“I don’t drink human blood. I transfuse if I’m desperate, but I can’t make myself drink it,” she explained quietly. She felt him now, in her mind, his touch calming and gentle. But there was also a hard authority in him. His will was so strong, nothing could resist him when he insisted. She wanted him to understand. “I am human, Jacques. Drinking blood is abhorrent to me.”

To try to live for any length of time without feeding is dangerous. You must drinkAlthough Jacques tried to make it a simple statement of fact, it came out as a soft command. He didn’t know where the information came from, only that it was true. It was plain to him she wanted his understanding in this ridiculous regimen she was forcing on herself, but it made no sense to him, and he could not allow such foolishness. He had to find a way to make her realize what she was doing to herself.

She smoothed back his hair, the touch of her fingers stirring interesting reactions in his battered body. Unaware of what she was doing to him, Shea smiled into his eyes. “I accepted a long time ago I would die if I was unable to find a cure. Now, do you want me to wash your hair?”

His hands tightened on her slender shoulders, pulled her down to him. You know, little red hair, as your lifemate it is my duty to see to your health. My purpose in life is to protect you and see to your needs. You are weak, unable to perform the most basic survival skills. This cannot continue. You must use the blood you are supplying to me for yourselfThere was something magical in his voice. She could listen to it forever. “There’s very little left. As it is, I’ll have to visit the local blood bank soon.” She had already used most of her units to try to replace the tremendous volume of blood he had lost. “Really, Jacques, don’t worry about me. I do this all the time.”

Look at me, little Shea.Hisvoice dropped an octave. Low. Compelling. An enticement. His black eyes held her green ones. Warmth flooded her mind; arms surrounded her, held her close. She fell further into deep, dark pools of burning heat. Youwill accept my blood, as you are meant to.He gave the command softly, firmly, holding her mind with his. The strength of his will, shaped by centuries of practice and honed by the fires of hell, conquered hers. Without hesitation he drew her to his chest, cradling her tenderly in his arms.

She seemed so light, so small and fragile. He loved the line of her throat, the satin perfection of her skin, her mouth. With one nail Jacques opened a small wound in his heavy muscles, pressed her to him, and felt heat coil unexpectedly deep within him. His gut clenched, and desire shot through him, piercing and sweet. The feel of her mouth on him was erotic. Their minds were merged as he held her. It was an intimacy he was unfamiliar with. In the midst of pain and darkness, hatred and rage, she had brought light, compassion, and courage. Where there was bleak despair and a weak, empty shell, she had given him the beginnings of strength and power, blossoming hope. Where there was endless pain, an eternity of hell, she was bringing beauty, joy, and an intense pleasure he almost could not comprehend.

Jacques did not want to end their joining, but he needed every drop of blood to try to heal his broken body and mend his fractured mind. He didn’t dare allow her to take too much from him. Already his hunger was growing. He needed fresh blood, hot and rich, flowing straight from his prey. Reluctantly he stopped her, felt flames dance over his skin as her tongue caressed him, closing the wound.

For a moment he dropped his head over hers, savoring the closeness of her body, her scent, savoring the beauty of her spirit. He could no longer bear to be alone, separated from her even for a moment. Seven years of darkness, of total isolation, of believing she had deliberately allowed, even prolonged, his suffering. To know it wasn’t true, that, indeed, her courage had saved him, had given him back hope, a chance at living. Jacques would never survive her loss. He could not let her out of his sight, out of his mind. He was so fragmented, she alone was holding him together.

He released her will slowly, watching her closely, intently, black eyes burning possessively. Her long lashes fluttered, and the cloudiness vanished, leaving glittering emeralds behind, flawless and mysterious. Cool beauty fired to flashing flame. “What have you done this time, Jacques? You absolutely cannot take care of me. I mean it. You have no idea just how close to death you really are. You cannot afford the loss of blood.”

His faint smile was in her mind. You are my lifemate, always in my care. I can do no other than provide what you need.

She shook her head slowly. “What am I going to do with you? You need every drop of blood we can get our hands on. I’m used to getting by on tiny amounts.”

Getting by is not good enough.Hegrowled it at her, black eyes glittering.

Shea rolled her eyes heavenward. “At least have the decency to try to look guilty. You needn’t be so smug and annoying.” Her fingers found his tangle of hair again, brushed it from his forehead. “I wonder about you, Jacques. Where your family is.”

Confusion reflected in his eyes, a black void suddenly filled with splintering pain. She caught at his hand, reeling under the impact of her mind sharing, even for a split second, the agony in his. “Stop, Jacques. Don’t try to force your memory. It will come back as you heal. Just relax. I’ll bathe your wounds and wash your hair. It’ll be soothing to you.”

Her fingers were soothing on his skin, sending coolness into his burning mind. His body responded, relaxing muscles clenched taut, releasing a bit of the pain wracking him. Her touch gave him a flicker of light to follow, hope that the pain would actually end someday. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to her ministrations. The sound of her moving so lightly around the house was comforting. Her natural fragrance and the faint aroma of herbs and flowers that drifted from her skin and hair seemed to surround him like arms holding him close.

Shea touched him gently as she examined his wounds. Her sponge seemed to skim over raw, damaged flesh, leaving a curious tingling in its wake. The warm water pouring over his hair as she cradled his head in her arm felt so good, it was almost sensuous. As her fingertips massaged herbal shampoo into his scalp, he concentrated on the feeling, for a few minutes able to push aside his world of pain.

“You have beautiful hair,” Shea said 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. Thankyou, 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.