Dark Predator (25 page)

It doesn’t hurt you to feel.
Her voice slipped seductively into his mind, proving she was lodged deep in his being—proving she knew his thoughts.
Feel me, Zacarias. Feel what I’m feeling when you’re touching me.

“This is dangerous,” he whispered, knowing he was already lost.

His hands, of their own accord, pushed aside the flimsy scrap of lace covering the soft weight of her breasts. He tugged at her nipples, his mind already firmly entrenched in hers. He could feel exactly what each tug and roll did to her, the sizzling streaks of fire racing to her core. He could become just as addicted to feeling her pleasure as he was fast learning about his own. “
You
are dangerous.”

I won’t hurt you.

The words brushed in his mind like silk against his skin. He felt her smile, that tender, outrageous, amazing gift of a smile.

“
I
am afraid of hurting
you
. You have no idea what I am capable of.” He was fighting for her, yet he couldn’t stop his hands from exploring all that creamy flesh. She was so soft and warm and beautiful. The heady scent of her arousal enveloped him and fed the fires burning and clawing at his belly.

Her fingers continued that slow, erotic massage along his scalp. Her lips whispered over his ear, his neck, her tongue tasting his pulse. She was temptation and he was too weak to resist.

I see you. I’m inside your mind just as you’re inside my mind. I see inside of you, Zacarias. You would never hurt me. Never. It isn’t in you.

I did hurt you. Several times.

Her soft laughter rippled through his groin, so that he felt himself swell more. Felt the first drops of need weeping for her.
You were striking at yourself, Zacarias, not at me. You know what I say is truth.

He hoped she was right, because there was no way he could stop himself from tasting heaven. Not now. Not with her soft body moving against his and her wild hair brushing like silken skeins over his skin. Not with her breasts in his hands, his fingers rolling and teasing and tugging at her sensitive nipples. Every shiver that went through her body, every electrical spark, he felt in his own. He heard himself groan as she bit down on his neck, that sweet sensitive spot where his shoulder joined. She was killing him slowly.

Hunger beat at him, raw and desperate. The sound of her pulse throbbed in his own veins. He didn’t hide his need from her. He wanted her to see who he was—what he was. She had to accept the truth, not some girlish human fantasy. He was pure predator. He had no gentle edges, or soft spots. She was rousing the devil, and if he took her, he would never let her go.

“I need your blood.” He said it deliberately, his mouth moving over that sweet pulse that called so deeply to him.

He waited for her to panic, to pull away from him, to save herself. Instead, her lips moved back to his ear, tugging on his earlobe and sending another streak of fire straight to his groin.

Kiss me. I won’t be so afraid of you taking my blood if you kiss me. You can’t lie when you’re kissing someone.

Did she think he would lie to her? He knew nothing of relationships. He’d long ago buried his mother and father from his existence, refusing to ever allow them into his mind—or heart. They were gone along with every scrap of humanity that had ever been in him. On some level, he recognized that this woman, this
human
woman who had no reason to even like him, was fighting to save him. It was in her mind, in her heart.

Kiss me, Zacarias.

His heart felt brittle. He feared it would shatter in his chest. Kissing her again would be claiming her. Making her irrevocably his. Her body was amazing, a sensual lure he doubted few could ever resist, but it was that tenacious determination, her resolve that she would pull him into the light that drew him like a magnet. She mesmerized him. She had no thought for herself, and she refused to abandon him to the fate of all predatory Carpathians.

How did one fight that? How did he find the strength to walk away from someone that courageous? He was lost for the first time in his life. And for the first time, he wanted to fight for his existence—for her. To match her courage.

He drew her close, his breath settling over her, into her. His heart picked up the frantic rhythm of hers and automatically took charge, matching her pulse beat for beat. He watched her lashes drift down to veil the desire in her dark eyes. Her lips parted. He took her breath into his lungs. She was so warm and soft, heating him from the inside out.

