Forbidden Touch (11 page)

He knew she wasn't his though, and he was having a real problem with that. She wouldn't let him in for some reason.

Her crying had slowed to soft sobs as he lay down beside her. He pulled her against his body and ran his fingers over her back lightly.

"Sleep now, Ciera. I will hold you, and you can sleep," he whispered.

She sniffled a few times then relaxed in his arms and drifted off to sleep.

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Chapter 1
6

Mitch opened his eyes to the bed vibrating. He must have dozed off in the dark, quiet room as Ciera slept in his arms. He blinked a few times. He was disoriented but he was coming out of it fast; something was wrong.

She wasn't in his arms any longer. He sat up fast and felt beside him. She was on the far side of the queen bed with her back to him. He put his hand on her back. She was shaking so violently that the entire bed was shuddering beneath her. He turned the bedside lamp on. He turned her over and she was sweating profusely. Her eyes were closed like she was still asleep or unconscious, but this was one hell of a nightmare if she was asleep.

"Ciera! Ciera, talk to me! Wake up and tell me what's wrong so I can do something!" he shouted at her. He was more afraid now than he'd ever been in his life. Was she dying?

Her eyes fluttered open a little. She tried to give him a smile, but failed. "I'm… sorry, Mitch." she said through chattering teeth, then closed her eyes again.

He was frantically trying to keep her awake. He didn't know anything about vampires. As soon as the thought passed through his mind, he knew what the problem was. The conversation they'd had earlier replayed in his mind like a recording,
"So… how long has it been since you…fed?"

She'd clapped her hands excitedly, startling him.
"I'm so proud of you, Mitch.  You said it!  Say vampire."

"Huh?"
He'd said, and looked at the passenger seat. He'd chuckled then. She must have caught on that he was having a little trouble coping with all of this.
"Vampire."

"Good."
She'd said energetically.
"Now say blood, feed and fangs. Say it quickly so you don't chicken out."

He'd shaken his head and rolled his eyes.
"Blood, feed and fangs."
h
e'd paused.
"Do you really have fangs?"

"Razor sharp one,"
s
he'd said a little spookily, and he'd laughed.
"It's been a few days."
s
he'd said, then cleared her throat.

It had been a few days… It had been a few days… It had been a few days.

He tried to concentrate through his hysteria. She had said something before that, something important. He tried to think, then finally remembered what it had been:
"My body only requires about a half a pint every few days, but I have to have it or I will be in severe pain… then I'll die."

Every few days… severe pain… then she will die.

Mitch shook her hard. "Ciera, wake up and bite me!"

Her eyes fluttered open again, and she smiled lazily. She brought her shaking hand up to his cheek, and shook her head slowly. "It's better like this. I do… love you," she whispered, then forced a smile before falling unconscious again.

"No!" he managed to shout through a clenched jaw. He shook her fiercely again, but he didn't get a response this time. "Better for who?! Better for you? You are such a coward to take the easy way out!" he cried. He noticed that her body was barely even trembling now. She was dying. He sat up quickly and reached in his slack's left front pocket. He palmed his pocket knife, brought it into view, flipped it open, and had his right wrist slit before he could even think about it. Her mouth was already slightly open, but he opened it a little further, placing his bleeding wound over it. He was shaking and crying, he was so mad at her. Why didn't she just tell him that she needed to feed? He would do anything for her. Didn't she know that?

"Wake up and drink, Ciera! Damn you, wake up! You don't get to decide what happens to you. You don't get to take the easy way out and leave me here by myself. You don't get to tell me it's better if you aren't here. And you don't get to tell me that you love me, and then die!" Mitch wiped at his tears, then the sweat off of his brow with his free hand. His blood was all over the place. He was getting more blood on the bed than he was getting in her mouth, because she wasn't swallowing any of it.

He pressed his wrist to her lips harder. Her breathing was shallow, but at least she was still breathing. He shook her hard with his left hand. She swallowed once. His eyes grew wide, and his body went very still. He shook her again. She swallowed again. "That's it, Ciera. Drink, baby, please drink."

He felt something poke the cut on his wrist and he jerked involuntarily. Her hands came up fast to his arm, pressing it more firmly to her lips. He felt a sharp prick, then he could actually feel her sucking the blood from his veins.

"Thank God," he sighed, then let his body fall limply beside hers as she fed from his wrist.

A couple minutes later she stopped sucking, but he could feel her doing something with her tongue to the cut and puncture wounds caused by her fangs. It would have been seductive if he hadn't still been so angry with her.

She pulled his wrist away from her mouth and looked at it as she ran her finger over the smooth, unblemished skin. There were two faint pink dots, then a faint pink line right under it. It almost looked like a face, not happy or sad, just a face.

He watched her do this, then she turned to face him. He couldn't look at her. He didn't want to look at her or talk to her. He got out of bed, walked up the stairs, and slammed the door closed behind him.

