“An ox woman, yes, I know. What is the name of the Dark One?”
“Avery Scott. Why did you attack her, Alec? Why did you bite her and bleed her dry?” She wrapped her arms around herself, moving away from him, the faintest hint of horror filling her eyes. “Why did you take what you wanted from her, and just leave her body there on the road like she was nothing?”
“I don’t know what it is you’re . . .” He started to shake his head, then suddenly stopped. From the depths of his memory, he drew forth the scene she had described. He felt again the heat of the sun on him as he went to woo his Beloved, the scent of the newly turned earth, the sound of cattle lowing peacefully in the distant town where Eleanor lived. It was all idyllic, pastoral . . . until he came across the woman who had just killed his salvation. Slowly, he said, “A woman with an oxcart.”
“You attacked her.” Cora stared at him, clearly willing him to make the horror go away.
“How do you know what I did?”
“I had a . . . for lack of a better word, a vision.”
He said nothing, just closed his eyes, pain swamping him. He was aware that Cora had moved toward him, but stopped, making a little sound of frustration. He acknowledged it, but the bone-deep anguish the memory of that time stirred still held him tight in its grip.
“She killed my Beloved,” he said, swaying slightly at all he had lost. Sorrow, agony, and pain burned deep in him, spilling out onto her, but he was unable to stop it. She didn’t run from him, however. She moved forward, wrapping her arms and her scent and the light of her soul around him, cradling him as if he were a hurt child. “She killed her before we had Joined, leaving me behind. She took everything from me, my heart, hope . . . life. All that was left me was suffering.”
Concern washed over him like a soothing balm, her warmth touching all the dark places of his heart, and even though he knew she kept a little piece of herself back from him, he was stunned with the realization of what she was giving him.
She gave him compassion, heartfelt human compassion, the sweetest of all gifts that he could have received. He accepted it, acknowledging what it cost her, knowing she didn’t want to feel emotions for him, but also knowing they shared a bond, even if it was only one of blood.
It was too much for him. He turned his face into her hair, his arms sliding around her to hold her body tightly to his, needing to feel her, needing to taste her . . . just needing her. His mouth was hot on the flesh of her neck, of her shoulders, his mind filled with the satisfying knowledge that she wanted him with the same need. How can you taste so good? No other woman has tasted this way. You drive me wild with hunger.
Vampire, she said, trying to rally a resistance in her own mind, but that faded almost instantly into awareness of him. Bloodsucker.
Tormentor. Temptress.
You killed that woman, she accused, trying one last attempt to convince herself.
She killed everything I was.
She bit gently on his ear, her lips caressing his jaw. I can feel what she did to you. I can feel the agony. How can you live with so much pain inside you?
I don’t live. I merely exist. Christ, you are so sweet, he murmured, wanting to claim those luscious lips. So good. I want you, mi corazón. I want your heat. I want the sweetness that resides within you.
Go ahead , she told him, her body moving against him in a way that he knew would spell disaster. If she rubbed her belly against him just one more time, he was going to disappoint them both. Take it, Alec. I want you to.
He nipped at the skin of her shoulder, wanting more than anything in the world to drink from her, to join himself to her in the most elemental way a Dark One could experience, the hunger chewing him up inside, a fresh torment added to an already miserable existence.
You’ve lost too much blood, he said, his mouth moving along her shoulder to her neck, moaning to himself at the temptation the beat of her pulse posed. I want it like I’ve never wanted anything, but I will not harm you again.
She made a wordless noise of protest, her body twining against his as she clutched his back, clearly offering herself to him.
No, mi querida, I cannot allow you to do this.
She tensed for a moment, and he knew she misinterpreted him. Mi querida . . . “my beloved.”
Does that word bother you? he asked. I did not mean it as you believe.
No, it’s just . . . no. I don’t mind.
He was mildly puzzled by the shadow of something she kept hidden from him, but the scent and feel and taste of her claimed his full attention. Christ, how I want you. You are so smooth; you taste so sweet.... God give me strength, I can’t resist you unless you make me stop.
She hesitated but, after a moment of struggling with herself, admitted, I don’t want you to stop.
Alec couldn’t keep from kissing her, his mouth brushing against her lips in a way that he could feel made her mindless with pleasure. Her fingers dug into the cloth of his jacket as his tongue traced her lower lip.
“Cielito,” he said, and she melted against him, her damned hips grinding against him with urgent little movements. Mi cielito lindo, let me in. If I cannot have your blood, I must taste you again.
I’m hardly heaven, and definitely not beautiful, she told him, but parted her lips nonetheless. He reveled in the taste of her as his tongue swept in, finding all her secrets, tasting her sweetness. Her breasts strained against him, her hips moving restlessly now, and when she touched his tongue with hers, he thought it was all over.
I want you, she told him with a sense of wonder that had him believing she didn’t know she was projecting again. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted another man. I physically ache to have you inside me. I want to kiss you forever. I want to feed you, to give you life, and none of that makes sense! You are a vampire, but oh, how I want you.
Christ, woman , if you keep thinking things like that . . . he moaned into her mind, so close to taking what she offered. By the saints, I want you, too. You’re making me mad with need. And if you touch me there just one more time, I won’t be able to stop.
She wiggled against him, stroking her hand boldly down his chest.
That’s it! You are more than any man can bear. You have no one but yourself to blame for this.
She sucked his tongue, drawing a groan deep from his throat. His hands moved around from caressing her delicious ass to the front of her jeans, tugging the zipper and sliding his hands over those wickedly wanton hips.
I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong, so very wrong. I should stop you . Oh Mother Mary, right there! She clutched his shoulders as his fingers slid beneath her underwear, pushing it out of the way, discovering all her warm secrets.
It may not be wise, but it certainly isn’t wrong, he said, groaning when she reached for his belt buckle, her hands stroking his fly before releasing him into her hands.
It is wrong . . . but I really don’t care at this moment. My god, you’re hot.