“You’re not in any shape to go against Leo,” I said, thinking of her injured feet as well as her lack of food.
“We can’t stay locked up here, cowering, all day.” She straightened, pulling herself out of my grip. She moved slowly, stiffly, like an arthritic old woman. “For good or ill, I must face him now. I don’t expect you to come along. This is my fight. I’m the one who didn’t see Leo’s true colors. I don’t believe it, almost two hundred years together and he picks now to stage a coup.”
She wouldn’t last, not in her condition. I’d seen him move against Bradley.
“Would it help?” I spoke quickly, before I lost my nerve. “If you took some of my blood, would it help you?”
“Kitty, if you’re suggesting what I think you are, don’t—”
“Because I’m not letting you go out there alone in your condition. And I can’t take on Leo by myself. Will it help you?”
She hesitated a long, strained moment before saying, “Yes, it would.”
“Then you have to.”
God, my heart was pounding like a jackhammer. It overwhelmed thought. Lots of people, human servants, did this all the time. Nothing to it.
Except she was predator, and I was suddenly prey. I had an urge to defend myself. Or run. Fight or flight.
“Your wolf doesn’t like the idea much, does she?” Alette said.
“No,” I said, my voice wavering. “She—I—I mean, we don’t much like feeling trapped. I’m sorry, it’s under control, it’s okay—”
She spoke, gently, soothingly. “I understand. You’re being perfectly reasonable. You should be frightened of me.”
“I’m not, not really.” But I was. I knew what she was, intellectually I’d always known. But this was the reality, that she could devour me and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
But she wouldn’t, she wasn’t like that, she was kind. If only the last week hadn’t completely eroded my faith in my ability to judge character.
“Just a little. I promise,” she said. “A few seconds and it will be over. Is that all right?”
I nodded. She touched my face. She was a ghost in the pale light. “I will not betray your trust. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Are you left- or right-handed?”
“Right,” I whispered.
She took my left hand and moved toward me, leaning so she spoke close to my ear. Her voice had a rhythm, lulling. It ran along my nerves, soothing them, coaxing them from taut panic to calm. More than calm—I felt yearning.
“Do not fear me. I would not have you come to me afraid.”
She kissed my cheek, and I leaned into her. I let her hold me in her arms, let her do anything she wanted to me, because her touch reached deep inside me, into my gut. A warmth rose there; my body clenched in anticipation.
Her breath caressed my neck. I might have moaned a little, because I felt so warm, burning up. She held me close, pulling that warmth into her.
“Rest your head, my dear.” She guided my head to her shoulder. I shut my eyes and pressed my face against her.
She pushed the coat sleeve up my left arm, past the elbow. She supported the arm—I couldn’t have, at that point. I felt like I was melting; I wanted to melt into her. She kissed the inside of my arm, firing all the nerves. I bit my lip, overwhelmed.
She traced a line up my forearm with her tongue, tasting and kissing. My hand closed into a fist, which she braced. Her mouth closed over my wrist, but I didn’t feel anything except her attention, her caresses, her love.
The skin pinched, the bite. By then, I wanted it.
When she drew away, I felt like a veil had fallen, or that I’d woken from a dream.
I needed a cold shower. Very cold.