Dark Desire (Dark Series - book 2)

by Christine Feehan

  She walked slowly, reluctantly, dread filling her, yet with every step back toward the cabin, toward Jacques, the heaviness of her heart lifted. At the edge of the clearing before the cottage, three large deer rested beneath the swaying branches of a tree. She stood for a moment watching them, all too aware of what had transpired. Shea stepped onto the porch, hesitated, and went inside.

  Jacques was lying motionless in the bed, his black eyes wide open, fixed unblinkingly on her face. Shea felt as if she were falling forward into those black, fathomless depths. He held out a hand to her. She didn’t want to go to him; she went because she had to go. She needed to go to him. A part of her brain analyzed that, how it could possibly be, but she went without fighting the strong compulsion.

  His fingers, unexpectedly warm, closed around the coolness of hers, his hand enveloping hers. He tugged at her gently until she had no choice but to sit, then lie beside him. His black eyes never once relinquished their hold on hers.

  You are cold, little red hair.

  His voice whispered over her skin, mesmerized her mind, dispelled the chaos to replace it with a soothing, tranquil calm.

  Allow me to warm you.

  His hand shaped her face, traced each delicate bone, stroked down her throat. Shea blinked, confused, unsure whether she was awake or dreaming. Her body moved restlessly. Again her brain attempted to sort things out for her, but she could not pull away from his hypnotic eyes. Part of her didn’t want to. She wanted to be trapped there for all time, sheltered by him, belonging to him.

  Ignoring the screaming protest of his body, Jacques shifted so that his large frame half pinned her smaller one to the bed. His hand continued to caress the soft, vulnerable line of her throat, moved to trace the neckline of her cotton top.

  Feel the way our hearts beat together.

  His hand pushed the concealing fabric aside so that her full breasts gleamed in the silver light of the moon.

  His mind felt the protest of hers, his soft voice murmuring to weave her deeper under his spell. In the depths of his eyes was hunger, fire, need. He trapped the emerald green of her eyes in the intensity of his hot gaze. A slash of razor-sharp talons, and cotton floated to the floor. His hand found warm softness, and with his black stare still holding hers, he slowly lowered his head.

  Shea’s breath caught in her throat as his perfect mouth hovered a scant inch above hers. She burned for him. Burned. Her long lashes swept down as his mouth fastened on hers. She nearly cried out at the rush of liquid heat racing through her body at his touch. His mouth explored every inch of hers, caressing, demanding, gentle, and dominant, a sweet stroking along her incisors, a stark male possession.

  His mouth left hers to trail kisses down her throat, her shoulder, lower to find the swell of her breast. Shea’s hands found his hair, its rich softness bunched in her fists as his tongue traced a path over her pulse. Her body clenched, waited in anticipation. His teeth nipped gently, moved again so that she shuddered with pleasure as his mouth drew her rich softness into its moist heat.

  I want you, Shea. I need you.

  And it was true. His body didn’t seem to understand that claiming her was an impossibility. He hurt, a pain to rival all the others. His skin burned and was unbearably sensitive. Reluctantly he released her breast, moved once more to stroke his tongue over her pulse.

  Shea.

  He murmured her name, and his teeth sank deep.

  She gasped at the white-hot lance of pain, the wave of intense pleasure washing over her. Her body arced upward, her arms cradling his head.

  It was ecstasy, holding her like this, feeding on sweetness, exploring her softness with his hands. The pleasure was such that Jacques’ battered body swelled, every muscle taut, rigid. She tasted hot, spicy, addicting. He needed to bury himself in her as he fed. Every natural instinct he possessed, as both man and beast, urgently demanded he unite them in the way of his people, sealing them together for all eternity. Her breasts were soft, perfect, driving him to the brink of madness. Did her ribcage have to be so small and delicate, her waist so tiny? He didn’t just want. He needed. He lifted his head, his tongue stroking across the tiny wound, reluctantly closing it.

  Shea’s eyes were closed, her body soft and pliant.

