The silence in the cabin was broken by the hum of night creatures singing to one another. The sun was setting, and the land was once more theirs. Air filled lungs, a chest rose and fell, a heart began to beat. The rush of agony always overwhelmed him, took his breath, his mind. He lay still, waiting for his mind to accept the atrocities that had been done to his body. Hunger rose, a sharp, gnawing emptiness that could never be assuaged. Rage flooded, consuming him, a need to kill, to fill the terrible emptiness.

Into the middle of that cauldron of intense, violent emotion suddenly came something soft and gentle. A wisp of memory. Courage. Beauty. A woman. Not any woman, but his woman, his lifemate. All red hair and fire. She walked like an angel where men feared to tread, where even his own kind would fear to venture.

He wrapped a length of her silky hair around one fist, afraid to wake her, afraid she would be in pain. Shea. Why didn't she ever use his name? Reluctantly he issued the command to awaken her and watched as air rushed into her body, listened to the ebb and flow of blood circulating through her heart. Her eyelashes fluttered. She burrowed against his warmth, unknowing for a moment. He touched her mind cautiously, took inventory. Within moments of awakening, her mind had already begun trying to assimilate all that had happened to her the night before, running through a list of diseases and their symptoms. Her body was sore. He found hunger, weakness, fear for his recovery, his sanity, fear of who and what he was. Guilt that she had slept instead of watching over him. An urgent need to complete her work, her research. Compassion for him, terror that he would not heal and that perhaps she had made his suffering worse. Fear they would be found before he was strong enough to go his own way.

His eyebrows went up.

Our way is the same.

She sat up gingerly, swept back her tangled, wild hair. "You could have said you speak English. How do you do that? How can you talk in my head instead of aloud?"

He simply watched her curiously with his black, fathomless eyes.

Shea eyed him warily. "You aren't getting ready to bite me again, are you? I've got to tell you, there isn't a place on my body that isn't sore." She flashed him a wan smile. "Just out of curiosity, your rabies shots are up to date, aren't they?" His eyes were doing something to her insides, causing a flood of warmth where it shouldn't be.

His gaze dropped to her lips. The shape of her mouth fascinated him, along with the light so clearly shining from her soul. He raised a hand to cup her cheek, to feather his thumb along her delicate jawline; his fingertip traveled up to her chin to find the satin perfection of her full lower lip.

Her heart somersaulted and heat rushed low, pooling into a distinct ache. His hand slid around to the nape of her neck. Slowly, inexorably, he forced her head down toward his. Shea closed her eyes, wanting, yet dreading his taking her blood. "I'd hate to have to feed you every day," she muttered rebelliously.

And then his mouth touched hers. Featherlight, a skimming brush Shea felt right down to her toes. His teeth scraped her lower lip, teasing, tempting, enticing.

Darts of fire raced through her bloodstream. Her stomach muscles clenched.

Openyour mouth for me, stubborn little red hair.

His teeth tugged; his tongue followed with a soothing caress. Shea gasped as much at the tender, teasing note as at the feel of his lips on hers. He took advantage immediately, fastening his mouth to hers, his tongue exploring every inch of her velvet-soft interior.

Flames licked at her, swept through her like a storm. Electricity crackled, and Shea knew the full meaning of chemistry. Feeling. Pure and simple. There was nothing else but his mouth claiming hers, whirling her into another world she hadn't known existed. The ground shifted, and Shea clutched at his shoulders to keep from floating to the clouds. He was sweeping aside every resistance, demanding her response, taking her response, all hunger and desire. Then he was in her mind, white-hot heat, possession. She was his, only his, always his. Smug male satisfaction.

Shea shoved at his broad shoulders, then tumbled backward to the floor, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. They glared at one another, until amusement crept into her mind. Low, male, taunting. Nothing showed on his face, not a flicker in the ice of his eyes, but she knew he was laughing at her.

