A Vampire's Claim (13 page)

His insane tangle of thoughts froze at the yip, a howl. Jesus, night had fallen, bringing a new problem. The dingoes had smelled the blood. Retrieving the pistol from his pack, he checked the ammo for it as well as the rifle. He needed to build a fire, but his gut told him not to betray their location. He’d moved the bike under a screen of brush, but if a plane sighted the burned Rovers, someone would be sent to check it out, and if that man was a good tracker, they’d be easy to find. It would be a little problematic to explain why he had a naked woman covered with blood trussed up in a cave. Of course, once they wrestled him to the ground and untied her, she’d eat everyone, so no worries.

His lips twisted at the thought as he positioned himself at the cave mouth, at the bend where he could still see her, and yet also see the approach the dingoes would most likely use from the ground. If he shot a couple of them, maybe they’d get involved enough with the fallen fellas to leave them alone. Predators were drawn by warm, fresh blood, after all. He steeled himself not to think about that. About the red, still eyes that had followed him across the cave and were fastened on him still.

Three more feedings. Two dead dingoes. He leaned his head against the cave wall at his sentry position, the moon fuzzy around the edges. Like one of those funny flowers . . . dandelions. The kind that you blew so they flew away in the wind, drifting to plant in new places. Create more fuzzy little balls. Funny. Nice to be a fuzzy little ball, something simple, short-lived and yet continuing on, forever and ever.

He stumbled to his feet. Another feeding. “Bugger,” he muttered as he tripped, fell to one knee about five steps in. Using the rifle to get himself back up, he found her in the gloom of the cave. An hour or two ago, she’d stopped making the hair-raising growls and hisses. The pale wisps of skin appearing among the burns had now become a reassuring wide cream expanse, where he could see the delicate bumps of her spine. However, fuddled as he was, he came to a dead halt when he realized her arms were in front of her. The snapped rope lay like a sprawled snake between him and her, one end disappearing under her hair, up over her shoulder.

His grip on the rifle increased. As he hobbled around her cautiously, he considered his options. She hadn’t come at him while he was at the entrance, so maybe . . .

When her gaze rose as he moved around her feet, relief flooded his chest. Her eyes were blue, only a tinge of red left. “Danny?”

She gave him a tired smile, and the fist squeezing his gut eased further. Her close scrutiny was intelligent, aware, not feral hunger.

Lowering himself to one knee next to her, he used the rifle to prop himself. “Do you need—”

“No. You’ve done enough. More than enough.” As she started to lift herself up on her arms, he reached out with clumsy fingers, and drew the loosened rope away.

Danny watched him, saw the shadows go through his gaze at the bruising around her throat. It moved her, even as she knew it was absurd. If her burns had vanished in less than a day, the bruising would be gone in barely a blink. He was so pale. Given the amount of time that had passed, she assumed he’d given her far too much of his blood. If he’d lost that much all at once, he would have gone into shock. As it was, even over time, it was far too much.

With three marks, it would have affected him far less, and she could have replenished him with her own blood after she recuperated. While she saw signs that he’d been smart enough to dig into his provisions, she also smelled the blood of the wild dogs and knew he’d been fighting a battle on two fronts.

She could also smell herself. Stale saliva and metallic dried blood. Discarded spaghetti in a garbage can likely looked more appealing than her hair at the moment. Even so, he reached out and touched her face without hesitation, brushing his knuckles along her cheek, under that limp fall of hair. She had to quell the overwhelming urge to give him the second mark then and there, because she wanted to know what was going through his mind.

“Good on ya, love. Nice to have you back.”

Swallowing, she put her hand over his on her face, the large, capable fingers. He was cold—the blood loss, she knew—but beneath that was something that warmed her in a way she couldn’t explain.

“Why are you still here?”

“I said I’d stay,” he said simply.

“So you did.” She managed another smile. “You gave too much. You’re weak.”

He shrugged. “I expect you’d like to get cleaned up.”

That was an understatement. All vampires were vain, but when reduced to this, fussing with her hair or wiping some blood off her chin wasn’t going to cut it. Nothing would suffice but a full bath.

“Is that possible?”

“How strong are you?”