  You need, my love.

  He kissed her gently.

  Kiss me, my chest. Let me feel that your need is as great as my own.

  It was sheer black magic, an erotic whisper of seduction she seemed helpless to resist. Her mouth tasted his skin, lingered, found his throat, the heavy muscles of his chest. Jacques knew he was playing with fire. His body could not take much more. His hand caught the nape of her neck, pressed her head to him.

  You hunger, my love.

  Self-preservation interceded, and her body stiffened.

  Jacques’ voice was purity itself.

  You will take what I freely offer. It is my right, and you cannot deny me.

  The touch of her tongue sent fire racing through his blood. When her teeth pierced his skin, he cried out with the ecstasy of it. He gave himself up to the sensual pleasure, his hand stroking her hair, encouraging her feeding. He needed this closeness, this erotic intimacy. If he could not have all of her at this moment, he could at least ensure their bond.

  He held her, blanketing her body in the age-old dominant way of his people, yet there was tenderness in his hands as they caressed her. Slowly his hand slid over her silky hair, stroked, lingered, moved around to trace the delicate lines of her face. Then carefully he began to insert his hand between her mouth and his chest.

  Enough, Shea. Close the wound with your tongue.

  His gut clenched hotly, his body shuddered as she obeyed him. He wanted her, needed, even hungered for their union. For a moment he felt that need was far more tormenting than wounds.

  He caught her hair in both hands, dragged her head up to his, when everything in him screamed to push her down, to force her to give him some relief. Jacques felt as if he was in hell all over again. His mouth found hers, tasted his own blood. Something inside him raised its head and roared, wild, untamed, something close to breaking free of his tight control. Instinctively his mind sought hers.

  Shea!

  The summons was sharp, on the edge of desperation. Shea blinked, found herself tangled on the bed with Jacques, her skin rubbing against his, his arms tight, vise-like bands around her, his mouth taking hers with such expertise that her entire body raged for him. He was aggressive, dominant, the position he held her in one of submission. When she looked up at him, his eyes went from desperation, hungry desire, and tenderness to a bestial glow, that of a wild animal taking what belonged to it. She recognized those red flames leaping, betraying the violence in him. When she stiffened, tried to struggle, a warning growl rumbled deep in his throat.

  Shea went very still, forced her mind away from panic and fear, back toward logic. He had called to her in need. The moment she realized that, she relaxed, holding him in her arms with acceptance. He needed her, and she could do no other than help him. His hands were everywhere, rough, hurting even; his teeth bit at her much too hard.

  Jacques.

  Deliberately she sought the red haze of his mind. She was calm, tranquil, accepting of his bestial nature.

  Comeback to me.

  He latched on to her like a drowning man, merging his mind with hers. He was breathing hard, in such pain. She could feel the dark desire beating at him, the demand that he claim what was rightfully his. Jacques struggled for control of the monster within him. Shea kissed his throat, the hard line of his jaw, a soothing, gentle touch.

  It’s all right. Come back to me.

  He buried his face in her neck, crushed her tightly to him. He was exhausted, in pain, afraid he had driven her even further away. It was Shea who stroked his hair, murmured soothing nonsense, Shea who lay soft and pliant close to his heart. Her palm shaped the side of his face, a physical contact; her mind merged firmly, wholly, with his.

  I am sorry.


  Jacques rested his chin on top of her head, unwilling to face the condemnation he feared would be reflected in her eyes.

  Ssh, just be still. I should never have left you alone. You did not cause this. His

  arms tightened

  momentarily. Shea, do not think that. You are not to blame for my madness. My body needs yours. The mating between lifematesis not exactly the same as human mating. I nearly hurt you, Shea. I am sorry. You’re the one in pain, Jacques,

  she pointed out gently. She realized she was using their mental link, accepting it as natural. She sighed, reached up to kiss his chin.

