Dark Predator

at the same time. She knew Zacarias’s blood flowed in her veins; it was only because of him that she had lived through the vicious vampire attack. If Ricco lived, he would owe his life to Zacarias.

No, emnim—my woman, he will owe his life to you. I did this because you asked it of me. I do not meddle in the affairs of humans.

Thank you. He’s important to me. Ricco has served your family since he was a child and he’s always been loyal.

“It is enough that you asked me, Marguarita.” He whispered again to Ricco and took his wrist from the man’s mouth, closing the laceration. He ran his hand down the length of Marguarita’s hair. “Come back to the house and allow them to take him to the hospital. If he fights, and they have a good surgeon, he will live.”

You can’t be seen here. I’ll come as soon as Julio gets back. She was anxious for him to stay out of sight.

Zacarias flashed her a careless smile and her heart stuttered in her chest. He looked virile, so strong, it was hard to conceive that in the daylight he was vulnerable and even weak.

“You think I cannot handle a mortal? A female at that?”

She made a face at him. His ego was going to get him into trouble. The door to the house banged and she knew Julio was warning them that he was on the way back with Lea.

They’re coming back. Go now. Hurry. Disappear. She felt desperate. She didn’t trust Lea, or anyone else for that matter, not to talk about seeing him. He was too mesmerizing, too different. Too dangerous. You have to go.

Zacarias’s smile reached his eyes. He wrapped a length of her hair around his hand. “I like when your hair is a mess. You look as if we have been hours playing in the bedroom.”

He’d never said anything like that to her. No one had. She felt the blush start and go all the way down to her toes. Anxiety poured through her. She pushed at the wall of his chest. You have to go. I’m not joking.

He captured her hands, pressing her palms tight against his chest. Her heart accelerated until she thought it might jump out of her skin. He laughed softly. “There you go again, touching me without permission. How should I punish you? I wonder . . .”

She looked over his shoulder at Julio and Lea. Lea carried an armload of blankets. Please. Just go. Please hurry. You can do whatever when you’re safe.

“I can do whatever?” His eyebrow shot up. “That leaves me a lot of room.”

Julio glared at her, signaling frantically.

Zacarias!

He dissolved right in front of her. One moment he was solid, his heavy muscles under her palms, and the next he was gone and she was alone. She stepped quickly from the helicopter, giving Julio room to leap in beside Ricco.

“Has he helped then?” Julio whispered.

Lea handed in the blankets and climbed into the pilot’s seat. Already the clouds were dissipating just as fast as they’d formed.

Marguarita nodded and hurried back to the house while the helicopter rose into the sky.

10

Zacarias stood in Marguarita’s bathroom, inhaling her unique fragrance. The clawed tub was deep and the scent of peaches and cream wafted up from the porcelain. His slumber had been disturbed by the pebbles hitting her window. He was so tuned in to her now, so much a part of her mind, that even in his sleep, he was aware of her.

He was a little stunned at the excitement flaring, his nerve endings alive and sizzling with the anticipation of being in her company. He was looking forward to sparring with her. He’d even teased her a little about touching him without permission and as shocking as he found that—he’d enjoyed it.

He’d been all over the world, climbed to the highest mountaintops, descended into the deepest of caves, lived in the rain forests, roamed free and never once in all that time, in all those centuries, had he felt alive—until now. Standing in a small room drawing the scent of Marguarita deep into his lungs made him feel more than he ever had—or could ever remember.

He looked forward to seeing her, touching her. Hunger beat in his veins, a raw, frantic need that echoed through every cell in his body. His physical body took up that call, an urgent demand for the taste and feel of her. Marguarita, his beautiful lunatic. His woman. He allowed the thought to seep into his bones and settle in his soul. He couldn’t remember a time when he had called anything his. Warriors were never attached to anything or anyone. But Marguarita had somehow found her way inside him—become a part of him. He didn’t even know how it happened. She was just there, in his mind, filling all those shadowed places and connecting broken threads he hadn’t known—or cared—existed.

He knew the moment she entered the house. She washed her hands in the kitchen and then went to her bedroom. He heard the rustle of clothes and moved silently into her room to stand behind her, just observing. She stood in front of a full-length mirror, and as he came up behind her, he made certain his reflection didn’t show in the glass.

There was something beautiful about a woman doing the simple task of undressing. The skirt pooled at her feet and she stepped free of the material, revealing her slender, shapely legs, and her rounded bottom encased in a very sheer scrap of lace. His breath caught in his throat as she slowly opened the buttons of her blouse and inch by slow inch revealed the creamy swell of her breasts molded by another sheer, lacy undergarment.

Her skin was flawless, so soft it was difficult not to reach out and run his hand down her back. He liked her hair wild, a black cloud of silk cascading like a waterfall to below her waist. Zacarias stepped close to her, his hands sliding around her to link just below her breasts. She inhaled in a kind of shocked delight, her eyes jumping to the mirror. He allowed his own form to materialize behind her. He was a good head taller than she was, his shoulders much wider than hers. He cupped the soft weight of her breasts in his palms and leaned down to bury his face in the cloud of her hair.

“I love how you smell,” he whispered into all that silk. He loved how she felt, how her hair felt against his skin. How they looked together, her feminine body so completely engulfed by his masculine one. Simple things. Pleasurable when there had never been pleasure.

She didn’t tense or push him away as he expected. He would have allowed her freedom, but she leaned back into him and closed her eyes, relaxing against him. Such a small thing, but for him, intense.

He nuzzled her neck, his fingers moving over her breasts, the sensation astonishing. He felt the softness beneath the pads of his fingers and each touch fueled more heat in his body, driving his temperature up. He did nothing to control the rush, allowing it to spread through his body, marveling at the miracle of woman. He stroked caresses over all that soft skin. His shaft swelled, became full and heavy, and he pressed closer to her soft body.

“I want to exchange blood with you. This time it will not hurt. I will make certain you will enjoy it. Will you trust me?” He whispered the words, a blatant seduction. He wanted her to agree, to give herself to him. To be part of him willingly.

She went still, but there was no rejection, not from her body, or in her mind. She slipped her arm back over her shoulder, hooking her hand around his neck as she tilted her head back. The action lifted those soft, full breasts, her nipples tight and pushing at the lace.

Kiss me. A soft wisp of heat curling in his mind. Sheer temptation.

His cock jumped. Pulsed. She was sensual without even knowing it, enticing him when he no longer had the will to resist her. He had known when he answered her call that he was making a commitment to her. He hadn’t considered that he would make her fully his. She had never been in so much danger and yet she didn’t seem to have any self-preservation.