Darkness Dawns (18 page)

“I don’t understand. Did that make the vampire change his mind?”

“No.” Roland handed her the last fork to rinse. “There are two ways humans and
gifted ones
can be transformed. The first, and most merciful, is for the vampire to drain them almost to the point of death, then infuse them with his blood until they are replenished. In this way, the virus invades the body in such numbers that the change is swift.”

When Sarah finished rinsing the fork and placed it in the drainer with the rest of the dinner dishes, the two of them took turns washing the soap off their hands and drying them on a clean hand towel.

“What’s the other way?”

“To feed from the human repeatedly. When a vampire or immortal drinks from a human, the human is exposed to the virus in trace amounts. Unless the human’s immune system has already been compromised—by HIV, for example—a single bite isn’t a problem. The immune system can fight it off in small quantities, but it takes a hit while doing so. Now, because this virus is so different, the body can’t produce memory B cells for it the way it can for the flu or the measles and—”

“What are memory B cells?”

“Memory B cells enable the immune system to easily recognize and swiftly defeat a virus the next time one is exposed to it. So if the human is bitten and the vampiric virus attacks again, without those memory B cells, the immune system doesn’t remember it, must start from scratch to fight it off again, and is weakened more. With repeated feedings, eventually the immune system is crippled enough that the virus destroys it completely and takes its place.”

“Does it … does the change hurt?”

“The first method isn’t that bad. I’ve heard it’s a bit like having the flu and is over in two or three days’ time. The second method, however, makes the human very ill. Dangerously high fevers. Delirium. Severe muscle and stomach cramps. Vomiting. Convulsions. The pain becomes so unbearable it makes one pray for death and, depending on how often the vampire drinks from you, can last anywhere from a few weeks to months.”

The expression on his face when he mentioned praying for death was so haunted. Sarah feared he was speaking from experience, not merely reciting symptoms he had observed in others. “Is that how it happened to you?”

Turning to face her, he leaned one hip against the counter. “Yes. After my capture, I was taken to an isolated castle that looked as if it had leapt from the pages of a gothic novel and was manacled to a wall in the dungeon. There were six others there, both men and women. Every night the vampire came down and fed from us. A different victim for each day of the week. We were his own personal blood bank, given just enough food and stagnant water to keep us alive.”

She couldn’t bear to think of him that way. Chained to a wall, suffering such torturous pain. “Did the others turn?”

“We all did in time. Because of the conditions in which we were kept, the madness that usually seeps into vampires slowly struck my cell mates almost immediately. When it did, the vampire killed them and replaced them with new victims. But I was a
gifted one.
My body didn’t react the same way theirs did. I didn’t become vampire. I became immortal, though I admit there were days I wished I
could
seek refuge in madness.”

“How long did it take?” she asked. How long had he suffered?

“Six months, give or take a week. Had he fed from me daily, it would have happened sooner. But my immune system
had a week to recover between feedings and, because of my gifts, I healed swifter and more fully than the others.”

Six months.

“The rest continued to weaken after their transformation. They couldn’t seem to stomach food and had no blood to nourish them. I could still eat and naively thought that meant I could yet be saved. My senses sharpened. My body cramped, needing blood, but the other symptoms faded away. My strength returned, increasing until I was able to yank the chains that bound me straight out of the wall.”

“Did you kill the vampire?”

Slowly, he nodded. “I killed the vampire
and
his minions, set free those victims who were salvageable, put the others out of their misery, then razed the castle and went home, where I was ultimately forced to face the truth of my brother’s perfidy.”

Sarah didn’t know how he had survived it.

Well, she knew how he had survived it physically. The more advanced DNA he couldn’t explain. But how had he survived it mentally? Emotionally? He must have been clinging by a thread.

And then to find out his brother had engineered it all …

Curling her hand around his strong biceps, Sarah rose onto her toes and kissed his freshly shaven cheek.

