4 Blood Pact by Tanya Huff Page B

prepared for her to be angry at his high-handedness—would have preferred the bright flame of her anger to the gray acceptance he got. He reached out and gently captured the hand that still stroked the pillow. “You need to sleep, Vicki.”
    The skin around her eyes seemed stretched very tight.
    “I don’t think I can.”
    “I do.”
    “If you need to feed, I don’t think . . .”
    Henry shook his head. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Now get some sleep.”
    “I can’t . . . ”
    “You can.” His voice deepened slightly and he lifted her chin so that her eyes met his.
    They widened as she realized what he was doing and she pushed ineffectually at his fingers.
    “Sleep,” he told her again.
    Her inarticulate protest became a long, shuddering sigh, and she collapsed back on the bed.
    Frowning thoughtfully, Henry tucked her legs up under the covers and moved her glasses to safety on the bedside table. In the morning, the two of them could trade stories about the unfair advantage he’d taken over mortal minds. Perhaps it would bring them closer together. It was a risk he’d had no choice but to take. But for the moment . . . He reached up and flicked off the light.
    “For the moment,” he murmured, tucking the blankets around the life that glowed like a beacon in the darkness. “For the moment, I will guard your dreams.”
     
    “Henry . . .” She raised herself up on one elbow and groped for her glasses. The room was gray, not black. It couldn’t be dawn because she could feel his presence even before she managed to find the deeper shadow by the door.
    “I can’t stay any longer.” He spread his hands in apology. “The sun is very close to the horizon.”
    “Where are you going?”
    She could hear the smile in his voice. “Not far. The walk-in closet in your mother’s room will make an adequate sanctuary. It will take very little to block the day.”
    “I’m going with you.” She swung her legs out of the bed and stood, ignoring the lack of light. Her mother had made no real changes in the room since she’d left—she’d have to be more than blind to lose her way.
    At the door, Henry’s cool fingers wrapped around her arm just above the elbow. She turned, knowing he could see her even though she could barely see the outline of his body.
    “Henry.” He moved closer as she reached out and laid her palm against his chest. “My mother . . .” The words wouldn’t come. She could feel him waiting and finally had to shake her head.
    His lips brushed very lightly against her hair.
    “You were right,” she said instead. “Sleep helped. But . . .” Her fingers twisted in his shirt and she yanked him slightly forward. “. . . don’t ever do that again.”
    His hand covered hers. “No promises,” he told her quietly.
    Yes, promises, she wanted to insist. I won’t have you messing with my head. But he messed with her head just by existing and under the circumstances, she wouldn’t believe any promises he made. “Get going.” She pushed him toward the door. “Even I can feel the sun.”
    Celluci lay stretched out on top of her mother’s bed, shoes off but otherwise dressed. She started, seeing him so suddenly appear in the glare of the overhead light and she had to stop herself from shaking him and demanding to know what he was doing there. On her mother’s bed. Except her mother wouldn’t be sleeping in it any more so what difference did it make?
    “He won’t wake,” Henry told her as she hesitated by the door. “Not until after I’m . . . asleep.”
    “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
    “Vicki.”
    The sound of her name pulled her forward until they stood only a whisper apart by the closet door.
    He reached up and gently caressed her cheek. “Michael Celluci has the day; I cannot share it with him. Don’t ask me to give him the night as well.”
    Vicki swallowed. His touch drew heated lines across her skin. “Have I ever asked that of you?”
    “No.” His expression twisted