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Chapter 1
7

Ciera watched in total confusion as Mitch got out of bed and stomped up the stairs. What was wrong? Why did he seem angry with her? She had just woken up. Had she said something in her sleep? She jumped when the door slammed shut. Evidently she had.

She sighed, then looked up at the ceiling. There was something crawling on her face. She reached up with her hand to brush it off. Her cheek was wet with tears. Had they had a fight that she didn't recall? She only remembered kissing his hand, then he had pulled it away before she looked at him. She looked at her wet hand and sat up quickly. He fingers were colored red. Her tears were clear.

Ciera looked down at the front of her shirt, and then the blood soaked bed around her; she began to hyperventilate. What had she done to him? Had she attacked him? Bits and pieces of a dream flashed through her memory. She had been scared and hurting. She remembered him there in her dream, shouting at her to "Wake up and drink!" She shook her head and tried to remember more. The taste of his sweet blood was in her memory, as well as still on her tongue. She got a flash of touching his cheek as she looked up at his frantic face:
"It's better like this. I do…love you,"
she'd said to him in the dream.

He had gotten angry after that, but what had he said? She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, trying to concentrate on the dream. Then she heard it all again as if he was shouting it at her now:
"Wake up and drink, Ciera! Dammit, wake up! You don't get to decide what happens to you. You don't get to take the easy way out, and leave me here by myself. You don't get to tell me it is better if you aren't here. And you don't get to tell me that you love me, and then die!" 

Her eyes shot open. It hadn't been a dream at all. She had been dying, and he'd forced her to take his blood to save her life. She grabbed the pillow off the bed and heaved it across the room. A spray of feathers burst out of the cotton from the speed it had hit the wall. She put her head in her hands and screamed as her tears began to flow from her eyes. He hated her now.

Mitch sat at the kitchen table. Rage filled every bone in his body. How could she do that to him? How could someone that claimed they loved him, just decide to die and leave him? It wasn't best for her, and it certainly wasn't best for him.

The sun had set only minutes before. He knew they had to get back on the road, but he couldn't be around her. He had his back to the basement door and he heard it slowly creak open. He closed his eyes and shook his head as he sighed. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head like he'd felt them in his apartment only two days before, when he hadn't known she really existed. He wanted to pick something up and throw it against the wall. No, what he really wanted to do was get all three of those guys that had lied to the police about him and beat all of them to a bloody pulp.

"Mitch?" she said quietly.

He stood and turned on her with fire in his eyes. "Not now, Ciera."

Her breath hitched as it caught on a sob. "I'm so sorry." She begged and pleaded with him to understand how sorry she was. She hadn't known how much she needed to feed. She had never let herself get so parched before. She should have known how dangerous it would be. She had actually lied to him when she told him that it had only been a few days since she'd fed. It had actually been closer to five days. God, she was stupid, and she told him that. "I was stupid, Mitch. I can't apologize enough for what I've done to you." She paused. He'd turned back around, and was no longer facing her. "Just talk to me. Please."

He whirled around to face her again. "Talk about what, Ciera? You want to talk about how you told me only hours ago that your close friends had punished themselves by depriving themselves of blood, and you were doing the same damn thing? If your intentions were to just kill yourself, why the hell did you ever come into my life? Damn it!" He picked up the kitchen chair and hurled it through the air. It crashed into one of the end tables in the living room and broke into four pieces.

She jumped at his outburst. Her hand covered her mouth as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. She could see the hurt and anger in his eyes. She removed her hand, struggling to fill her lungs around the large lump in her throat. She stared at him. He was still standing there rigid, with his fists clenched tight hovering by his waist. He'd chosen not to look at her again. His jaw was set and unyielding. She wanted to hold him and comfort him, but he couldn't, or wouldn't, understand that she didn't do this intentionally.

"I've just been so busy with trying to find the Rogue. And the last couple of days went by so fast that it didn't occur to me how long I'd gone without feeding. I…I'm sorry, Mitch. Please don't hate me. I wasn't trying to kill myself; I promise you that I wasn't."

He looked up at her in the dim lighting of the room. It was steadily getting darker because he hadn't turned on any lights, and he wasn't going to. He didn't want anyone to know that the house was occupied, and a light on in the house was sure to alert the nosey neighbors of that fact. "If you ever pull a stunt like that again," he took in a deep breath to calm himself a little. "I will make it real damn easy for your family to find me." He met her eyes with a hard stare. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Ciera?" The only response he got from her was a tear racing to the kitchen tile. "If I don't have you, I don't have a reason to be here anymore." He took a few breaths and looked away from her. "I don't hate you, Ciera. You scared the living hell out of me. I would do anything for you, and that includes being your blood donor." He walked to the key hook beside the door to the garage, retrieved the keys to his mom's Tahoe and turned to look at her. She was still standing in the same spot. She had a lot of his blood on her face and clothes; they couldn't go out with her looking like a cannibal. He shook his head when he realized that she sort of was a cannibal.

He shoved the keys in his pocket and walked to her. Taking her hand in his, he led her back to his mother's room and master bathroom.