It took a moment to realize her robe was gaping open, giving him a generous view of her bare skin. With great dignity Shea dragged the lapels together. "I think we need to straighten something out here." Sitting on the floor, struggling desperately to get her breathing under control, to throw ice water on the raging fire in her blood, Shea was afraid he wasn't going to take her seriously. "I am your doctor. You are my patient. This..." She waved a hand, searching for the right words. "This sort of thing is unethical. And another thing. I am in charge here. You follow my orders, not the other way around. Absolutely never, under any circumstances, do that again." Involuntarily she touched her fingers to her lower lip. "It wouldn't have happened at all if you hadn't infected me with some sort of, I don't know, rabies strain." She glared at him.

He simply watched her with his disconcertingly steady gaze. Shea inhaled, wrinkled her nose, desperate to change the subject to something safe. He was supposed to be half-dead. He should have been dead. No one should be able to kiss like that after the agony he had been through. She had never, ever responded to anyone the way she had to him. Never. It was shocking, the effect he had on her.

There was a sudden glint in his eyes, somewhere between a flame dancing and amusement.

No other man must ever make you respond to him. I would not be pleased.

"Quit reading my mind!" Her cheeks flushed a bright red; she glared at him. "This is a totally improper conversation between a doctor and a patient."

Perhaps, but not between us.

She clenched her teeth, her green eyes smoldering. "Shut up," she said rudely, a little desperately. She had to find a way to get control back, and he wasn't cooperating. She took a deep, calming breath to restore her dignity. "You need a bath. And your hair could use a good wash." Shea stood up and gingerly touched his thick ebony hair, unaware that the gesture was curiously intimate. "You were number seven. I wonder if any of the others live. God, I hope not. I have no way to find them."

As she turned, he caught her wrist.

What is number seven?

Shea sighed softly. "Those men, the ones who hunt me, had photographs of some of their victims murdered around seven years ago. Eight bodies were found, though likely there were more victims than anyone knew. People refer to them as the 'vampire' murders because the victims were killed with a wooden stake driven through the heart. The picture numbered as seven was yours. You. It was you."

His eyes questioned her further. Hunger was intruding, becoming a sharp, distracting ache. He was so much in her mind, she couldn't tell if he or she was in desperate need of blood. "Do you know your name?"

There was the impression of confusion.

You know, you are my lifemate.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Lifemate? You - you think we know one another? I've never met you before in my life."

His black eyes narrowed. His mind pushed at hers in confusion, in sudden dismay. He seemed certain she was lying to him.

Shea shoved a hand through her hair, the action parting her robe slightly, lifting her breasts. "I dreamed about you. Sometimes I thought about you... maybe even felt your presence. But I never actually laid eyes on you until two nights ago." Was it only forty-eight hours? It felt like a lifetime. "Something drew me to that forest, to that cellar, I didn't know you were there."

More confusion.

You did not know?

He was probing her mind. She could feel him sharing her head, and it was strange. He felt familiar to her; she recognized his touch. It was strange, exhilarating, but frightening to have someone capable of learning such intimate knowledge of her. Shea told herself she endured his examination only because he was clearly agitated.

She had a physician's need to soothe him, to take away every pain from his body and his mind. The urge had nothing to do with the way he made her feel.

Everything around her seemed so different. Colors were more than just vivid, they were startling in depth. She was uneasy with her acceptance of so many bizarre events, uncomfortable with the facility with which he slipped in and out of her mind. His fingers suddenly tightened like a band around her wrist.

Iam Jacques. I am your lifemate. There is no question that I can share your mind. It is my right, as it is yours to share mine. More than a right, it is a necessity for us both.

She had no idea what he was talking about, so she ignored his statement, worried that he seemed so distressed over her lack of knowledge of him. She found herself needing to touch his hair with gentle fingers. "Can you use your voice at all?"

His eyes answered, impatient, frustrated at his own inability.

Her fingertips found his forehead, calming, soothing. "Don't worry. Your body's been through a lot. Give it some time. You're already healing amazingly fast. Do you know who did this to you?"

Two humans, one betrayer.

Ragewelled up, and for a moment red flames glowed in the depths of his black eyes.

Shea's heart nearly stopped, and she jerked backward to put distance between them. He moved faster, his arm a blur. His fingers circled her wrist, preventing escape. His grip was unbreakable - she felt his raw strength - yet he was not hurting her at all.

