Dark Desire by Christine Feehan Page B

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. Thank you, 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.
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Chapter Four
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    Shea opened the door to the night and inhaled deeply. The amount of information that flooded her was shocking. Creatures were roaming the forest, and Shea knew the precise location of each animal, from a pack of wolves several miles away to three mice scurrying in the bushes close by. She could hear water roaring in cascading falls and bubbling softly over rocks. The wind played through the trees, the underbrush, and the very leaves on the ground. The stars glittered overhead like millions of jewels radiating prisms of colors.
    Entranced, Shea stepped from the cottage, leaving the door open to allow the odor of blood and sweat and pain to seep outside, to be replaced with clean, fresh air. She could hear the sap running like blood in the trees. Every plant had a special scent, a vivid color. It was as if she had been reborn into a whole new world. She lifted her face to the stars, drawing air into her lungs, relaxing for the first time in forty-eight hours.
    An owl slipped silently through the sky, its wingspan incredibly long, each feather iridescent to her new sight. The sheer wonder of it drew her toward the deep woods. Droplets of water sparkled like diamonds on moss-covered rocks. The moss itself looked like emeralds scattered along the winding stream and up the trunks of trees. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.
    Her mind, as always, processed the data flooding into her brain. It was all a huge jigsaw puzzle, but the pieces were beginning to fit themselves together. She had been born to a woman who ate food and walked in the sunshine. Yet she—and others—displayed decided differences in sensitivities, metabolism, nutritional requirements. It was impossible to believe that the vampire legends were true. But could there be a separate race of people with incredible gifts who needed to drink blood to survive? Could they live incredibly long lives, survive the unthinkable, be able to control their hearts and lungs? Their bodies would have to process everything differently. Their organs would have to be different. Everything would be different.
    Shea shoved at her hair. Her tongue swept her lower lip, teeth biting nervously. It was something out of a fairy tale. Or a horror film. Impossible. Wasn't it? A man could not survive seriously wounded, buried seven years in the earth. No way. It couldn't happen. But she had found him. It wasn't a lie. She had uncovered him herself. So how could one's sanity remain after seven years of being