the motions.
He fed from the bags of blood kept in a refrigerated safe hidden in the wall. He showered and changed into a black satin robe that had been left in the closet. Then he forced himself to lie on the king-size bed that dominated the wood paneled room.
He was too old a vampire to need sleep, but he did need to rest to replenish his powers.
So while he tended to his physical needs, his mind remained consumed with the female who he could feel moving through the house above him.
Her first destination was the kitchen where the smell of herbs mixed with her intoxicating peach scent that seemed to grow more vibrant and complex with every beat of her heart.
Hours passed before he at last heard her heading up the stairs and stepping into the shower. He growled low in his throat at the thought of her standing naked beneath the cascade of hot water.
He’d been in a constant state of arousal since he’d caught the subtle shift in Sally’s awareness of him.
Sitting across the table in that café, he’d been painfully aware the second her pulse had picked up and her eyes had dilated.
And even now, her desire hummed through their mating bond, calling to him like a siren’s song.
But as revved as he might be to satisfy their mutual hunger, he hadn’t missed her tension.
She wanted him.
But she wasn’t yet prepared to trust him.
And between the two, it was her trust he most needed.
How else could he protect her?
All very noble, he acknowledged with clenched teeth, but painful as hell. It was no wonder saints always looked like pious sourpusses in their paintings.
Blue balls would do that to the most heroic man.
Waiting until he felt her crawl into bed and tumble into sleep, Roke rose from the mattress and began to methodically clean his guns.
It was a task that kept his hands occupied, but his mind free to work through his tangled thoughts.
The sun was setting when he felt a tingle of fear race through the mating bond followed by a hoarse female cry.
Instantly he was on his feet, allowing his senses to spread through the house as he raced up the steps.
He could detect no intruders, but that didn’t halt him from vaulting up the second flight of steps with a blinding speed, the gun he’d just loaded held in one hand and his fangs fully extended.
Exploding into Sally’s room, he came to an abrupt halt, his brows drawing together as he realized that she wasn’t being attacked.
In fact, she remained deeply asleep on the large bed.
He grimaced, about to back out of the room when she twisted onto her back, revealing the sweat coating her face.
“No,” she moaned in a tortured voice. “Leave me alone. Please . . . please.”
Roke moved forward, his heart clenching as he watched her struggle against an unseen foe.
“Shh, my love,” he murmured, joining her on the bed and pulling her into his arms. “I’ve got you.”
She thrashed against him, whimpering in fear until he lowered his head and brushed a soft kiss against her forehead.
“Roke?”
“Easy, love,” he husked, his hand running a gentling path up and down her back.
“Roke?” Slowly she lifted her lashes to reveal her eyes still dark with terror. “What happened?”
He tucked her tight against his chest left bare by his gaping robe.
“You were having a bad dream.”
“Oh.” She shuddered, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Tell me why you were screaming.”
Her lashes lowered, as if hoping to disguise her lingering unease.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her tone fierce, as if she was trying to convince herself. “It’s over.”
“I shared my nightmare,” he reminded her, using the tip of his finger to trace the line of her lower lip. “It won’t bring Fala back, but it did allow me to accept her death without the bitterness that has been destroying me. Sometimes a wound has to be lanced before it can truly heal.”
Thankfully his low words seemed to offer a measure of comfort, and he could feel her tension easing as she nestled her head against the width of his chest.
“Maybe this wound shouldn’t heal.”
“I don’t believe that.” He leaned down to give the lobe of her ear a punishing nip. “Tell me.”
She grudgingly tilted back her head to meet his steady gaze.
“The Dark Lord.”
Roke brushed the damp strands of her hair from her face, already having expected what tormented her.
“He’s dead, Sally. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“I know that logically, but—”
He stroked his fingers down her throat. “But?”
Another shiver wracked her slender body. “Do you know why the Dark Lord accepted me as a disciple?”
He settled back against the headboard, cradling her shivering body in his lap.
“I assume it has something to do with the fact that you happen to be one of the most powerful witches ever born?”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
He brushed his lips over the top of her head. “I’m not sure either,” he admitted wryly. “You terrify the hell out of me.”
She gave a shaken laugh before she was sucking in a steadying breath.
“I was still on the run, trying to hide from the witches my mother had sent to trace me when the Dark Lord . . . contacted me. He said I possessed a talent that no one else had.”
Roke grimaced. He was familiar enough with the evil deity to know the bastard no doubt smashed into poor Sally’s mind with the force of a cement truck.
“What was your talent?”
“I was a conduit.”
Roke frowned. “What’s a conduit?”
Her hand gripped his upper arm, her heart pounding at the memory.
“The Dark Lord could speak directly through me,” she rasped. “I had a direct connection so he could use me like I was his personal cell phone.”
“Shit.” He slid his lips to her temple, his arms wrapping around her as if he could take away the horror. He’d been wrong. The Dark Lord hadn’t been like a cement truck in her brain. He’d been a constant, pulsing, malevolent force. “I’m so sorry, Sally. I wish I could scrub away the memories.” His lips moved to her cheek. “Actually, if you weren’t so damned powerful I could scrub them.”
“No.” Her hand unconsciously smoothed up his arm to his shoulder. “I need to remember the danger of putting my fate in someone else’s hands.”
Roke glanced toward the heavens. Of course she would use the memory of her brutal enslavement by the Dark Lord to try to build an even greater wall between them.
“Putting yourself in someone else’s hands isn’t always bad,” he murmured, deliberately allowing his fingers to trail down her back. Being the good guy clearly wasn’t working. Maybe it was time for a more direct approach. “We all need to depend on someone once in a while.”