When she gave him an ironic look, he chuckled. “I mean, there’s a small billabong, a little under a mile away. It’s about midnight.

We have time before daylight to get there and back with an easy walk. There’s also a moon tonight, so we’ll have enough light to likely stay out of much trouble. And the dingoes—” He cut himself off, gave her a shrewd glance. “ ’Course, you don’t have to worry about that, do you?”

“Now that I’m back up and about, the dingoes shouldn’t cause any problems. Most scavengers and predators won’t come near me unless I’m wounded,” she reminded him. Her lips curved. “Though reptiles can be a bit thickheaded about it, kind of like bushmen. I don’t think the problem is if I can make it. Can
you
manage it?”

“I’ll do.” His mouth tugged up as well. “And you’re strong enough to carry me if you need to.”

Though she stayed close enough so that he could lean on her as much as his pride would allow, Dev did manage. He was quiet, scouting his surroundings in a way that appeared casual, but she suspected was a detailed surveillance. Apparently he’d been doing it long enough that it was as second nature to him as breathing. She felt the twist of guilt again. If she’d been equally vigilant, would her men still be alive?

The moon bathed the land, the expanses of sand among the vegetation and trees gleaming like the shimmer of a tranquil ocean.

Great, vast, unaffected. Yet intensely sentient, listening and alert.

When she first scented the water, her pace quickened, though she tried not to push him, knowing he’d feel it necessary to keep pace with her. She felt like a dog who’d enjoy a good full-body roll in scratchy sand. She’d used a little of the water in the pot back at the cave to take the worst off before she donned her clothes, but she couldn’t wait to be fully immersed.

At the same time, she keenly missed the maidservant she’d kept in Brisbane to help her with things like back scrubbings. As pleasurable as it would be to coax Dev into that duty, she didn’t think he could afford to have any more fluids drained out of him at the moment.

She felt gloriously alive.
If you gave him the second mark right now, it would help restore him a bit. Though not as much as
the third mark . . .

However, it wasn’t only her knowledge of his physical condition holding her back, but that quiet that had settled between them since the cave. He squatted by the billabong now, in profile from her, filling his large billy so that when she was ready for soap, she could use the cloth-wrapped cake he’d brought along. At a distance from the watering hole, of course, so she wouldn’t contaminate the water for other creatures. If he was her servant in truth, he’d haul the rinse water, pour it over her, maybe pass his hand over her flesh, make sure all the crevices were free of slick soap . . .

Stop it, Danny.
That gentle caress on her face in the cave, the moment of relieved levity, that was the brief bond of two people who’d shared a rather intense experience. One that was now over. He’d come out here on a hunch, thinking she was in trouble.

Now that she wasn’t, maybe he was feeling trapped, his sense of nobility chaining him to her side until she reached her destination.

And he’d had to kill for her.

Bugger it.
Moving off to a nearby tree, she bent to unlace her boots, pull them off, hopping a bit, then shimmied out of her trousers.

As she shrugged out of the shirt, she did a quick pirouette to flash him a smile. “Come in if you dare, bushman. I’ll protect you from the beasties.”

“Hold up a moment.”

She paused. As he moved toward her, the moon glanced off the planes of his face, the sensual mouth. In darkness, the green of his eyes had some of the gold and gray of hazel. Though she liked watching him move, the sinuous play of muscles at abdomen and waist beneath his shirt, she tried to keep her expression indifferent.

Patiently, he gathered her clothes and put them together in one spot, stuffing the socks in the boots in a way that reminded her horrible things could crawl in while she was gone. A spider or lizard might not be able to hurt her, but she didn’t relish the idea of one scuttling over her toes as she poked them back in. She made a mental note to shake out the boot, even with the protective sock in it.

“You can’t cross this ground with those soft, pretty feet.” Despite the weakness she sensed was still hampering him, he nevertheless guided her arm around his broad shoulders, bent and lifted her, moving forward toward the billabong. She was beginning to wonder if he was made of iron, or if he was too stubborn to know he should be falling down, not hauling her about.

Green rushes moved at the edges of the pond, whispering like spirits about their peculiar nighttime visitors.