He let his mouth settle leisurely over hers. A part of him was desperate for her, so hungry he could barely think, but he wanted to take his time, to feel her every heartbeat, to taste her every breath, to know the shape of her mouth, the velvet depths, what made her breath catch and what made her body crave his. His kissed her lightly, a slow exploration, absorbing every separate sensation until need overcame him and he simply lost himself in her fire.

He kissed her over and over, stealing the breath from her lungs, breathing for her, his tongue taking possession of that inviting, scalding velvet paradise. His thumbs traced her nipples, as he took her mouth over and over. She melted into him, all that fire, scorching him, searing his very heart.

What happened when fire met ice? He feared he would cease to exist, yet there was no other path for him now. His body was in flames. His hunger beat at him like a thunderous drum. The pounding need filled his groin and ate at his soul. Marguarita.
His.
He had to take her now. Had to make her his. Had to fill his veins, his body with . . . her.

His mouth drifted over the corner of hers. He kissed his way down the curve of her face to the small indentation at her chin. He swept back her cloud of hair from her neck with one hand, his mind firmly settled in hers. He allowed himself to experience all that she was feeling and she was completely aware of his every need—of every urgent demand of his body. His growing hunger. Still, she didn’t pull away from him, but he could feel her holding herself very still.

“Do not fear this, Marguarita. There is great courage in you.” He whispered the words against her collarbone as he kissed his way along her smaller frame. He turned her in his arms, his mouth continuing along the swell of her breast.

It’s hard to be afraid when you make me feel so alive,
she confided.
But it is a little frightening after the last time.

He would make certain a blood exchange would be erotic, not painful. She had been born with a barrier, a product of evolution, so many generations of her family having served the De La Cruz family. That barrier in her mind had been reinforced, so controlling her was difficult at best. And he didn’t want control. He wanted her to be willing.

I am willing,
she whispered in his mind.
I’m just a little nervous, but I’ve never been with a man, so all of this is new to me.

He knew that, he was locked in her mind with her. He knew her every insecurity, and right now, she was holding herself together for him. Because he needed, and she provided. It was the Carpathian way, but she was human and yet instinctively, she knew what he needed.

He pressed his forehead against the soft temptation of her breasts. He had walked the earth for well over a thousand years, had a vast wealth of knowledge, yet knew nothing of humans—or of women. And this woman was everything—would be his everything from this moment forward.

She didn’t see him the way the rest of the world did. She didn’t even see him the way he saw himself.

I see what and who you are. I see your heart and soul.

She terrified him. Her courage matched that of every warrior he knew. He was no normal man. The hard edges inside of him, the driving need to hunt and kill should have sent her gentle nature running, screaming from him. Those dark shadows, the one tainting him from birth, the terrible legacy handed down from his father scarred his very soul. The light in her shining so bright should have diminished, should have shunned him and yet she faced him, faced her own fears—to save him. To offer him life. She knew what she was doing. She knew he planned to allow the sun to take him—but she stood in front of him, deliberately seducing him with her soft, giving body and her amazing courage.

“It would take a miracle to save me, Marguarita.”

She was a miracle to him. He was long gone from this world. He’d never belonged, and now modern society had passed a man such as him up centuries ago. Miracle or not, courage or not, how could she possibly live with such a throwback to ancient times? His world was kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest. Women weren’t a part of such things, and if they were, they were used and forgotten quickly, or held captive, close where a warrior could always protect her.

“Do you see who I really am, or who you want me to be?” Because, God help them both, he would rule her. He would hold her too close. He would destroy both of them. He would damn them both to hell, but it didn’t seem to matter. He couldn’t break free from her, not even to save his honor. He burned like fire. He needed. Desire ruled him. Craving. Aching. Pure need. Pure hunger. He was predator, and she was prey. He was locked on, focused his entire attention on her. She would forever bear the cross of his shame, his inability to resist taking what he now had to have.

