Marguarita heard the soft hiss of menace, the need for domination and his iron will that was implacable. She had no chance to save herself. Life or death. Live or die. It was up to him. She gave herself up completely, no longer struggling, not even in her mind.
Choose, then.
She had no more strength left to fight him. He was taking her life's blood, as if it was impossible to slake his hunger. There was an edge to his feeding, both sexual and dangerous, as if he'd made a decision he would not back away from. The resolve in him ran so deep, so dark, she couldn't find a way to reach him.
I already have.
The words should have reassured her, but they sent another shiver through her body. It was the way he said them, the pure cold glacier that dripped like icicles from his voice. He carried her through to the master bedroom and laid her on the bed, his body covering hers, all the while draining her of her precious blood. She felt herself fading.
You will stay with me. Come to me, Marguarita. Now. Come to me.
She was too tired, too weak, to do anything but obey. Her spirit reached for his and he surrounded her, held her to him when her body wanted to slip away into another world she didn't recognize.
Only then did he swipe his tongue across the punctures and open his shirt to slash his chest.
You will feed.
It was an absolute command. He was in control, her spirit locked to his. His hand caught the back of her head, forcing her to that dark rich Carpathian blood. Her mouth moved against him. This time, he didn't distance her from the act. The blood flowed into her, his very essence, rushing to do its work, to claim her for all time, to make her his irrevocably. She knew that was uppermost in his mind. This was the consequence of her actions. His claiming her. She struggled to understand. He had tied them together in the way of his people. Why such satisfaction? Why this particular show of dominance?
Strength was returning, but he held her spirit captive until she had taken enough of his blood that he deemed satisfactory. His body continued to blanket hers as he lifted his head and stared down into her eyes.
She was missing something. Something important. He looked very expectant. Still cold and distant, but alert and watchful. She touched her tongue to her lip. The split and swelling was gone. Her face didn't hurt, but there was a new, strange pounding in her head. She could not only hear her heart beating, but feel it, every single movement, the swish of blood, ebbing and flowing. A ripple of pain moved through her body and her stomach lurched.
arguarita stared at Zacarias with enormous, terrified, accusing eyes. She looked very pale, her dark, silken hair spread out all around them.
What have you done?
Zacarias shifted his weight. It was starting then. Her conversion. His blood was working to change her body, reshape her organs, and bring her fully into his world. Satisfaction etched itself into the lines of his face.
"Never again will I be forced by my own lifemate to lie helpless beneath the ground while she endangers herself deliberately. You have disobeyed me for the last time, Marguarita."
His white teeth snapped at her, still slightly lengthened. The flames in his eyes flickered, and still that hot lethal mass of volcanic rage boiled in his gut. Hours, he'd lain beneath the surface, stripped of all power, while she risked her life and his soul. For what? There could be no reason good enough for such a decision on her part.
He would be forever dishonored. She even knew the truth about him. She had seen his darkest secret, the one he'd protected for centuries - his legacy of darkness. His own father turning vampire moments after his mother's death. That would have happened to him. If DS had succeeded in killing her, Zacarias would have risen vampire and wiped out the entire ranch.
"Sun scorch you, woman." He spat the curse at her, as fury pounded through his veins, breaking through the ice, a volcanic explosion. He couldn't bear to touch her. Couldn't stay close to inhale her fragrance. His woman. His lifemate. Betrayer. Risking everything for the childish whim to prove that she was his equal in strength and power. Risking him. Risking them. Risking his brothers and her family.
He pushed himself off the bed and stalked across the room, a prowling jungle cat, lethal and still very much raging. The tension in the room stretched, but he couldn't find a way to recapture his icy control. His anger had burned its way through the massive glacier and his emotions were a firestorm raging out of control.
He had always known he wouldn't understand a modern woman. He had accepted that his lifemate would never come to him - never accept him as he was. He had been more than prepared to go honorably to the next life. She had changed all of that, destroyed his every plan and she should have realized the enormity of what she'd done. She had no right to risk his soul - ever. Not ever. Not in this year and not a hundred years from now.
