Dark Predator

Her fear bordered on terror. No, it was terror and, quite frankly, he found he didn’t like it. There was no letup. Not even now when he treated her with care.

You have taken enough.

He went to insert his hand between her mouth and his chest, to carefully pull her away as one would expect he would have to do, but she jerked away from him so unexpectedly she nearly fell from his arms. He tightened his hold, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. His blood had provided strength for her, and now that he was connected with her, he knew she intended to try to vomit, to rid herself of the substance.

He smiled at her, slowly shaking his head. “My blood flows in your veins already, silly woman. Your body absorbs it. It will not go to your stomach as your foul food does.”

Zacarias was prepared for her to fight and he was not going to allow her up until he was ready. Marguarita remained perfectly still, her gaze locked on his face, hardly breathing now, as still as any prey hiding in the trees or grasses might be. A small frisson of unease went down his back. She was exhibiting the exact signs the creatures in the rain forest manifested when he was near. There were no warning alarms, none of the normal shrieking monkeys and birds often used when spotting a predator. Even insects stilled when he was near.

He wanted obedience from her, not stark, raw fear. Well . . . he’d wanted her to be afraid—to learn her lesson. Fear was simply a tool to him, one he wielded easily. Perhaps she was more sensitive than he had considered and he should have toned his message down.

He felt the first slight movement of her body, nothing more than a whisper of space between them, but he knew she was fleeing him. Instinctively he tightened his hold on her, breathing in and out for both of them, his lungs calling to hers to follow his rhythm. His heart beat slow and steady, in an effort to slow the wild acceleration of hers. He barely recognized his need to calm her, or even the reason for it—the need simply existed.

From a place long forgotten, a memory surfaced of a child, a young boy shifting too late and embedding himself in a tree. Zacarias remembered his youngest brother, a fast learner, but trying things he wasn’t ready for because his older brothers could. He rocked Marguarita in the same manner as he had Riordan, to comfort her, murmuring in Carpathian, soft words that meant nothing. Noise really. The memory shocked him almost as much as the entire night’s events did. He hadn’t thought of those days in hundreds of years.

He wasn’t a man who felt compassion, but her fear disturbed him. It made no sense and he didn’t trust anything he couldn’t explain. He set her on the floor. The moment his hands released her, she crawled away from him to huddle in the corner, staring at him with her enormous, frightened eyes.

Tremors wracked her body over and over. She twisted her fingers together, twice reaching as if she might touch the darkening bruise on her neck, yet halting before she brushed her damaged skin. She wore his brand now, color coming up under her skin with two punctures centered almost perfectly. She didn’t touch the spot, and he found himself frowning. Puzzled.

As a rule it was easier to use women to feed. His younger brothers moved in political circles in order to achieve the things they needed, such as their larger estates. Decorative women hanging on their arms were always a plus. They had easy access to a food source and cover at all times. It was easy enough to plant memories of wild nights of sex and partying. But Marguarita’s mind didn’t accept planted memories nor did he particularly want to erase the memory of his moment.

He sighed and stood up. She shuddered, her eyes swimming with tears. The drops formed on her impossibly long lashes, drawing his attention and planting a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. The De La Cruz brothers often strengthened the natural barrier in the mind of those who served them. She had accepted his brother’s strengthening of her shields of protection, but she rejected every part of him. He knew it was personal. He’d been in her mind. She didn’t think of him in the same light as his brothers. He was han ku piwta—predator.

“Hear me, little girl. You will not ever disobey a direct order from me again.”

She pressed her trembling lips together, covering them with her fingers.

He took a threatening step toward her. “Are you clear who is in charge? Who is your master?”

She swallowed hard and nodded her head vigorously.

Looking at her fear, the direct result of his actions, something twisted in the vicinity of his chest. He pressed his hand there to stop the strange pain. “For a few days your hearing will be much more acute than normal. It may bother you. Your vision will be sharper as well. You will learn to control it. Do not stray from the house. I want you available when I wish it.”

Her blood was an amazing concoction and he knew he would forever crave her. He could actually taste her in his mouth and he longed to lick that pulse beating so frantically in her neck, stroking right over his mark with his tongue. He needed to figure out what was happening, what his reaction to her meant. She was broadcasting fear so loud he couldn’t think straight. He didn’t know why his connection to her was so strong, but he felt her emotions as if they were his own. Long ago, even the connection with his brothers had faded from his memories.

Zacarias shook his head, frowning, stepping closer to her. She shrunk back into the corner, drawing up her knees, trying to make herself smaller. She turned her face away and closed her eyes tightly to block out the sight of him as he extended his hand toward her. He’d been careful to go slow, as he might approach a wild creature, but she ducked slightly as though she expected him to strike her. The idea was ludicrous. He would never hit her.

His gut knotted, a physical reaction he couldn’t control. He touched her tear-wet face, gathering moisture on the pads of his fingers. His skin absorbed the salty tears, took the glistening diamond-drops into his body and his stomach did another unfamiliar lurch.

Abruptly he turned away from her, striding from the room, unable to bear the sight of her forlorn and frightened figure one more moment. He needed distance. The rain forest. Anywhere but near that absurdly disobedient female.

Zacarias was far more careful with the front door. He wanted to be able to lock that puzzling, baffling, annoying woman inside where she couldn’t get into trouble while he figured out what to do. He could try again to seek the dawn as the sun came up, but the dramatic end to his life no longer seemed supportable. O jela peje emnimet—sun scorch the woman. She’d turned his world upside down. Everything would be perfectly right again the moment he couldn’t smell her scent or hear her heartbeat. The connection between the primal part of his mind would fade with distance and he would be able to breathe—and think.

He stepped out into the rain, waving his hand to calm the storm he’d wrought with his attempt to punish the mortal woman. His breath hissed out of his lungs. He didn’t want to take that next step, to spread his arms and summon the harpy eagle for flight. He wavered, nearly transparent, mist and rain becoming one with him, one thing that normally soothed his dark soul, but the reluctance was still there. O ainaak jela peje emnimet ?ama?—sun scorch that woman forever. She had done something to him.

Could she have been mage-born? Had she cast a spell to entrap him? Him? Zacarias De La Cruz? Impossible. He was too old. Too cunning. She didn’t stand a chance against him, pitting herself against his centuries-old power and experience. He had half a mind to go back into the house and indulge his craving again.

The thought brought the taste of her bursting through his mouth and a rush of heat through his body. Unfamiliar things bothered him. His reaction to Marguarita Fernandez was unheard of. No one, nothing roused his interest in centuries, and now, when he chose to end his life, she dared to disturb him. He would not go back to her trap, no longer be ensnared by whatever spell she cast. He would follow his own way, his own logic and she could wait on his convenience.

Zacarias took to the air. The wind rushed through him, through the mist that made up his body, so that he and air were the same—he belonged here—part of the earth itself. He’d developed the trick long years ago when he was so alone and in need of some small solace. Animals and man no longer welcomed him—not even his own kin. They feared him—as she feared him. But when he was mist, with the wind moving through his body, sending him drifting through the trees, he actually could feel accepted. Animals and man rejected him but the earth was a constant, steady companion.

Marguarita Fernandez was a puzzle he couldn’t get out of his head. The attack of the vampire on her must have unhinged her in some way. There was no other explanation for such blatant disobedience, such deliberate disregard of his direct order. No one would dare such a thing, let alone a little slip of a girl. She had to be a little ill, and if so, he had been a bit hard on her. Satisfied that he’d found the only logical conclusion to her strange and