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. Hisarms 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 mewith somethingso 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.