Roland’s pulse increased as warmth unfurled in his chest like a cat awakening from a nap. Sarah returned her heels to the floor and gazed up at him with tenderness softening her hazel eyes.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, reaching up to touch the tingling skin her lips had brushed.

She smiled. “I wanted to. And you looked like you might need it.”

Had he? The old anger had risen up to choke him as it always did when he thought of Edward. Yet it had dissolved the instant she kissed him, her delectable scent sweeping over him, intoxicating him.

He
had
needed it. Needed that and so much more. He needed her. He needed …

Slowly lowering his head, Roland claimed her lips in an excruciatingly gentle exploration.

Her breath caught. Eyelids drifting closed, she parted her lips and invited him within.

Roland eagerly complied, his tongue gliding in to stroke and tease hers. His body tightened as lust hit him hard. Touching her sides just beneath her arms, he drew her nearer. She was so small. So delicate. He could feel the faint ridges
of her ribs beneath his fingers as his thumbs brushed the sides of her full breasts.

Sarah thought her heart might burst from her chest as Roland’s lips seduced hers, first gently, then hungrily, speeding her pulse. Fire danced through her as his thumbs stroked the sides of her breasts, straying ever closer to the sensitive peaks. Again she rose onto her toes so he wouldn’t have to bend down so far. Smoothing her hands up his chest and around his neck, she leaned into him and buried her fingers in his hair, clutching a silky fistful.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her to him, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Sarah winced when one of his hands slid up her back and put fleeting pressure on the large bruise a tree had spawned. At least, she assumed there was a bruise. She had forgotten to look earlier, but it hurt badly enough.

His other hand followed the same path, triggering the same sharp pain.

A niggling thought pricked her.

Dragging her lips from his, she turned her head aside and tried to clear her muddled thoughts.

Roland merely kissed a path along her jaw and down her neck, making her knees go weak.

“Wait,” she protested feebly.

His body hard and throbbing with need, Roland drew his tongue across the pulse that beat rapidly just beneath the soft skin at the base of Sarah’s neck. “You smell so good,” he whispered hoarsely.

“That isn’t me. It’s your expensive bath products.”

He shook his head. “It’s you.” He drew in a long, deep breath and held it a moment. It was stronger now and mingled with the even more enticing scent of her budding arousal. “You could set me down blindfolded in the middle of a packed football stadium and I could find you by your scent alone. No perfume on the planet can compare.”

She tasted good, too, he discovered, brushing his lips over
her soft skin. And there was so much more of her he wanted to taste. To feel. To stroke. Explore.

Resenting the T-shirt that kept him from touching bare flesh, he caressed her back and sought her succulent lips once more.

“Wait,” she said again, pressing against his chest. “Where are your hands?”

A groan of frustrated desire welled up inside him, but he didn’t let it escape. Swearing silently, Roland forced himself to take a step back, held his hands out to his sides where she could see them, and wished fervently that she had waited a little longer to come to her senses. They were both breathing hard as she stared up at him with lips red and swollen from his kisses. Her lovely breasts rose and fell rapidly beneath the cotton of her T-shirt, making him clench his hands into fists to avoid reaching for her.

He supposed he should apologize. He had taken an innocent gesture of affection and turned it into something else entirely. Not what she had expected, he was sure.

“Were you healing me again?” she demanded breathlessly.

He blinked at the odd question. “What?”

“Your hands were on my back. Were you trying to heal me on the sly again?”

He frowned. “What’s wrong with your back?”

Her fingertips still touched his chest, holding him at bay. She waved the other hand dismissively. “Just answer the question. The last time you kissed me, you only did it to distract me while you healed me.”

She didn’t really believe that, did she?

The suspicion and hurt reflected in her eyes suggested she did.

Well, hell.

“Distracting you while I healed you was only an excuse. I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I woke up with your beautiful body stretched atop mine and your enchanting scent making my head swim.” He paused. “No. No, that’s
not true. I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since you held me in your kitchen after helping me remove the spikes. That was a bit earlier.”