  They held each other like two children after a terrible fright, taking comfort in one another’s closeness. Shea became aware after a time that her skin was against his, bare, sensitive, her breasts pressed into his side. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me what happened to my shirt.” She lay motionless, drowsy and content. Being so close to him should have bothered her, but it simply seemed normal. Her gaze found the material slashed to ribbons, scattered on the floor beside the bed. “You were in a bit of a hurry, I see,” she pointed out, making an effort to get up to get dressed.

  When Shea would have pulled away from him, Jacques refused to relinquish his hold. Instead, he reached lazily for the quilt and pulled it around her. His smile was in her mind. Tell

  me of your childhood.

  He dropped the words into the silence, felt her shock, her pain, her instant withdrawal

  want you to tell me this yourself Shea. I could look into your memories, but it is not the same as your trusting me

  with

  something

  so personal. He had already seen her childhood, the terrible way she had grown up alone. Jacques wanted her to share it with him, to give him the priceless gift of her trust.

  Shea could hear the strong, steady beat of his heart, a soothing rhythm. It seemed only fair that she share her nightmare when she had glimpsed the dark stain on his soul. “I became aware something was wrong with my mother at a very early age. She would withdraw for weeks at a time, never noticing if I ate or slept or was hurt. She had no friends. She almost never left the house. She rarely showed interest or affection.”

  Jacques’ hand slid over her hair in a caress, found the nape of her neck in a comforting massage. The distress in her voice was almost more than he could bear.

  “I was six years old when I discovered I was different, that I needed blood. My mother had forgotten me for several days in a row. She just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. I would go into her room every morning to kiss her good-bye before going to school. She never seemed to notice. As the days went by, I became so weak I couldn’t walk across the room. She came to me, and I watched as she cut herself and bled into a glass. She told me I had to drink it—to drink blood often. After she died, I only used transfusions, but...”

  She was silent for so long that Jacques touched her mind, felt her childhood self-loathing, her fears, and her sense of isolation. His arms tightened, drew her closer to his powerful frame, wanting to shelter her for all time. He knew what it meant to be alone. Totally alone. He never wanted her to feel like that again.

  Shea felt the light brush of Jacques’ mouth on her forehead, at her temple, in her hair. His tenderness warmed her when she was shivering inside. “My mother wasn’t like me. No one was like me. I could never tell anyone, ask anyone about it. She took me to Ireland to hide me because when I was born, my blood was so odd it stirred interest in both the medical and scientific fields. I had to be transfused daily, but I still grew weak. When I was a few years old, two men came to our house and asked her a lot of questions about me. I could hear their voices, and I was afraid. I hid under the bed, afraid she might make me see them. She didn’t. They scared my mother as much as they did me. She packed us up and moved us away.”

  You are certain your mother never touched blood?

  Heprobed gently, afraid she would stop sharing what were obviously painful memories. He had no real way to ease her hurt except with the strength of his arms and the closeness of his body.

  “Never. She was like a beautiful shadow already gone from the world. She thought only of him. Rand. My father.”

  The name touched a painful fragment of memory in him. It was so intense, he let it slip away before he could catch it.

  You never met him?

  The mere thought of the man she called her father brought splinters of glass stabbing through his head.

  “No, he was married to a woman named Noelle.”

  Shocked recognition, an inconsolable grief, a woman once beautiful, beheaded, a stake through her heart. The memory was so vivid, so intense, Jacques choked, shoved the information far away from him. But he had recognized her.

  Noelle.

  Shea lifted her head, green eyes searching his black gaze. “You know her.” She shared the memory in his mind, saw the same fragments of images. The glimpse sickened her, the brutality of that death. The woman had been murdered using the ritual “vampire” slaying techniques. Beheaded. The stake.

  She is dead.

  Hesaid it with certainty, with sorrow.

  Shewas my sister.

  Shea’s face went white. “Did she have a son?”

  A male child.

  “Oh, God!” Shea tore herself out of his arms as if burned, leapt up and away from him, her arms covering her breasts, her eyes wild. “This gets worse every minute. My father was probably your sister’s husband.” She backed away from the bed in horror.

