Dark Predator by Christine Feehan Page B

he’d been so close to death. She fought him, pushing against him, trying desperately to free her arms, but he was enormously strong and nothing got between him and his prey—and make no mistake, this young woman with her addicting blood belonged to him. He became aware that he was growling, a dark warning. There was no way for her to get free and no one could enter the house— his house—without his consent or knowledge. She was completely at his mercy—and he had none.
    His every organ soaked up her amazing blood. Every cell sprang to life. There was nothing he’d ever experienced that came close to the perfect richness of her blood. The rush of heat spread through him like an unfamiliar fireball. His veins and arteries sang. Even his groin stirred, filling with the dazzling taste and heat of her blood. He dragged her closer, more animal than man, his arms now bruising bands of steel, his mouth dragging more of that sweet nectar into his starving body.
    The gaping wounds on his body began to close. The terrible burning ever present inside subsided and the clawing, raking pain in his gut turned to a scorching fire of desperate need. Even the roaring in his head and the red haze banding his vision diminished. Her legs gave out and he held her weight completely, slipping a hand beneath her knees, all the while dragging her life’s essence into his body.
    Her head lolled back against his shoulder. She felt light. Insubstantial. Her lashes fluttered, two thick crescents, blacker than the gray he normally saw. The lashes lifted and her dark, almost black eyes stared straight into his with both fear and loathing. Only then did he feel her absolute terror. Horror filled his mind, shook his body and crept like icy fingers down his spine—not his horror—hers. She believed him vampire—and he was killing her.
    He swept his tongue across the puncture wounds and lifted his head, never breaking eye contact. Blood trickled from her neck to her breast and, without thinking, he followed the precious ruby teardrop to the soft swell of her very feminine body with his tongue.
    She looked more shocked than ever, shuddering, terrified.
    “You will drink what I offer.” It was a decree, demanding she obey without argument.
    He sank down onto her bed, still cradling her to him, and with a wave of his hand, his shirt opened. He drew a thin line across his chest, over his heart. Her eyes widened until they were enormous bottomless pools, stark horror staring at him. She shook her head and tried feebly to push him away. He forced her mouth to his chest and she bit him, still struggling.
    Wäke-sarna! Zacarias uttered power words, a curse, a blessing—a vow she would not defy him. He took her mind, ripping it from her ruthlessly, forcing what she would not give him. Her mouth nuzzled his chest, her lips warm and soft, sending a jolt of lightning streaking through his body. He felt a live current electrifying every nerve ending, bringing his body to life as she began to suckle, drawing his blood into her body where it would soak every organ and subtly reshape them, where it would connect them together for all time.
    He drew her closer, his hand cradling her head, his mind in hers. Only then, when the wonder of the strange phenomenon of her blood eased a bit, did he know she was screaming. He had commanded her to drink, giving her no other option, but she was completely aware. Her mind connected to his on a level unexpected. He was mostly predatory. An animal. Cunning and cruel. Even brutal. Life and death was his world—his struggle. Her mind raced to that part of him, reached out and melded with him.
    He didn’t hear a sound, yet he felt her screams, her absolute horror and rejection of him, the numbing fear that refused to subside even when he commanded it to be so.
    Be calm. He pushed the command at her, and when it did no good, he forced his order into her mind. She only withdrew further from him.
    Marguarita was certainly an