Even as she caught her breath at his arm around her smooth back, the other crooked beneath her legs, she chided herself. She wasn’t a green, fresh girl. Hell, she’d practically raped him less than a day or two ago, taken him places he’d never been before.

But he wasn’t afraid of her. Not in the least. Though it was a vague, bestial memory, she remembered latching on to his arm. Even then, she’d seen the will to survive in his eyes, but no fear. Nor did he appear to have a fascination with danger. He was just . . . he was like this billabong. A couple weeks ago, it had likely been a dry bed. But the rain came, and now it was this, a quiet pool in the moonlight, wildflowers and grass springing up on the banks, creating a thing of beauty. No big fuss about it, though it was a miracle.

It simply was. Like him. And like him, it would disappear again in the normal cycle of things.

When he let her legs down, her feet touched the cool mud of the bank. She kept hold of his shirt. She easily could have reached up and kissed him then, wanted to, but more than that, she wanted to see what he wanted. So she stood there, staring up at his face in the moonlight. Then she changed her mind, couldn’t wait. “Dev,” she murmured. “Kiss me.”

Cocking his head, he studied her features, then his hand came up again, this time to slide beneath her hair, cup her jaw, pass a thumb over her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “You make things in me hurt, love. Hurt so bad I think I’d rather take a gut shot.

But here I am, anyway.”

“A true masochist,” she whispered. “Vampires have a sadistic streak, you know. Maybe you’re attracted to the pain I can give you. And not only to your body.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He’d bent closer now, though, and her lips parted, her heart accelerating.
God, kiss me.
Danny could have closed the gap, but maybe she wanted the torture as well, because waiting for him to make that decision was a delicious longing that bordered on an ache in her vitals.

“But then again,” he murmured, a breath away, his eyes dominating her vision, “if I could freeze this moment, I’d stare at you naked in the moonlight, your mouth waiting for my kiss, your body swaying toward me. I’d be willing to stand in front of something like that forever, without ever going one step forward or back.”

“Well, time does go on,” she managed. “Dev, are you trying to make me beg?”

“You’ve put me on my knees often enough, love. Truth, I haven’t been off them since the first time I saw you.” The green in his eyes had become stormier, increasing the need within her even more as his voice dropped to an active stroke along her nerves.

“The man who enters Aphrodite’s temple has to take a bit of time to contemplate her, you know. Worship the very miracle of her existence, before he dares to touch her. She’s uppity that way.”

The scholar. “God, you’re a strange one,” she whispered. “Damn it,
kiss me
, Devlin.”

With that appealing tug at his lips, he bent his head and pressed them upon hers. He curved his arms all the way around, one high on her back, the other low on her hips, bringing her full against him, hard, lean male, the muscular planes of his body, the cool metal of his belt buckle, the impression of the knife he wore on his hip. Smelling of sweat and blood. Emitting a relieved sigh into his mouth, she whimpered in soft approval as he buried his fingers in her hair to deepen the kiss. His tongue was wet heat, stroking along hers, making her press closer, feeling his stiffening reaction to her naked body against his clothed one. She wanted him now, wanted him inside her, filling her, a basic hunger, no matter how weakened his body was. One part of him was obviously able to handle it.

Vampire sensuality was always filled with delicious power games, teasing, a buildup of need until the culmination was explosive, on the edge of violence. She loved it, but perhaps because the past twelve hours had been brimming with violence and power, and she’d brushed so close to the end, bringing him to that edge with her, she didn’t care about any of that now. There was only this, an overwhelming need to have him.

“Dev, fuck me.” Her voice was hoarse, almost as guttural as when she’d been mad with bloodlust. This seemed no less intense.

He glanced around, and before she could ask him what he was about, he’d lifted her onto his front, hitching her legs around his hips. Despite the shaking she could feel in his limbs, he staggered the few short steps to a mature gum leaning over the billabong, the cascade of rain from its branches likely one of the reasons a pool formed here.

She clung to his shoulders, pressing her face against his neck. She was filthy, she knew. She didn’t care, because he didn’t seem to care. She didn’t have to be beautiful, polished or in control. He’d saved her life. Kept her alive, and not judged her for who or what she was. If she ever did contemplate having a fully marked servant, she wasn’t likely to find a better one.