With an effort he pushed down the demons, angry with himself for alarming her. His thumb feathered lightly over the inside of her wrist, making him all too aware of her pulse racing frantically. Very, very gently he tugged until she was forced to his side.

I know little of my past, but almost from the beginning of my imprisonment I have known of you. I waited. I called you to my side. I hated you for allowing my suffering to continue.

She caught his face in her hands, suddenly anxious that he believe her. "I didn't know. I swear to you, I didn't know. I never would have left you there." Grief clogged her throat that she had not somehow ended his suffering sooner. What was it about him that drew her like a magnet, that captivated her and made her want to ease his pain? The urge was so strong in her, so intense, she could hardly bear to see him lying so vulnerable and shattered.

I know you speak the truth; you cannot lie to me. It was a courageous thing you did, rescuing me. But as your lifemate I can do no other than forbid you to ever take such a risk again.

Hesounded totally complacent, as if she would do as he said simply because he wished it. Every moment he was awake he became more tyrannical, more possessive. She glared at him, her green eyes smoldering dangerously. "You can quit with the orders, Mr. Jacques whoever-you-are. No one tells me what to do."

His black gaze slid over her calmly. So she had not been part of his life before. The information amazed him. How had she found the courage to save him the way she had? How had she returned to him after he had nearly ripped her throat out? His fingers tightened around her wrist, tugged until she relaxed against him.

You, are my lifemate.

The words came from somewhere deep inside his heart. He had no idea why he needed to say them, he knew only that it was imperative that he do so; it seemed his entire being forced the words out of his soul.

I claim you as my lifemate. I belong to you. I offer my life for you. I give you my protection, my allegiance, my heart, my soul, and my body. I take into my keeping the same that is yours. Your life, happiness, and welfare will be cherished and placed above my own for all time. You are my lifemate, bound to me for all eternity and always in my care.

Shea heard the words echoing in her mind, felt a rush of heat, of blood. Fear welled up, stark terror. "What have you done?" She whispered it, her eyes enormous. "What have you done to us?"

You know the answer.

She shook her head adamantly. "I don't. I don't know. But I'm different, I can feel it. Those words did something to us." She could feel it; she couldn't describe it. She felt tiny threads, a million strong binding his soul to hers, weaving their hearts together, their minds. She no longer felt like a single entity but one complete being with him. There had always been a raw emptiness inside her; now it was gone.

He released her wrist reluctantly, traced his fingertips along her high cheekbone. His mind touched hers, found genuine fear and confusion.

I am as much in the dark as you are. I know only that you ended my suffering, that you came to my call, that I recognize my other half. You are the light to my darkness.

Shea edged away from him, making certain to get beyond his reach. "I'm your doctor, Jacques, nothing more. I heal people." She said it more for herself than for him. Shea had no idea what he was talking about. She worried that his mind was playing tricks on him, weaving fantasies for him. Intellectually, Shea knew no one could tie another to himself with words, yet she felt threads binding them together. There were too many things she didn't understand. Jacques was half mad, his mind shattered, his memories coming to him in tiny pieces, yet maybe he was more stable than she was. It was a scary thought.

She was so hungry, the need for blood nearly overwhelming. She had never experienced such a craving. Shea decided she was feeling Jacques' hunger, that somehow she was actually sharing his distress. At once she poured the wild man two pints of blood from her supply and took the tall glass to his bedside. "I'm sorry, I should have realized you'd be hungry. If you let me give you intravenous fluids, it would help." The moment she put the glass down, she retreated to her computer desk.

He ignored her comment.

Why do you not feed?

The question was asked casually, curiously. His black eyes were thoughtful as he studied her.

From her position of safety across the room, Shea watched him. The weight of his gaze alone broke her concentration, took her breath away. She was feeling far too possessive of this patient. She had no right to tangle her life around his. It was frightening that she was reacting so uncharacteristically to him. She had always felt aloof, remote, detached from people and things around her. Her analytical mind simply computed facts. But right now, she could think only of him, his pain and suffering, the way his eyes watched her, half-closed, sexy. Shea nearly jumped out of her skin. Where had that thought come from?

Knowing she wouldn't want to think he was reading her mind at that precise moment, Jacques did the gentlemanly thing and pretended merely a casual interest. It was nice to know she found him sexy. Smugly he lay back with his eyes closed, long lashes dark against his washed-out complexion.

