7

He’d been disappointed that she wanted to leave.

Deeply disappointed, but not at all surprised.

He had known he couldn’t keep her there forever, that eventually she would wake within the shadows, that awareness would begin to rouse her senses once again.

She would realize then that things were not as they should be in her world.

And then she would find strength she never knew she had.

And she would flee from him.

Believing that she truly had escaped.

Now, every time he thought of it, the irony made him smile.

Her wild, desperate flight through the woods—and how he’d always been just one step ahead of her, one step behind her, so close that he could smell her wild, delicious fear and the blood throbbing madly through her veins.

The blood that was partly his own . . .

The blood he had given her from his own lips . . .

 

She’d been practically dead by the time he got her to the cave.

Cold and motionless, yet still beautiful. He had undressed her so carefully and tended her wounds. Licking her blood away . . . loving the taste of it.

At times she had moaned, moving instinctively beneath his mouth.

And he had stood there for hours in the dark, gazing down on her, his mind filled with an eternity of possibilities and desires.

Undiluted, his own blood would have killed her. So rich and pure and ageless, that the shock of it to her system would have been more than her mortality could bear.

So he had done the next best thing.

After all, he’d had no time for hunting—not for the prey he preferred and was accustomed to. So he had contented himself with smaller he could smell her wild, delicious fear and the blood throbbing madly through her veins.

The blood that was partly his own . . .

The blood he had given her from his own lips . . .

 

She’d been practically dead by the time he got her to the cave.

Cold and motionless, yet still beautiful.

He had undressed her so carefully and tended her wounds. Licking her blood away . . . loving the taste of it.

At times she had moaned, moving instinctively beneath his mouth.

And he had stood there for hours in the dark, gazing down on her, his mind filled with an eternity of possibilities and desires.

Undiluted, his own blood would have killed her. So rich and pure and ageless, that the shock of it to her system would have been more than her mortality could bear.

So he had done the next best thing.

After all, he’d had no time for hunting—not for the prey he preferred and was accustomed to. So he had contented himself with smaller

game instead—rabbits and squirrels and foxes—and after feeding on them, he had mixed their blood with his own and coaxed it between her pale, pale lips. And after a while, when her heart beat stronger, only then had he sunk his teeth into her flesh, forcing himself to hold back, injecting only warmth and bloody spittle straight into her artery. A place no one would think to look, and a place she would never suspect.

Not that it mattered anyway.

His mark would vanish within twenty-four hours, just as it had for hundreds of years.

Leaving his victim oblivious and unscathed.

So Lucy would not know, of course, that he had saved her life.

A life so sad and lonely, that it longed to be filled with his blood and his passion.

Yes, he had touched her.

Tasted her, but not taken her.

A noble—and most uncommon—sacrifice on his part.

A sacrifice that left him wanting her all the more . . .

 

He had seen The One who rescued her. game instead—rabbits and squirrels and foxes—and after feeding on them, he had mixed their blood with his own and coaxed it between her pale, pale lips. And after a while, when her heart beat stronger, only then had he sunk his teeth into her flesh, forcing himself to hold back, injecting only warmth and bloody spittle straight into her artery. A place no one would think to look, and a place she would never suspect. Not that it mattered anyway. His mark would vanish within twenty-four hours, just as it had for hundreds of years. Leaving his victim oblivious and unscathed. So Lucy would not know, of course, that he had saved her life. A life so sad and lonely, that it longed to be filled with his blood and his passion. Yes, he had touched her. Tasted her, but not taken her. A noble—and most uncommon—sacrifice on his part. A sacrifice that left him wanting her all the more . . . He had seen The One who rescued her.

He had stood by and watched as Lucy was lifted from the road and placed inside the car and driven far away.

And he could have resolved it then and there, but it was neither the time nor the place for confrontation.

Not the moment for settling old scores.

So he had merely suffered the anger building inside him, the hatred boiling in his veins—reminding himself it was inevitable, that he should have expected it to happen.

Truth be told, it might make the Game more interesting, this vying for Lucy’s surrender.

A surrender that must be willing and complete. A surrender that must be gradual . . . so gradual that even Lucy herself would never see it coming. For hers was a soul to be nurtured. Hers was a soul to be understood. And right now, more than anything else, hers was a soul that yearned to be loved. Loved . . . A rare and somewhat disturbing challenge, but not altogether impossible. He had stood by and watched as Lucy was lifted from the road and placed inside the car and driven far away. And he could have resolved it then and there, but it was neither the time nor the place for confrontation. Not the moment for settling old scores. So he had merely suffered the anger building inside him, the hatred boiling in his veins—reminding himself it was inevitable, that he should have expected it to happen. Truth be told, it might make the Game more interesting, this vying for Lucy’s surrender. A surrender that must be willing and complete.

A surrender that must be gradual . . . so gradual that even Lucy herself would never see it coming.

For hers was a soul to be nurtured.

Hers was a soul to be understood.

And right now, more than anything else, hers was a soul that yearned to be loved.

Loved . . .

A rare and somewhat disturbing challenge, but not altogether impossible.

He had managed it before in his lifetime, and he was nothing if not a Master at deception.

So he would give Lucy what she most wanted. And appear as the faces she would trust. And be exactly what she needed him to be.

Soon, Lucy.

Soon I’ll be the only one who matters in your life.

He ached with anticipation.

And he remembered fondly all the countless hearts he’d ever stolen, knowing hers would be the most precious one of all.

But for now he’d let her keep it . . . At least for a while. He had managed it before in his lifetime, and he was nothing if not a Master at deception. So he would give Lucy what she most wanted. And appear as the faces she would trust. And be exactly what she needed him to be. Soon, Lucy. Soon I’ll be the only one who matters in your life. He ached with anticipation. And he remembered fondly all the countless hearts he’d ever stolen, knowing hers would be the most precious one of all. But for now he’d let her keep it . . . At least for a while.