The drive to her cabin took longer than it should have, with her eyes streaming and swollen and her vision blurred. She drove slowly, trying to avoid every rock and bump in the dirt track. As it was, even with four-wheel drive, it was hard going. Shea was cursing softly by the time she backed the truck practically onto her porch.

“Please, please, don’t grab me and eat me alive,” she chanted softly, a litany or prayer. One more time ripping at her throat and she might never be able to help anyone again. Taking a deep breath, she opened the tailgate and shoved the dolly over the ramp. Without looking at him, she lowered the coffin onto the dolly and wrestled him inside.

He never made a sound. Not a groan, not a sob, not a curse, He was in agony; she could tell by the sweat coating his body, by the white lines around his mouth, the crimson stain on his forehead, and the stark pain reflected in his eyes when it was finally safe to remove the sunglasses.

Shea was exhausted, her arms aching and weak. She was breed to take a moment to rest, leaning against the wall, fighting a wave of dizziness. His eyes were back on her face, simply staring at her. She hated his silence, instinctively knowing that hose who had tortured him had not received the satisfaction of hearing his cries. It made her feel like one of them. Movement lad to be excruciatingly painful for him.

Working quickly, she got him onto the gurney beside her operating table. “All right, I’m going to get you out of this box.” She needed the sound of her voice even if he didn’t understand. She had tried several languages, and he hadn’t responded yet. There seemed to be intelligence, knowledge in his eyes. He didn’t fully trust her, but it was possible he realized her intention was to help him.

Grasping her sharpest knife, Shea leaned over him to get at the thick ropes. Instantly he caught her wrist, preventing movement. Her heart sank. He didn’t understand after all. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for the pain of teeth ripping through flesh. When nothing happened, she looked at him, fully expecting to meet his blazing eyes.

He was examining the long gash on her arm, his eyes slightly narrowed, lids half-closed. He turned her arm one way, then the other, as if fascinated by the long line of blood from wrist to elbow. Impatient, Shea tugged to get away. His fingers clamped down hard, but he didn’t look at her face. He brought her arm to his mouth slowly, and her heart seemed to stop. His breath was warm against her skin. He touched her gently, almost reverently, a long, moist caress that took the sting from the injury. His tongue was rough velvet, lapping at the wound with care. The feel of it sent an unexpected curl of heat spiraling through her.

Intuitively she knew that he wanted to repair the damage he had done. She blinked down at him, unable to believe he was attempting to heal her silly scratch when his own body was so terribly mutilated. The gesture seemed so touching, it brought tears to her eyes. She stroked back his shaggy mane of hair with tender fingers. “We need to hurry, wild man. You’re bleeding again.”

He released her reluctantly, and Shea slashed through the ropes. “It’s okay to yell at me if you have to,” she chattered on needlessly. It took an eternity to remove the manacles. Even with a bolt cutter, she was not very strong. When his wrist finally came loose, she grinned at him triumphantly. “I’ll have you free in no time.” She heaved the heavy chains off him, revealing blackened, charred flesh up and down his legs and across his chest.

Shea swore, furious that such evil existed. “I’m pretty sure the people who did this to you found out about me and my research, too. We may have the same blood disorder.” One manacle was finally off his ankle. “It’s very rare, you know. A few years ago some fanatics banded together and decided people like us were vampires. But I guess you already know that,” she added apologetically.

The last cuff fell away, and she threw down the bolt cutter. “Your teeth seem more developed than mine.” She ran her tongue along her teeth, assuring herself she wasn’t really like him as she began to rip away the rotting sides of the wooden coffin. “Since you can’t understand a word I say, I’ll admit I’m glad about that. I can’t imagine biting into someone. Yuck. It’s bad enough that I need extra blood to survive. There, I’ll cut your clothes away and get that thing out of you.”

His clothes had all but rotted off anyway. She had never seen a body so battered before. “Damn them for this.” Shea swallowed hard at the extent of the damage. “How could they do this to you? And how could you have survived?” She brushed perspiration from her brow with her forearm before bending over him once more. “I need to move you onto this table. I know I’m jarring you, but it’s the only way.”

He did the impossible. As Shea took the weight of his broad shoulders, attempting to slide him over, in a burst of courage and strength he shifted himself onto the table. Blood beaded on his forehead, trickled down the side of his face.

For a moment Shea couldn’t go on. Her body was seized with tremors, and she lowered her head to hide her tears. She could hardly bear to see his suffering. “Is this ever going to end or you?” It took a few minutes of fighting for control before he raised her head to meet the impact of his black gaze. “I’m going to knock you out. It’s the only way I can do this. If anesthesia doesn’t work, I’ll hit you over the head or something.” She meant it, too. She was not going to torture him as the others had.

He touched her cheek with a gentle fingertip, removing a tear. He stared at it for a long moment before he carried it to his mouth. She watched the curiously intimate act, wondering why her heart was melting in a way she had never experienced before.

Shea washed thoroughly, pulled on sterile gloves and a surgical mask. When she would have put a mask over his face, too, he warned her off with a silent show of fangs and a wrist lock he couldn’t budge. It was the same when she tried a needle. Hack eyes blazed at her. She shook her head at him. “Please don’t make me do this, not like this. I’m not a butcher. I won’t do it this way.” She tried to sound tough and not tearful. “I won’tdo it.” They stared at one another, locked in a strange mental combat. His black eyes burned into her, demanded obedience; his rage, always seething, was beginning to surface. Shea’s tongue touched her lower lip; her teeth followed, scraping nervously. Satisfaction crept into the black ice of his eyes, and he lay back, certain he had won.

“Damn you for being so stubborn.” She cleansed the area round the stake, set up her clamps, all the time wishing for a good surgical nurse and a large mallet. “Damn them for doing this to you.” She gritted her teeth and pulled with all her strength. He moved, just a ripple through his muscles, contracting, flexing, but she knew he was in agony. The stake did not budge. “Damn it! I told you I couldn’t do this with you awake, I’m not strong enough.”

He seized the stake himself and jerked it free. Blood gushed, prayed her, and she fell silent, working desperately to clamp off every source of bleeding she could. She didn’t look at him, every ounce of concentration focused on her work. Shea was a meticulous surgeon. She worked methodically, repairing damage, at a fast, steady pace, blocking out everything around her. Her entire being was centered on the surgery, her mind locking him to her so he would not die.

Jacques knew she was unaware of her fierce hold on him. She was so involved in what she was doing, she seemed not to notice how she merged with him mentally to keep him safe. Could he have been so wrong about her? The pain was excruciating, but with her mind merged so strongly with his, it kept the shattered remains of his sanity together.