Despite the fact that his eyes were closed, Shea felt as though he witnessed every move she made. "You rest while I shower and change my clothes." Her hands went to her hair in a futile effort to tidy the wild thickness of it.

His eyes remained closed, his breathing relaxed.

I can feel your hunger, your need for blood nearly as great as my own. Why would you attempt to hide this from me?

With sudden insight he let out his breath.

Or is it that you are hiding from your own needs? That is it

you do not realize it is your hunger, your need.

The gentleness in his tone flooded her body with unexpected heat. Furious that he could be right, she stalked into the bathroom, shrugged off her robe, and allowed the warm shower to cascade over her head.

His laughter was low and taunting.

You think to escape me, little red hair? I live in you as you live in me.

Shea gasped, whirled around, grabbed frantically for a towel. It took a moment to realize he was still in the other room. The connection between them was growing stronger. She wanted it now, enjoyed it, yet it made her uneasy that she could find such an intimacy with another so natural, so normal, when it wasn't.

It suddenly occurred to her that she was showing no indications of normal bodily functions. As always, her intellect took over to analyze the situation. Her brain began to process information without emotion, sorting through the various changes she found in herself, connecting them with her recent illness and the fire in her internal organs. It was crazy, but she knew she was physically different. Something had reshaped her genetic code.

Shea took her time braiding her hair, fussing over her blue jeans, adjusting her ribbed cotton shirt, allowing her mind time to cope with the new knowledge. It was frightening yet fascinating. She wished she had observed it in someone other than herself. It was hard to accept it clinically when it was her own body she was studying.

Such a nice body.

She nearly dropped her brush.

Will you stop!

Just the low velvet touch of his voice sent heat curling through her body. It was sinful and unfair to have such a voice.

I did not think you would ever speak with me as a lifemate would. I waited long for that impatient comment.

There was a teasing note now.

Shea went very still. Her face, reflected in the mirror, visibly whitened. She had not spoken the words aloud, yet he had heard her. Her teeth tugged worriedly at her lower lip. The change was in more than her body. Her capabilities were growing. She could talk to him easily using her mind. It shocked her that she could conceive of such a thing as normal. If she didn't think about it or analyze it, she could almost accept it. She found herself trembling. Extending her hands out in front of her, she watched with annoyance as they shook. She was a doctor; nothing should shake her composure. More than that, Shea knew her own worth, had complete faith in herself.

Her chin went up. She walked into the main room, avoiding looking at him as she opened the refrigerator and took out some apple juice. Her stomach lurched. The thought of swallowing the liquid made her ill. Something inside her had changed dramatically, as she suspected. She needed to take more blood samples, find out just what was going on with her body. Yet for the first time in her life, she found herself reluctant to study data.

What are you doing?

He sounded curious.

"Actually, I'm not sure. I thought I would drink juice, but..." She trailed off, uncertain what to say. Shea always had a firm direction; now she was seriously floundering. Pouring the juice into a glass, she stared at it helplessly.

You will make yourself ill. Do not touch that.

"Why would apple juice make me ill?" she asked, curious. Did he know what had happened to her?

You need blood. You are not nearly strong enough. I have scanned your body. Although I am not able to help you as o f yet, I can see the need for proper nourishment. Your body cannot cope with the demands you make on it.

"I don't want to discuss what I should or shouldn't do." It bothered her the way he sounded so concerned, almost tender. His voice had a way of making her want to do anything he asked of her, including drinking the blood. She could smell it. She could hear his heart, the rush of blood through his veins. For the space of a heartbeat she allowed the sound to echo in her head, to feed the hunger gnawing at her. She bit down hard on her lower lip. She needed to put a little distance between them. His personality was extremely overpowering. Something deep within her, something wild she hadn't known was a part of her, was calling out to him. The chemistry was so strong, she ached just looking at him. Shea unbolted the cabin door, began to open it.

Stop!

Thecommand was soft, menacing, yet she caught the hint of desperation. The door seemed to be jerked out of her hand by some unknown force and slammed closed. Shocked, she dropped the glass in her hand. It smashed on the floor. She watched the apple juice spread out in a golden stain, the pattern particularly odd, almost like the yawning jaws of a wolf.

