A Hunger Like No Other

Annika pinched her forehead. 'Where the hell is Nïx?' This wasn't a time for conjecture—they needed Nïx's foresight. 'Check Emma's credit card again. Any new purchases?'

Regin logged into the coven's card accounts, and within minutes she had Emma's statement pulled up. 'These records are lagging over a day behind. But there were some clothing purchases—how much trouble can she be in if she's clothes shopping? And here's a restaurant bill from the Crillon. Tightwad better be paying her back.'

'What would Ivo want with Emma anyway?' Lucia asked. As she did whenever she mulled possibilities, she plucked at the string on her bow. 'She may be the last female vampire, but she's not full-blooded.'

'If we think logically, the odds point to Myst,' Kaderin said.

Annika had to agree. Considering Myst's heart-stopping beauty, how could Ivo not want her back?

'And one other thing that tips the scales in Myst's favor?' Kaderin added. 'She hasn't returned from her hunt and she hasn't called.'

Settled then. For now. 'Try to keep tabs on Emma's movements. We'll begin searching for Myst.'

Regin peered around her at all the damage in the manor. 'Should I renew the inscription with the witches?'

'Mystical protection can be cracked, as we well know. Only one guardianship is foolproof.' Annika exhaled wearily. 'We will bring in the ancient scourge.' And be forced to pay the wraiths in the currency they desired.

Regin sighed. 'Well, damn, and here I was getting attached to my hair.'

11

Gloaming arrived in the countryside of southern Scotland, casting a last light over their inn. As Emma slept, Lachlain sat in bed next to her, drinking yet another cup of coffee.

The majority of his day had been full, by design, so he wouldn't sleep. Now he relaxed next to her, clad in nothing but comfortable jeans that came broken-in like boots might be. He read one of the few contemporary novels from the inn's library and half-listened to the news. He might even have been content—if he had taken her last night. And if he was confident he was about to again.

There'd been no chance of that, even if she hadn't been shaking with emotion the entire drive after his blunt questioning debacle at the restaurant. He'd thought he could anger her into a response, get her nettled as she'd been just that evening over the state of the room. Instead, she'd tilted her head and given him an expression so stark it had torn at him.

By the time they'd reached the inn last night, Emma had been out of her head with fatigue and hadn't even protested when he'd stripped her to her underwear and put them in the bath. Of course, he'd found himself fighting unbearable lust once again. Yet instead of punishing her for it, when she'd gone soft in his arms he'd petted her once more, staring at the ceiling in confusion.

After the bath, he'd dried her, dressed her in one of her gowns—the chit hadn't asked for his shirt again— then placed her in bed. She'd looked up at him solemnly and voiced her concern that he might 'wig out' again. When he'd assured her he wouldn't sleep, she'd regarded the floor with longing, actually reaching down to touch it, then passed out.

Now he glanced at the folds in the curtains, and saw no light beneath each one. The last two nights she'd woken precisely at sundown. There was no yawning or shaking off sleep—she'd simply opened her eyes, rising in a floating way, instantly awake as if she'd been brought back to life. Lachlain had to admit he found this foreign trait…eerie. Of course, he'd never seen this before—in the past, any vampire asleep in his presence never woke again.

At any moment now, her eyes would open, and he put aside the book to watch.

The sun set. Minutes passed. She still didn't rise.

'Get up,' he said, shaking her shoulder. When she didn't respond, he shook her harder. They needed to get on the road. He thought they could make Kinevane tonight and he was anxious to see his home.

She burrowed down farther in the covers. 'Let…me…sleep.'

'If you doona get out of bed, I'm going to rip off your clothes and join you there.'

When there was no reaction even to that, he grew alarmed and felt her forehead—her skin was like ice.

He drew her up and her head lolled. 'What's wrong with you? Tell me!'

'Leave me alone. Need another hour.'

He laid her back down. 'If you're sick, you need to drink.'

After a moment, she cracked open her eyes.

Realization hit and his body tensed. 'This is from hunger?' he roared.

She blinked up at him.

'You told me you ate Monday—how often do you need to?'

When she didn't answer, he shook her shoulders.

'Every day. Okay?'

He dropped her shoulders just before his fists clenched. She'd been hungry? His mate had suffered from fucking hunger while under his protection. He had no idea what he was doing…

Goddamn it, he couldn't care for her. Not only had he starved her for two additional days—obviously he'd kept her from hunting—but she needed to find a victim to drink every night. Each night they would go through this.

Did she kill each time as other vampires did? 'Why did you no' tell me?'

Her eyelids were drifting closed again. 'So you could make another 'bargain'?'

Could he allow her to take from him? Among his clan, being drunk by a vampire was reviled, considered a filthy act. Even if it was done against his will, a Lykae would suffer abject shame. But what choice did he have? He exhaled and said with a heavy heart, 'You will drink from me for now on.' No vampire had ever bitten him. Demestriu had debated it, arguing with his elders over the decision. For some reason, in the end he'd decided against it, preferring to torture Lachlain instead.

'Can't drink from you,' she murmured. 'Not straight from a source.'

'What? I thought your kind took pleasure from that.'

'Never done it.'

Impossible. 'You've no' drunk another? Never killed?'

She cast him an anguished expression. His question had hurt her?

'Of course not.'

She wasn't a predator? There were rumors of a small faction of rebel vampires who didn't kill—of course, he'd dismissed the tales immediately. What had they been called? Forbearers? Could she be one? But then he frowned. 'So where would you get blood?'

'Blood bank,' she murmured.

Was that a joke? 'What the hell is that? Is there one nearby?'

She shook her head.

'Then you've got to take from me. Because I just signed on to be your breakfast.'

She looked too weak to take his neck, so he sliced his finger with a claw. She turned her face away. 'Put it in a glass. Please.'

'Do you fear I'll turn you into a Lykae?' He would never attempt that grueling ritual on her. 'Or do you think you'll turn me?' Surely she didn't believe that. The only way to become a vampire was to die while one's blood was in your body. Only humans believed one could be turned from a vampire's bite, while those in the Lore knew one had a better chance of turning by biting the vampire.

'It's not that. A glass…'

He didn't understand what the difference was. Then his eyes narrowed. Did she find the thought of drinking from him objectionable? Galling. She had no idea what he was sacrificing for her. He snapped, 'Take it, now,' then dripped the blood across her lips.

She resisted for longer than he would've if he'd been starved. Finally she dabbed the tip of her tongue at her