Dark Desire by Christine Feehan Page A

intention to hurt her. He had drawn a clear line for her, what was acceptable to him and what was not.
    "Okay, okay, let me think. No cloth." Her tongue found her lower lip; her teeth followed. His black gaze simply watched her, followed the movement of her tongue, came back to her vivid green eyes. Watching. Learning. "I know. You can use my glasses until I get you into the camper." She placed the dark glasses very gently on his nose. Her fingers stroked his hair in a little caress. "I'm sorry, this is going to hurt."
    Shea took a cautious step backward. It was worse not seeing his eyes. Another step. His mouth twisted in a silent snarl; white teeth gleamed. She ran a split second before his arm snaked out with blinding speed. His nails ripped a deep furrow in her arm. She cried out, clutched her arm, but kept running until she reached the rotten stairs.
    The light hit her eyes, blinding her, sending pain splintering through her head. Shea squeezed her eyes closed, stumbled to the truck, started the winch. She didn't want to see him brought up anyway. That she was the one tormenting him sickened her. Tears were streaming down her face. Shea pretended it was a reaction to the setting sun. Intellectually she knew he had struck at her out of fear that she was deserting him.
    The whine of the cable stopped abruptly. Shea felt her way around the truck, opened the tailgate, slid down the ramp, and threaded the cable back through the cab into the shell. The winch loaded the coffin smoothly into the pickup bed. Shea desperately needed her sunglasses for driving, but she couldn't bring herself to get close to him again until it was absolutely necessary. By now he would be in so much pain that he might kill her before she could convince him she was not trying to torture him. She couldn't find it in herself to blame him.
    The drive to her cabin took longer than it should have, with her eyes streaming and swollen and her vision blurred. She drove slowly, trying to avoid every rock and bump in the dirt track. As it was, even with four-wheel drive, it was hard going. Shea was cursing softly by the time she backed the truck practically onto her porch.
    "Please, please, don't grab me and eat me alive," she chanted softly, a litany or prayer. One more time ripping at her throat and she might never be able to help anyone again. Taking a deep breath, she opened the tailgate and shoved the dolly over he ramp. Without looking at him, she lowered the coffin onto he dolly and wrestled him inside.
    He never made a sound. Not a groan, not a sob, not a curse, He was in agony; she could tell by the sweat coating his body, by the white lines around his mouth, the crimson stain on his forehead, and the stark pain reflected in his eyes when it was finally safe to remove the sunglasses.
    Shea was exhausted, her arms aching and weak. She was breed to take a moment to rest, leaning against the wall, fighting a wave of dizziness. His eyes were back on her face, simply staring at her. She hated his silence, instinctively knowing that hose who had tortured him had not received the satisfaction of hearing his cries. It made her feel like one of them. Movement lad to be excruciatingly painful for him.
    Working quickly, she got him onto the gurney beside her operating table. "All right, I'm going to get you out of this box." She needed the sound of her voice even if he didn't understand. She had tried several languages, and he hadn't responded yet. There seemed to be intelligence, knowledge in his eyes. He didn't fully trust her, but it was possible he realized her intention was to help him.
    Grasping her sharpest knife, Shea leaned over him to get at he thick ropes. Instantly he caught her wrist, preventing movement. Her heart sank. He didn't understand after all. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for the pain of teeth ripping through flesh. When nothing happened, she looked at him, fully expecting to meet his blazing eyes.
    He was examining the long gash on