With an effort Jacques calmed himself. It was absolute hell to be so helpless, to be trapped in a useless body. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, releasing the terror her rash action had caused.

I am sorry, Shea. You did not scan to see if there was danger near. We are hunted. You must never forget that. You must stay close to me so I can be of some use if you are threatened. I did not mean to frighten you.

She looked up at him, her green eyes bewildered. "I don't know what you mean by scanning." She said it absently, as if her mind was on something else.

Come here to me.

His voice whispered over her skin. He held out a hand to her, his eyes eloquent, hungry. He wanted something from her she dared not think about.

"Not on your life." He looked so sensual, so sexy, he took her breath away. Shea felt behind her for the wall, leaned against it for stability.

I am not asking for much. Walk to me. It is only a few short steps.

Blackvelvet enticed her: warmth flooded her mind.

She regarded him carefully. "You know what's wrong with me, don't you? You did something to me. I know you did. I feel it. Tell me what you've done." Her face was pale, her enormous eyes accusing.

We are one, bound together.

There was the impression of puzzlement. Jacques felt her confusion; he was a shadow in her mind. Yet he was as confused as she was. She truly didn't understand what he meant by scanning, which was ingrained in him just as breathing was. She had no idea what he meant by their being bound together, yet to him it was perfectly clear. Still, he was not certain he could explain it to her adequately. Why didn't she know these things? He was the one damaged. His was the mind shattered, his the memories scattered to the four corners of the earth.

Shea rubbed her forehead with a trembling hand. "You shut that door, didn't you? You took it out of my hands and slammed it closed right from the bed. You did it with your mind, didn't you?" She could do many things, had special gifts, but this unknown man had tremendous powers she could barely comprehend. What was he? What else was he capable of? The pull between them was so strong - had she allowed something outside herself to dictate her own actions? Shea was uncertain of the answer.

At once Jacques sought to soothe her. He didn't know what was upsetting her so much - it was a natural part of his life to move objects with his mind - but his need was to overcome her distress. He sent her warmth and reassurance, comfort.

Iam sorry, Shea, I was thinking only of your protection. It is difficult for me to know we are hunted while I am so helpless to protect you, that we cannot leave this place because of my weakness. You are tied to my side, and I endanger you.

He tried as hard as he could to undo the damage his thoughtlessness had caused. She deserved so much more than a half-mad lifemate. She seemed to have no real idea of what they needed to survive.

You have no conception of the monsters we are dealing with. It is always important to scan as you wake, before you leave a dwelling.

He tried to be gentle as he imparted the information. It was easy for him to read her mounting fears.

"I don't know what you mean."

Her genuine puzzlement brought out a protective urge in him so strong that it shook his narrow world. He wanted to take her into his arms and shelter her for all eternity within his soul. She looked impossibly small and fragile, the questions in her mind as easy to read as the worry on her transparent face. His dark eyes widened in sudden understanding.

You do not know the ways of our people at all, do you?

"What people? I'm an American, of Irish descent. I came here to do research on a rare blood disorder, which I seem to share with you. That's all." Unknowingly she was biting her lip, her knuckles white from clenching her fists, her body tense, waiting for his reply.

He cursed his inability to remember basic things, certain they were of great importance to the two of them. If she was as much in the dark as he was, they were in deep trouble. It was frustrating to have so many gaps in his mind.

You are of this land. I feel your connection to this land. I know absolutely that you are mine, that we belong together.

Shea shook her head. "My mother was Irish. My father was from this region, but I never even knew him. I arrived here for the first time only a couple of months ago. I swear I've never been here before."

We do not have a disorder, a disease. Our people have existed as they are from the dawn of time.

He did not know where that piece of information came from. It was simply there.

"But that's impossible. People do not require drinking blood to live. I'm a doctor, Jacques. I do medical research all the time. I know. This is extremely rare." She could feel her breath refusing to leave her lungs.

You can accept that I remained buried alive for an eternity, yet you cannot accept that our people exist?

