Christine Feehan - Dark Desire (Dark Series - book 2)

The movement was intensely painful, taking her breath away. Her eyes locked with his. Involuntarily Shea struggled, tried to get away. His eyes, as black as night, burned at her. Fierce hatred, venomous rage, were concentrated in the soulless depths. His fingers tightened, crushing her wrist, locking her to him, dragging a cry of pain and fear from her bruised throat. Her head pounded.

“Stop!” Shea’s forehead cracked against the side of the coffin in her struggles. “If you hurt me, I can’t help you.” She raised her head to meet those black eyes. “Do you understand? I’m all you’ve got.” She forced herself to hold that black gaze. Fire. Ice. He had the most frightening eyes she had ever encountered. “My name is Shea O’Halloran. I’m a doctor.” She repeated it in several languages, gave up when his eyes continued to burn at her. He seemed to have no mercy in him.

Not soulless. An animal. Trapped. Hurt. Confused. A predator dangerous beyond belief, reduced to a helpless shell. “I’ll help you if you let me,” she crooned softly, as if coaxing a wild animal. She used the power of her voice shamelessly. Hypnotic, gentle, soothing. “I’ll need tools and a vehicle. Do you understand?”

She leaned over him, her free hand gingerly touching his mutilated chest. Fresh blood was seeping around the stake, leaking from his many other cuts as if they were recent. His wrist had a fresh, ragged tear in it that she was certain had not been there earlier. “My God, you must be-in terrible pain. Don’t move. I can’t take that stake out until I get you back to my cabin. You’ll bleed to death.” Shockingly, his color was slightly better.

The creature released her slowly, reluctantly, his gaze never leaving her face. His hand reached down to scrape up the earth, bring it to the terrible wounds. Of course! The soil. She helped him, scooping up handfuls of the richest dirt to spread over his cuts. There were so many. After the first handful, he lay still, conserving his energy, his gaze fastened on her like a brand. He never blinked, his dark eyes never once wavering.

Shea glanced upward toward the cellar entrance nervously. Much time had passed while she was unconscious. The sun would be coming up soon. She bent over him, stroked back his hair gently, a strange tenderness stealing over her. For some unexplained reason she felt drawn to this poor creature, and the sensation was far stronger than her natural compassion, her need as a doctor to help. She wanted him to live. He had to live. She had to find a way to take away his terrible pain. “I have to get some things. I’ll hurry as fast as I can, but I’ll come back, I promise.” She rose to her feet, turned to go, taking one step.

He moved so fast that he was a blur, his hand clamping around her neck, jerking her off her feet so that she fell across him. His teeth ripped at her exposed throat, the pain excruciating. He fed voraciously, a wild animal out of control. She struggled against the pain, against the futility of what he was doing. He was killing the one person who could save him. Her hand, flailing blindly, found his jet-black hair. Her fingers tangled in the dirty, thick mane, remained there when she slumped nearly lifeless across his upper chest. The last thing she heard before she passed out was his heartbeat. Shockingly, her own heart tried to follow the steady, strong rhythm.

There was silence, then a gasping wheeze as her body struggled for survival. The creature stared dully at her limp, slender body. The stronger and more alert he became, the more pain washed over him, consumed him. He raised his free hand, bit his wrist, and forced the gushing wound over her mouth for the second time. He was uncertain what was happening around him, the pain was so intense. He had been buried for so long, he could not remember seeing anything in his lifetime but shades of gray and black. Now his eyes hurt from the vivid brightness of the colors surrounding him. He had to escape the kaleidoscope of hues, the pain increasing every moment and unfamiliar emotions threatening to drown him.

Shea woke slowly, facedown in the dirt. Her throat was raw and throbbing, the same sweet, coppery taste coating her mouth. She was sick and dizzy, and instinctively she realized the sun was at its peak. Her body felt like lead. Where was she? She was cold and disoriented. Shea pushed herself to her knees, then had to lower her head to avoid fainting. She had never been so weak, so helpless. It was a frightening feeling.

Awareness hit, and she scrambled on all fours across the dirt floor. With her back to the wall and the width of the room between them, she stared in horror at the coffin. He lay as if dead. No discernible heartbeat or respiration. Shea pressed the back of one shaking hand to her mouth to keep a sob from escaping. She was not going near him again, dead or not. Even as the thought came, as intelligent as it was, she still felt the need to find a way to help him. Something in her could not let it go.

Maybe she was wrong about the blood disorder.

Was

there such a thing as a vampire? He used his teeth; his incisors were sharp and must have an anticoagulant agent, just as his saliva must have a healing agent. She rubbed her pounding temples. The need to help him was compelling, overwhelming, so intense that she felt obsessed. Someone had taken their time torturing this man, derived pleasure from his suffering. They had inflicted as much pain as they could and then buried him alive. God only knew how long he had endured such a terrible thing. She had to help him whatever the cost to herself. It was inhumane to consider leaving him in such a state. It was more than she could bear.

With a sigh she pulled herself into a standing position, then leaned against the wall until the cellar stopped spinning. Vampire or human, she could not leave him to suffer slow starvation and death. He was in terrible pain; it was obvious he didn’t understand what was happening. He was trapped in a world of agony and madness. “It is obvious you are out of your mind, Shea,” she whispered aloud. She knew what she was experiencing was more than compassion and the need to heal. Something incredibly strong in her was committed to ensuring his survival. In a bizarre way she had lived with this man for years. He had been with her at all hours, sharing her mind, calling to her, begging her to come release him. She had left him here in this place of suffering and madness because she had not thought he was real. She would not fail him again.

The sun was blazing in the sky. If he suffered the same lethargic effects as she did, he was probably in a deep sleep and would not wake until sunset. It was go now or risk another attack if he awoke. The sun was going to burn her skin. She found her bag, rummaged for her dark glasses.

Crossing the meadow was a kind of hell. Even with dark glasses, the light hurt her eyes, kept them watering so that her vision was constantly blurred. Unable to see the uneven ground clearly, she fell several times. The sun beat at her, relentless in its assault. In the shadow of the forest, the trees provided some relief. But by the time she reached her cottage she hadn’t a square inch of skin that wasn’t bright red or blistering.

Once at home she examined her swollen neck and throat, the terrible bruises and ragged wounds. She looked grotesque, a hideous lobster, beaten and battered. Shea smeared aloe vera over her skin, then, working quickly, gathered tools, instruments, and ropes, arranging them in her truck. The windows in the camper were already blackened, but she would need to cover him to get him into the truck. She returned for a blanket.

A wave of dizziness drove her to her knees. She was very weak. She needed a transfusion desperately. If she was to save this man, she must first save herself. It had taken a couple of hours to make the trek back to the cottage, and she hated wasting more valuable time. Still, knowing she had no choice, she set up a transfusion, using one of the units of blood she kept on hand. It seemed to take forever, each minute dragging by feeling like an hour, giving her too much time to worry, to wonder.