Dark Desire by Christine Feehan Page A

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. He growled 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