Shea bent to pick up the scattered pieces of glass, needing something practical to do while she tried to hold on to her self-control. What was he really saying to her? That he did not have a blood disorder but was of another race or... species? "We don't know how long you were there," she said uneasily, slowly mopping up the juice.

How long ago were you shown the picture of me?

Shea dumped the broken glass into the garbage can. "Two years ago," she admitted reluctantly. "The vampire murders occurred seven years ago. They claimed the photos were of those victims. But it would be impossible, totally impossible, for you to have survived that long. That would mean you were buried with a stake through your body for seven years. It's impossible, Jacques." She turned to him, her eyes enormous. "Isn't it?"

Not if I shut down my heart and lungs. My blood would not run,

he explained, choosing his words carefully, afraid of upsetting her.

It had just the opposite effect. "You can do that? Really do that?" Now she was excited. "You can control your heart rate, slow it down, speed it up? My God, Jacques, this is incredible. There are monks who can do such a thing, but not on the scale you imply."

I can stop my heart if need be. You can stop yours.

"No, I can't." She dismissed the idea as nonsense with a wave of a hand. "But is that really what you did? Stop your heart? Is that how you survived being buried alive? Lord, that must have driven you mad. I don't know if I can make myself believe this. How did you eat? You were chained, both hands." Her thoughts and questions stumbled over one another in her excitement.

I woke rarely, only when I sensed blood nearby. I called creatures to me. You must know you can do that.

Hewas pleased that for once he could give her information.

I managed to scratch a hole in the wood to allow them in.

Shea could call animals to her; she had been doing it since she was a child. And that talent she and Jacques shared accounted for the rat carcasses she had seen buried in the wall with him. "Are you saying there are others who do these things?" She hurried to her computer, turning on the generator so she could work. "What else do you remember?"

She was so excited, he wanted to give her more information, but as hard as he tried to come up with something, his head simply pounded, and memories eluded him. Shea felt his distress, glanced over at him, saw the faint sheen of perspiration beading on his forehead.

Immediately her eyes-warmed, her mouth curving softly. "Jacques, I'm sorry. It was thoughtless of me to press you like that. Don't try to think right now. Things will come back to you eventually. I've got plenty to work on right here. You just rest."

Grateful for her compassion, Jacques allowed the fragmented pieces of his memory to escape for a while and leave him in peace. He watched with interest as Shea took a blood sample from her arm and made several smears on small glass squares. Her excitement was so intense, her rush of joy so totally encompassing, that it pushed aside her gnawing hunger. Her mind was consumed with facts, hypotheses, and a bombardment of data. All at once she was far away from him, completely absorbed with her work. Jacques watched her, reached lazily for the glass on the end table, and swallowed the contents to dull his own terrible hunger.

Even after an hour of observation he saw that Shea remained completely focused on whatever she was doing, concentrating totally on her task. He enjoyed watching her, found her fascinating, every turn of her head, the fringe of her long eyelashes in profile. She often shoved at her hair when she was puzzled. Small teeth would worry her full lower lip. Her fingers flew on the keyboard, her gaze fastened on the monitor. Frequently she would consult notes and several books with a slight, all-too-alluring frown on her face. He found he liked that little frown, the habit she had of biting her lip.

Every time he recognized hunger beating at her, she seemed to be able to push it aside. Just as she had temporarily pushed him aside, out of her thoughts. That actually annoyed him a bit, but he also felt a sense of pride in her. Whatever she did, she did wholeheartedly. Still, Shea was ignoring the danger to herself, so absorbed in her work that she blocked out everything around her. Jacques thought about reminding her of the hazards, but instead he opted to remain alert enough to scan their surroundings, slipping in and out of the mortal's sleep.

Jacques jerked himself awake four hours later, then cursed at the clumsiness that sent pain spiraling through his body. He felt hunger, weakness, a swaying dizziness. Black eyes leapt to Shea. She was peering at a notebook, pencil clenched in her teeth. Her skin was so pale, it was nearly translucent. The intense emotions in the room were hers, yet she seemed not to notice. Her mind fought to merge with his; he could feel it tuning itself, vibrating with need, but Shea was disciplined, strong, and very determined. She brought her thoughts back under control, focusing on her work.