Marguarita writhed, her eyes going wide with shock, hands flying to her stomach. A ripple of unease slid down his spine. His gaze jumped to her. All attention focused on her. Clearly, she was in pain. In all his centuries, he'd never seen a human turned. He simply didn't associate that closely with them. His brothers had done it, but he'd never bothered to inquire about just what happened. Three blood exchanges were necessary and that should take care of it - as long as she was psychic, which Marguarita clearly was.
Apprehension became knots in the pit of his stomach. Surely nothing could go wrong. He had powerful blood,
but the darkness ran deep in him. Shadows crept into the dark room, into his mind, disturbing, haunting possibilities he hadn't considered. Had he made a mistake?
"What is wrong?" he demanded.
She drew her legs up, rolling to her side in the fetal position, her face contorting with pain. She closed her eyes, as if the sight of him was unbearable. Unexpectedly, a pain knifed through his heart. He tasted fear in his mouth.
"What is wrong? When I ask you I want an answer."
He couldn't wait, not when she began writhing in pain, tears streaming down her face and her body contorting wildly. For the very first time in his life, panic welled up, a frightening feeling. This wasn't supposed to happen. He reached for her mind, needing to feel what she was feeling, needing to share her same skin, to know what was happening to her. He reached, but came up against a wall.
She refused him. Refused him. His lifemate. His woman. She not only disobeyed him, paving the way for total disaster, but now, she was refusing their most intimate, private path. She'd blocked him out, and judging by the strength of that door, it would take a battering ram to open it.
She had a natural barrier, he knew that, but she had always allowed him through. Now, with his blood flowing in her veins, that shield was even stronger than it had been. He'd been afraid of damaging her before; now, if he destroyed that barrier, he had no idea what would happen to her. And the only way she was going to let him in was if he tore it down.
"Let me in."
She made no reply, stubbornly drawing up her knees to her chest, rocking her body, her hair spilling around her face, shutting him out. She was in pain - that much was more than apparent. He was across the room instantly, reaching down to put his hand on her stomach. There was more than one way to get the information he sought.
She took a deep shuddering breath, as if the pain was receding, and turned her head, her dark eyes glaring at him. Strands of hair fell across her cheek, damp now from sweating. Her body was coated in a fine sheen. When his palm and fingers made contact with her skin, she shuddered and tried to slap at his arm.
Get away from me. I mean it. I don't want you here.
Marguarita couldn't believe he would do this to her. Everyone, every thing had known - even the horses - what a monster he was, everyone but her. He was uncaring, a dark, dangerous predator with no real feeling. Everything she'd believed about him had been a fantasy. He'd shattered her heart, and she had nothing left but pride. She couldn't bear to look at him and she wasn't about to let him inside her mind - never again would she willingly share herself with him. He would have to take what he wanted from her. The pain of her shattered heart was far worse than the physical pain he thrust on her.
Zacarias was shocked. He hadn't expected absolute rejection, but she kept him from her mind, and now she thought she could keep him from her body. Before he could say anything else, he saw the next wave building, a sweep of her body, every muscle going rigid, the breath slamming out of her lungs. Her eyes went wide, glazed with pain. Her back bowed, then arched, her body convulsing, nearly thrown from the bed.
He caught her, held her firm, afraid she'd hurt herself more. His hands slid over her skin, now burning with fever. Every organ twisted and threatened to burst inside of her. Her skin was so hot he nearly pulled his hand away. He tried to send healing warmth through her skin, but it seemed to make things worse. Her body jerked nearly into a sitting position, teeth set almost as if in rigor mortis before she was slammed back against the mattress.
Her breath rushed out in silent protest, even as he felt the wave receding. The moment her gaze focused on him, she threw herself away from him, off the bed, putting it between them. She tried to crawl away from him, her body gleaming with sweat, her hair matted to the back of her neck and down her back. Weak, she fell on her stomach.
Zacarias was on her in an instant, his heart pounding as fast as hers, really afraid for her now. He had to figure out what was wrong and how to help her.
"Let me help, Marguarita." In spite of his fear for her, he kept his voice gentle.