A Hunger Like No Other

glance up revealed that her nipples had hardened into tight points and her breaths came hectic. Her arms fell over her head.

He knew she was close even though she slept. A weird charge came into the air, making him uneasy, making his hackles rise. The taste of her made him forget. He savored her as she grew wetter and wetter against his mouth.

He felt her tense, wakening. 'Come for me,' he growled against her flesh.

She drew her knees to her chest, resting her feet on his shoulders. Interesting, but he was game if—

She kicked him hard enough to send him across the room.

A stab of pain told him she'd torn muscles in his shoulder. A red haze covered his sight and confused his mind. He roared as he charged her, throwing her to the bed and pinning her down. He freed his trews and gripped himself, about to shove into her, crazed with his rage and lust, ignoring the Instinct's warnings: Her mind won't bend—she'll break. You'll destroy what you've been given…

He saw her fangs as she gasped with fear, and wanted to hurt her. A vampire given to him? Bound to him for eternity? More torture. More hatred.

The vampires had won again.

He bellowed with fury, and she shrieked. The sound shattered the glass lamp and the television and splintered the door to the balcony. His eardrums nearly burst and he leapt back, clamping his hands over his ears to block out the sound. What the bloody hell was that?

A scream so high-pitched he didn't know if humans could hear it.

She shot from the bed, and as she yanked her gown into place, she gave him a look of…betrayal? Resignation? She flew to the balcony, ducking through the thick curtains.

Dark now, no danger. Let her go. He slammed his head and fists against the wall, mad with lust. With hate. Memories of fire and torture stabbed him. The feel of the bone finally giving way under his shaking hands…

If he was cursed to carry those memories, to have that burden, it was little better than still being there, trapped in fire. He'd rather die.

Maybe fucking her regularly, taking his pain out on her, was what he was supposed to do. Of course. He felt himself calming at the thought. Yes, he'd been given a vampire solely for his pleasure, for his revenge.

He stalked to the balcony, assessing his shoulder, and tore the curtain aside.

His breath left him.

4

The vampire stood scarcely balanced on the balcony railing, her hair and gown whipping in the wind. He swallowed hard. 'Come down from there.' Why had his chest tightened with such alarm?

She whirled to face him—somehow keeping her balance. She looked hurt, her luminous eyes filled with pain. He resisted the recognition taking hold in his disordered mind.

She whispered, 'Why are you doing this to me?'

Because I've wanted what's mine. Because I need you and I hate you. 'Come down now,' he ordered.

She shook her head slowly.

'You canna die from this. From sun, or losing your head, but no' from a fall.' He made his tone casual, though he was uncertain. They were how many floors up? If she was weak…'And I'll easily follow you down to bring you back here.'

She glanced over her shoulder down at the street. 'No, I might die in my condition.'

For some reason he believed her, and his alarm spiked. 'Your condition? Because of the sun? Damn you, tell me!'

She turned toward the street and put one foot off the railing.

'Wait!' He tensed to spring for her, not understanding how she could possibly still be balanced. Won't bend. She's broken. 'I will no' do that again. No' until you want me to.' The wind was picking up, plastering the silk to her body. 'When you woke…that was meant to give, no' to take.'

She put the foot back and faced him. 'And when I refused your gift?' she cried. 'What was that?'

If she died…The fear for her brought him his first true clarity since before the fire. Twelve hundred years he'd waited. For…her.

For whatever reason, the world had given a vampire to him, and he'd pushed her to this? Destroy what you've been given. He was devastated by what she was—but he didn't want her dead. Or ruined.

It enraged him even to contemplate the hell he'd just been through, much less to talk about it, but he had to try anything. Have to get rid of this feeling—this dread. 'Understand that I've been… locked away for one hundred and fifty years. Without comfort, without a woman. I'd only just escaped a week before I found you and I have no'…acclimated well.'

'Why do you act as if you know me?'

'I've been disoriented. Confused. I know we've never met.'

'Who are you?'

Just minutes before, he'd been about to claim her—without even telling her his name. 'I am Lachlain, head of the Lykae clan.'

He could hear her heart speed up with fear. 'Y-you're a werewolf? You must let me go.'

She looked otherworldly, with her hair streaming about and her skin so pale. She was not of his kind, and he had no idea how to be with her. 'I will. After the next full moon. I vow it.'

'I want to go now.'

'I need you…to get to my home,' he said, adding lie to truth. 'And I will no' hurt you again.' Possibly another lie.

She laughed bitterly. 'You were going to force me just then, and I almost died this morning. Of sun.' She whispered the word. 'Do you know what that's like? The pain?'

He had a bloody good idea.

Her expression suddenly grew horrified, as if she was recalling a nightmare. 'I haven't felt the sun on my skin'—she swayed on the rail—'since I was three years old.'

Inching closer, mouth gone dry, he said, 'I doona ken how to care for you, but you will tell me. And this will no' happen again.'

'I don't want your attentions. You…you frighten me.'

Of course he frightened her—his rages left even him shaken. 'I understand. Now, come down. I know you doona want to die.'

She glanced over her shoulder at the waxing moon rising, giving him her flawless profile. A gust pushed her hair across her neck. In all his years, he'd never seen such a preternatural scene as her pale skin against her blood-red gown with the moon glowing behind her.

She didn't answer, only exhaled wearily, swaying.

'Look at me.' She didn't—she glanced down. 'Look at me!'

She seemed to wake up, her brows drawing together, her eyes bleak. 'I just want to go home,' she said in a small voice.

'You will. I vow you'll go home.' To your new home. 'Just help me get to mine.'

'If I help you, you swear you'll release me?'

Never. 'Aye.'

'You won't hurt me?'

'No, I will no' hurt you.'

'Can you make that promise? You can't seem to…control yourself.'