He felt a curious melting in the region of his heart. Ice-cold hatred and fury, the need for revenge, for retribution, had been the force driving him to live. He had not thought himself capable of tenderness, yet Shea managed to bring it out of him. He was first and always a predator. Shea was light to his darkness, radiating beauty as if it shone through her skin from her soul. She had introduced gentler emotions to him.

She needed a break, rest. Most of all she needed to feed. If he was completely honest, he needed her touch, her attention. Deliberately, he moaned softly in his mind, his head back, eyes closed. He sensed her instant alertness, her concern. A rustle of papers signaled she had set her notes aside. Jacques beat down a sense of triumph, concentrating on the pain that encompassed his battered body.

Shea glided across the room, not noticing how silent she was, how efficient her body had become, moving with grace and speed. Her hand was cool on his forehead, soothing. She brushed back his grimy hair, her touch so soft that his heart ached. She bent to examine his wounds with a professional eye. Antibiotics wouldn't work on him any more than they did on her. Perhaps new soil would help. "I'm sorry I can't take your pain away, Jacques. I would if I could." Her voice was filled with concern, with regret. "I'll get you some fresh soil and wash your hair for you. It isn't much, but it can be soothing and might help." Her fingers were drawn to his mane of hair again, then traced his shadowed jaw in a small caress.

Both his hands came up, caught her with surprising strength, his black eyes capturing hers so that she felt she was falling forward into those dark, mysterious pools.

You have not fed.

She could get lost in his gaze for all time. She could hear the sound of her heart tuning itself to his. It was strange yet normal how their hearts seemed to want to beat in the same rhythm.

"I don't drink human blood. I transfuse if I'm desperate, but I can't make myself drink it," she explained quietly. She felt him now, in her mind, his touch calming and gentle. But there was also a hard authority in him. His will was so strong, nothing could resist him when he insisted. She wanted him to understand. "I am human, Jacques. Drinking blood is abhorrent to me."

To try to live for any length of time without feeding is dangerous. You must drink

Although Jacques tried to make it a simple statement of fact, it came out as a soft command. He didn't know where the information came from, only that it was true. It was plain to him she wanted his understanding in this ridiculous regimen she was forcing on herself, but it made no sense to him, and he could not allow such foolishness. He had to find a way to make her realize what she was doing to herself.

She smoothed back his hair, the touch of her fingers stirring interesting reactions in his battered body. Unaware of what she was doing to him, Shea smiled into his eyes. "I accepted a long time ago I would die if I was unable to find a cure. Now, do you want me to wash your hair?"

His hands tightened on her slender shoulders, pulled her down to

him. You know, little red hair, as your lifemate it is my duty to see to your health. My purpose in life is to protect you and see to your needs. You are weak, unable to perform the most basic survival skills. This cannot continue. You must use the blood you are supplying to me for yourself

There was something magical in his voice. She could listen to it forever. "There's very little left. As it is, I'll have to visit the local blood bank soon." She had already used most of her units to try to replace the tremendous volume of blood he had lost. "Really, Jacques, don't worry about me. I do this all the time."

Look at me, little Shea.

Hisvoice dropped an octave. Low. Compelling. An enticement. His black eyes held her green ones. Warmth flooded her mind; arms surrounded her, held her close. She fell further into deep, dark pools of burning heat.

Youwill accept my blood, as you are meant to.

He gave the command softly, firmly, holding her mind with his. The strength of his will, shaped by centuries of practice and honed by the fires of hell, conquered hers. Without hesitation he drew her to his chest, cradling her tenderly in his arms.

She seemed so light, so small and fragile. He loved the line of her throat, the satin perfection of her skin, her mouth. With one nail Jacques opened a small wound in his heavy muscles, pressed her to him, and felt heat coil unexpectedly deep within him. His gut clenched, and desire shot through him, piercing and sweet. The feel of her mouth on him was erotic. Their minds were merged as he held her. It was an intimacy he was unfamiliar with. In the midst of pain and darkness, hatred and rage, she had brought light, compassion, and courage. Where there was bleak despair and a weak, empty shell, she had given him the beginnings of strength and power, blossoming hope. Where there was endless pain, an eternity of hell, she was bringing beauty, joy, and an intense pleasure he almost could not comprehend.

