Highland Thirst by Lynsay Sands, Hannah Howell

Outsiders had a natural
distaste for being seen as prey, as food. Some men also found it all a little
too intimate to be comfortable sharing blood with another man. Usually he did
not need blood, not as some of his kinsmen did. An occasional drink of some
blood-enriched wine was enough to keep up his strength. Since he was born of a
MacNachton and an Outsider, there were a lot of differences between him and a
Pureblood MacNachton. One was that he really only needed a hearty drink of
blood if he was wounded or ill. Since most of the time he had been at Cambrun
during such times, one of his clan had given him what he had needed. Except for
being forced to feed from Peter, Heming had never drunk the blood of an
Outsider before.
    If
given a choice he knew which one of the people watching him he would choose to
feed from. Heming covertly watched the woman, sensing how hard she was thinking
over the problem. He desperately wanted to live and, without blood, that would
not happen, but he would not beg.
    “Weel,
then, I guess we had better give ye some blood,” Brona said, pleased at how
calm and brave she sounded even though she was shaking inside. After glancing
at the three other men, she murmured, “And I guess it shall be me who does so.”
    “Nay,
mistress,” said Colin, hastily stepping up to the side of the pallet. “I will
do it.”
    Brona
could not help it. She laughed and then reached out to pat Colin on one of his
thick, muscular arms. “Nay, Colin, though I thank ye most kindly for choking
out the offer.” She grinned when he blushed and grimaced. “‘Tis fine. I am the
one who has pulled him free of my cousin’s grip. Aye, and ‘tis my kinsmon who
has done this to him. I will do it.” She looked at Sir Heming. “Just how does
one do it? I hope there is no need to cut my throat first as was done to Peter,
for I willnae be able to do that and I doubt any of these men will be able
either.”
    “Nor
would they allow me to try,” said Heming. “Nay, ‘twas your cousin who cut Peter’s
throat, as I had no intention of giving the bastards a show. Unfortunately, I
was weak and maddened with pain so that when they kept pushing a bleeding mon
beneath my nose, I couldnae stop myself. I also thought that I had best do so
if only to close the wound that was made ere Peter bled to death. They didnae
care and he was cut badly.”
    Brona
had to lean closely to him to hear him clearly as his voice wavered from being
clear if hoarse, to being little more than a ragged whisper. “Best we do this
now. I dinnae think ye will be able to stay awake much longer. Do ye need to do
it at the throat?”
    “‘Tis
easiest.”
    Heming
could not believe this woman was going to allow him to feed from her. She was
afraid for all she sounded calm, but she was not resistant. He glanced at the
men as she leaned closer, holding her thick hair away from her throat. They
looked grimly curious.
    “Should
we leave?” asked Colin. “Nay sure I should watch this, or e’en want to.”
    “Stay,”
Heming said. “I am sitting on the edge of death and I need at least one of ye
to stay here to be certain to stop me if ye think I am taking too much from
her.”
    “How
will we ken if ye have taken too much?”
    “Ye
will be able to see it. Trust me in this. I wouldst rather none of ye see this
or e’en ken about it, but I dinnae really have a choice now, do I?”
    “Nay
if ye wish to live.”
    Brona
looked at him as he slipped his hand around the back of her neck and tugged her
closer. She could see the glint of the gold of his eyes behind his
bruise-swollen eyelids. Otherwise he was a mess. It almost looked as if Hervey
or one of his men had resented the man’s handsome looks and had done his best
to utterly destroy them. She felt uneasy as he pulled her so close she was
laying on top of him. This seemed uncomfortably intimate.
    “Be
at ease, wee Brona,” he whispered in her ear. “It willnae hurt.”
    “How
can ye say that? Are ye