Her hands falling limply to her sides, she swallowed visibly. “Really?”

He nodded slowly, then took a step closer as a spark of heat returned to her eyes.

When she backed into the counter, he braced his hands on either side of her, trapping her in between. “You don’t know how much I regret passing out this morning. Missing the feel of your hands bathing my naked flesh.” Leaning down until his lips nearly touched the sensitive skin beneath her ear, he drew in a slow, deep breath. “I love your scent.” He let his lips follow a path down her neck to the hollow where it met her shoulder, still close but not touching, breath warming her skin. “Your every touch inflames me, leaves me hard and aching, unable to hide my reaction to you.” Raising his head, he stared down at her. “Can you truly not know how much I want you?”

Reaching up, she rested her palm against his cheek. Roland covered her small hand with his and held it there, savoring her touch.

“Your eyes are glowing again,” she whispered.

“They’ll always glow when I want you.” He hesitated. “Does it … frighten you?”
Disgust you?

Smiling, she shook her head. “I think it’s beautiful.” Her hand moved beneath his and he released it, expecting her to withdraw. Instead she curled her fingers around his neck and drew him toward her. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against the base of his throat, tasting him with her tongue.

Roland did groan then, pulse leaping, and rested his hands on her hips, gripping the material of her jeans tightly.

She placed her other hand on his chest and slid it down, burning a path across his stomach, making the muscles there quiver until she was cupping the heavy erection that strained against the front of his slacks.

Igniting at her bold caress, he stared down at her and saw the glow from his own eyes reflected in hers.

“I want you, too,” she murmured.

Roland swooped down and captured her lips, devouring her even as the hunger devoured him from the inside out. Finding her breast with one large hand, he stroked a hardened nipple through the thin T-shirt and lace that covered it.

She tore her lips from his with a gasp and began to stroke him through his slacks. “What are you doing to me?”

He licked and kissed a fevered path down her throat. “If you have to ask, I’m not doing it right.”

She responded with a sound that was part laugh, part moan. “If you weren’t doing it right, I wouldn’t be this tempted.”

Continuing to stroke and squeeze him, she drove him nearly mad with lust.

Giving her nipple a pinch, he poised his mouth above her other breast. “How tempted are you?”

“
Extremely
tempted.”

Roland fastened his mouth onto her breast, dampening the material of her T-shirt, finding the hardened peak and teasing it with his teeth.

She groaned, inflaming him further. When she abandoned his erection, he nearly protested. Then both of her small hands reached around, grabbed his ass, and pulled him flush against her as she rose onto her toes.

“I’m not like this,” she gasped.

Leaning his body into hers, he slid his free hand down the outside of her thigh, tucked his hand beneath her knee, and drew her leg up over his hip. “I like you like this,” he murmured around her breast. He could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest.

He rocked against her, urged on by those hands on his ass and her leg over his hip.

“You don’t—” She moaned, arched into him. “Y-you don’t understand. I don’t”—another gasp—“I don’t have sex with men I’ve just met.”

He slid the hand at her knee up her thigh, down over her lovely ass and farther until he was stroking her hot, moist center through the damp material of her jeans. “By sex I assume you mean intercourse?”

“Yesss.”

He raised his head and met her hungry eyes. “No problem. I can give you orgasms without it.”

Sarah stared into those glowing eyes, then grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his mouth to hers. His fingers continued to stroke her through her jeans as his body thrust against hers, increasing the pressure, raising the pleasure, making her wild with need.

She began an almost frantic foray with her hands, gliding them over his back, his arms, his chest, feeling the hard, heavy muscle ripple beneath her palms. His lips left hers, sweeping down her neck, briefly closing over the pulse that raced just beneath the skin before returning to her breast. Her head fell back.

The hand teasing her other breast slid around her back and crushed her to him.

Pain burst through her in a shattering wave. Sarah stiffened and thought she may have cried out.