Jacques did not want to end their joining, but he needed every drop of blood to try to heal his broken body and mend his fractured mind. He didn't dare allow her to take too much from him. Already his hunger was growing. He needed fresh blood, hot and rich, flowing straight from his prey. Reluctantly he stopped her, felt flames dance over his skin as her tongue caressed him, closing the wound.

For a moment he dropped his head over hers, savoring the closeness of her body, her scent, savoring the beauty of her spirit. He could no longer bear to be alone, separated from her even for a moment. Seven years of darkness, of total isolation, of believing she had deliberately allowed, even prolonged, his suffering. To know it wasn't true, that, indeed, her courage had saved him, had given him back hope, a chance at living. Jacques would never survive her loss. He could not let her out of his sight, out of his mind. He was so fragmented, she alone was holding him together.

He released her will slowly, watching her closely, intently, black eyes burning possessively. Her long lashes fluttered, and the cloudiness vanished, leaving glittering emeralds behind, flawless and mysterious. Cool beauty fired to flashing flame. "What have you done this time, Jacques? You absolutely cannot take care of me. I mean it. You have no idea just how close to death you really are. You cannot afford the loss of blood."

His faint smile was in her mind.

You are my lifemate, always in my care. I can do no other than provide what you need.

She shook her head slowly. "What am I going to do with you? You need every drop of blood we can get our hands on. I'm used to getting by on tiny amounts."

Getting by is not good enough.

Hegrowled it at her, black eyes glittering.

Shea rolled her eyes heavenward. "At least have the decency to try to look guilty. You needn't be so smug and annoying." Her fingers found his tangle of hair again, brushed it from his forehead. "I wonder about you, Jacques. Where your family is."

Confusion reflected in his eyes, a black void suddenly filled with splintering pain. She caught at his hand, reeling under the impact of her mind sharing, even for a split second, the agony in his. "Stop, Jacques. Don't try to force your memory. It will come back as you heal. Just relax. I'll bathe your wounds and wash your hair. It'll be soothing to you."

Her fingers were soothing on his skin, sending coolness into his burning mind. His body responded, relaxing muscles clenched taut, releasing a bit of the pain wracking him. Her touch gave him a flicker of light to follow, hope that the pain would actually end someday. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to her ministrations. The sound of her moving so lightly around the house was comforting. Her natural fragrance and the faint aroma of herbs and flowers that drifted from her skin and hair seemed to surround him like arms holding him close.

Shea touched him gently as she examined his wounds. Her sponge seemed to skim over raw, damaged flesh, leaving a curious tingling in its wake. The warm water pouring over his hair as she cradled his head in her arm felt so good, it was almost sensuous. As her fingertips massaged herbal shampoo into his scalp, he concentrated on the feeling, for a few minutes able to push aside his world of pain.

"You have beautiful hair," Shea said softly, rinsing the suds away with more warm water. Her arm was aching with the effort to hold his head up over the plastic basin, but she could sense she was bringing him a measure of peace. She removed the basin, maneuvered a towel onto his pillow, and helped him slide back to his original position.

As she dried his hair, her hands lingered in his scalp; she enjoyed touching him. "You're very tired. Go back to sleep."

More blood.

The husky, drowsy note echoing in her mind turned her insides soft and warm.

Without hesitating, Shea poured a unit into a glass and busied herself dumping the wash water and mopping up the floor.

As she moved past the bed, his hand snaked out, fingers shackling her wrist, drawing her close.

"What?" Shea perched on the edge of the bed, a faint smile on her face, her eyes soft, even tender, although she was unaware of it.

His palm slid up her arm; strong fingers massaged her aching shoulder.

Thankyou, little red hair. You make me feel alive again.

"You are alive, Jacques," she reassured him, smoothing back his hair. "Disrespectful but definitely alive. I don't know a single physician referred to as 'little red hair.'"

Her quiet laughter remained in his mind long after he fell into the mortal state of sleeping. On some level he was aware of her closeness as she mixed soil, herbs, and saliva for his wounds, and it soothed him, kept rage, pain, and the terror of his empty, isolated world at bay.