A Hunger Like No Other

'Lachlain?' she whispered. Without thought, she hurried to him, reaching out to run her fingers down his cheek and through his thick hair, trying to soothe him.

He did still. 'Emmaline,' he murmured, without waking. Was she in his dreams?

She herself had had a doozy of a dream, the most realistic one she'd ever experienced.

She absently stroked his forehead as she recalled it. It seemed to be from Lachlain's point of view—she could see things that he saw, smell scents he smelled, feel as though with his fingers.

He was in a shop under a tent. Jewels were spread before him, and a beautiful woman with long, coffee- colored hair streaked from the sun and sparkling green eyes was by his side.

He selected a pounded-gold and sapphire necklace and purchased it from the shopkeeper. By the design of the jewelry and the currency he used, Emma knew this was long ago.

The woman sighed and said, 'More gifts.'

'Aye.' Lachlain was irritated with her because he knew what she was about to say.

The woman, whose name Emma somehow knew was Cassandra, said, 'Nine hundred years you've waited. I've waited almost as long. Do you no' think that we—'

'No,' Lachlain interrupted sharply. How many times will she broach this? he thought.

Cassandra might not believe, but he did.

'I'd accept a night with you.'

'I doona see you as more than an old friend. Know that that can end.' His ire was growing. 'And you are of the clan and will meet her. Do you possibly think that I would put her in that uncomfortable position?'

Emma shook her head at the bizarre dream, still thrown by how authentic it had felt. He only had to mention jewelry and she was dreaming up wonky scenarios.

She glanced down and saw with a blush that she'd begun stroking his chest. She didn't stop, just marveled at how gorgeous his body was, marveled that he wanted to make love to her with it—

His hand shot to her neck, tightening before she could scream.

When he opened his eyes, they were completely blue.

15

Emmaline was touching him gently, murmuring his name. More of the nightmare—she would never do that, would never seek to comfort him. He saw nothing but a red haze, felt nothing but fire melting away his skin. He'd sensed his enemy for three days and now it was near his mate. He attacked.

When the haze cleared, he couldn't comprehend what he saw. Emma's neck was clenched in his tightening grasp, her claws embedded in his arms as she gasped and fought for her life. Before he could even react he saw a vessel in her right eye burst.

He yelled and released her, lunging away from her.

She fell to her knees, struggling for air, coughing. He rushed to her to try to help, but she flinched, shoving her hand out to ward him off.

'Ah, God, Emma, I dinna mean…I'd sensed something…I thought you were a vampire.'

She coughed, then rasped, 'I—am…'

'No, I thought there was…another, one of the ones that imprisoned me.' The bite, the blood, must've triggered the nightmares in full fury. 'I thought you were him.'

'Who?' she bit out.

'Demestriu,' he finally grated. Against her weak protests, he drew her in his arms. 'I never wanted to hurt you.' He shuddered. 'Emma, it was an accident.'

But his words had no effect. She shook in his arms, still afraid.

She didn't trust him—never had—and he'd just reminded her why.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw him take one hand from the steering wheel, reaching out once more to touch her. As he had each time before, he closed it to a fist and brought it back.

She sighed, leaning her face against the cool glass, staring out, seeing nothing.

Her emotions were so torn over what had happened, she didn't know how to react.

She wasn't angry with him over this particular incident. She'd been stupid enough to touch a Lykae in mid- nightmare and had paid the price. But she regretted that her throat hurt and that she couldn't take a pill to ease it. And she regretted what she'd learned about him.

She had wondered if it was possible that the Horde had imprisoned him, but she'd dismissed the idea because prisoners simply didn't escape the Horde. She'd never heard of a single instance. Even her aunt Myst, who'd actually seen the inside of a Horde stronghold, hadn't escaped until rebels had taken the castle—and until a rebel general had freed her in order to make love to her.

Having ruled out the Horde, Emma had figured that since he was the Lykae leader, this was political, possibly some kind of coup by his own kind.

Yet it had been Demestriu, the most evil and powerful of all vampires, who'd imprisoned him. And if the rumors were true about Furie, if the tales of her torture at the bottom of the sea were correct, then what had he done to Lachlain? Had Demestriu ordered him drowned as well? Chained him in the earth and buried him alive?

For one hundred and fifty years they'd tortured him until he'd escaped the inescapable.

And she feared he'd somehow lost his leg to do it.

She couldn't imagine the pain—endless pain that he'd experienced for so long only to culminate in that…?

What had happened tonight wasn't his fault. Though judging by his bleak expression he certainly thought so. Yet now, knowing what she did, she resented him for keeping her with him. What in the hell had he been thinking? After what he'd been through, Emma now knew that the incident tonight had been inevitable. Eventually he would have exploded in rage at her, and might do it again.

She wouldn't allow this to happen again. She might not survive it. And if she did, she didn't want to have to tell people she had bruises circling her throat and a starburst of blood radiating from her pupil because she'd run into a sodding door. Why had he kept her with him?

To take out his pain on her.

He'd treated her like a vicious vampire. Disdained her as one for days. If he didn't watch out, she'd begin to behave like one to protect herself.

They'd make Kinevane tonight, and at sunset tomorrow she'd be gone.

Emma leaned against the window and had that thing in her ears, though she didn't sing as she had last night.

He wanted to remove it and talk to her, apologize to her. He was fiercely ashamed of his actions, had never been more ashamed, but he thought if he took it away from her, she would break. Since he'd seized her, he'd terrified and hurt her, and he sensed she was at her limit, barely coping with the events of the last four days.

The streetlamps shone down from overhead, illuminating her face—and the bruises on her pale throat, making him wince again.

If he hadn't come to his senses when he did, he could have…he could have killed her. And because he didn't understand why he'd done it, he couldn't ensure it would never happen again. He couldn't guarantee her safety around him—

A bell pinged, startling him.

She leaned over to look, nodding at the fuel gauge that was now lit red. She pointed out the next exit, still without saying a word. He knew she was silent because it hurt her to speak.

He was distracted, restless in the car that now seemed far too small for him, clenching the steering wheel. Yes, he'd been through hell, but goddamn it, how could he have choked his mate in any state of mind? When all he'd wanted to do was find her?

When she'd been his salvation?

It didn't matter that he hadn't claimed her—if he hadn't found her and been near her, been eased by her soft words and gentle touches, right now he'd be in a back alley, irretrievably mad.