I want to be yours, Zacarias. I need you to stay with me. Please stay. Please choose me. Whatever this is—it isn’t shameful. I’m giving myself to you freely.

He heard his own groan. There would be no escape for her. How could he refuse her plea? Her gift? He couldn’t resist her soft breasts, her dusky nipples teasing his lips. He closed his mouth over temptation and suckled. He wanted this to be real. More than anything, he wanted what she was offering to be real. By all that was holy, let him have a miracle.

Her body arched into him. Her arms crept around his head, cradling him to her.

I see you. All of you.

He couldn’t give up the amazing sensations streaking through both of them. The characteristics she saw in him, he wasn’t certain they were really there, but he wasn’t going to stop what he was doing to use his voice to tell her that. He tugged on her nipple with his teeth, heard her gasp, but fire streaked through her—through him, the blood rushing to both their centers, as if she had a pathway to both leading straight from her nipples.

You know what I am. Yet you are not afraid?

He tugged again, a little rougher, his hands kneading soft flesh, rolling that taut peak, using tongue and teeth mercilessly. He needed her to understand he was a rough, dangerous man, all hard edges and steel. It didn’t seem to matter how he touched her, she tightened her arms around his head, her breath ragged, her arousal permeating the air between them.

I’m giving myself to you, Zacarias. Freely. Without restrictions. I don’t know what your women do, but I can only be me. I know of no other way. I don’t want you to go. The thought of you alone, fighting an evil enemy night after night with no one to hold you, is abhorrent to me.

If I walk into the sun, I will not be fighting an enemy.

No, but you will always be alone and that is unacceptable to me. I can’t find impressions to show you why, so, yes, I’m giving myself to you of my own free will to entice you to stay. I want you to stay with me. What you do with me is entirely up to you. But you will not go alone if you choose to leave.

His mouth was filled with her, his hands sliding possessively over her curves and hollows. How could he give her up? And yet, he was no man of honor if he did not.
You did not answer my question. Are you not afraid?

Yes.
She was absolutely truthful.
Of course I have fear of the unknown, but that fear is small compared with my need to keep you safe.

His heart clenched.
Do you fully understand what you are offering to me, Marguarita?
Her body called to him. Her blood. The taste of her burst through his mouth, through every cell in his body. His groin swelled until he was so full and hard the ache was intolerable. The thought of this woman giving herself so completely to him was intoxicating. His to command. His every wish fulfilled. Marguarita with her soft skin and her doe eyes. His.

He lifted his head to look into her eyes. They stared at each other a very long time. He felt himself falling, drowning in those dark pools of courage.

Be very certain. You will think only of me. Your life will be my life. My happiness will be your happiness. I know no other way. If you are mine, if you wish me to continue this life, then you will bind yourself to me for all time. Forever.
He sighed, his voice sinking to a whisper of sarcasm.
Not so long, forever. Marguarita, the years will be endless if you are unhappy.

I know what I ask of you,
she said.
I know you’re weary and you fear who and what you are. But I want you to stay—with me. I want you to live. To know happiness for whatever time we have together.

There was no more resistance in him. She was going to be his world, and he would fight with every breath in his body to keep her.

“Then give yourself to me.”

His whisper was against the soft swell of her breast, right over her heart. He felt her heart jump and then begin to pound. His hand drifted down her body to slide between her legs. She was damp for him, her arousal evident, but as his fingers skimmed over her panties, her heart accelerated and he felt her force herself to stand still for him. He hesitated, his teeth already lengthened, the taste of her bursting through his mouth. He didn’t want her afraid. And she had to be certain.

Once I claim you as mine, there is no going back.

She drew a breath. He felt it in his own lungs. She caught his face in her hands and looked him straight in the eye.
Stay with me.

She was afraid, but determined. He wasn’t about to be a saint and turn away what she was offering. Life. Emotion. Color. Something for himself. Something all his.