  You do not know this. It is a big world.

  “How many Rands are there from the Carpathian Mountains, someone like you? Someone married to a woman named Noelle, who gave birth to a boy? It was all in my mother’s diary.”

  Vampire hunters drove a stake through her heart. Years ago. Years before they got me. I do not remember more. Perhaps I do not care to.

  Shea found another shirt, dragged it on. “I’m sorry for her. I’m sorry for my mother. This is all so wrong.” She waved a hand, encompassed the bed. “We’re probably related or something.”

  Lifemates are born to one another, Shea. There is only one for each. What your parents or my sister chose to do with their lives has nothing to do with us.

  “Of course it does. We don’t know who you really are. We know virtually nothing about you. What I’m doing here with you is against the rules of my profession. We don’t even know if you’re married or not.”

  There is only one lifemate, Shea. I know this is all new and frightening to you, but as I must lie here in frustration, you must have patience. We are finding out information in bits and pieces. I cannot remember details I know are important to us. I ask that you be patient while we sort these things out.

  Heshifted uncomfortably.

  The movement brought her back to herself, calmed her as nothing else could. “You aren’t taking care of yourself, Jacques. You can’t be moving around.” She bent over him, her hand cool on his burning skin. The hole below his heart was beginning to heal. Her long hair fell over her shoulder, brushed his abdomen with fire. The warmth of her breath as she leaned over him to examine the wound was like a dancing flame on his skin.

  Jacques closed his eyes as every muscle in his body clenched in response. His reaction to her more than anything else told him that he was healing. His hand knotted in the silk of her hair.

  I know you think to leave me, Shea, when I am at full strength.

  Her enormous eyes jumped to his face, watched as he crushed her silky hair to his mouth.

  You fear me. I can see the fear in your eyes.

  Her tongue moistened her lower lip. She looked thoughtful. Jacques found her mind using its ability to shove her emotions aside as it did when she felt threatened in some way. Her intellect took over, assessing the situation between them. “I don’t know what you are, Jacques, or, when you’re perfectly well, what you’re capable of doing. I know nothing of your past or your future. I’m a medical researcher, and, once y
ou recover, it’s very possible we won’t have a thing in common.”

  His black gaze did not leave her face. Hard. Watchful. Even his body seemed utterly still.

  You fear me.

  He wanted her to face the real issue, not push it aside.

  You have no reason to fear me.

  She tilted her head to one side, red hair cascading in all directions. “You think I don’t? Jacques, you threaten everything I have ever known about life. You changed me. If I was only half Carpathian, or whatever it is—vampire, maybe, I don’t know at this point—you did something to bring me all the way into your world. I’m different now. I can’t eat, I have no human bodily functions, and my hearing has increased even more. All my abilities. Everything. You took away the life I knew and replaced it with something neither of us knows anything about.” She shook her head, then gave in to the desire to tangle her fingers in his jet-black hair. “I will not be like my mother, Jacques, living only for a man. When he deserted her, she waited only until she thought I no longer needed her, and she killed herself. That isn’t love, it’s obsession. No child of mine will ever suffer what her sick obsession with Rand put me through.”

  He breathed in her scent, and again the heat was upon him, scorching him with the urgent demand to bury himself in her, to become truly one.

  I need you, Shea. Is it so impossible to think you might actually love me? I feel your complete acceptance of me. I know it is in you. Rand and your mother have nothing to do with us. You saw the darkness in me, the beast struggling for control, yet you remained. My imprisonment may have destroyed whatever I originally was, and I do not know who I am now. But I know that I need you. Would you really leave me alone?

  She felt his despair. “Don’t start believing you’re a monster. The way you touch me sometimes, with such tenderness, that is no monster.” Her body was restless, a need moving over her, through her, a need she had never known before. “You wanted me, Jacques, yet you stopped yourself. You’re no monster.”