The incendiary thought kept occurring to her that perhaps Saint’d been right to show her what he was, justified in pushing her away when she’d become so insistent upon seducing him.
She’d kept her defensive barrier intact, however. Been proud of herself for shutting him out.
The realization that all she’d done was avoid the issue for two weeks slammed home as she stared at the vivid reality of Saint standing right in front of her.
What right did he have showing up here in her private domain, looking like a beautiful, suffering angel, when she was doing her best to squeeze the life out of her too-frequent thoughts of him?
“What do you want?” she asked ungraciously.
“I brought Aidan. He wants to talk to you. He’s waiting in the day room.”
“Is he all right?” Her anger at the fact that Saint had been hanging around Aidan when she’d specifically told him to stay away was forgotten in her concern for her son.
“He’s fine. He just said he had something important he wanted to discuss with you and asked if I’d bring him over.”
Christina glanced around at Alison, who was staring at Saint, slack-jawed. Christina mentally rolled her eyes. Was there a female on the planet whose brain wouldn’t short-circuit at the sight of him?
“Alison, can you hold on just a moment? I need to speak with my son.”
Alison swallowed heavily and nodded.
Christina sighed and stepped into the hallway, worried she’d lost crucial therapeutic ground with the girl by the interruption. She’d done a suicide assessment and spoken at length with Alis
on’s psychiatrist. They’d agreed the girl wasn’t actively suicidal. But Alison was in some kind of danger. Christina just knew it. And this business of a blood sacrifice alarmed her.
She glanced up when she noticed that Saint hadn’t moved to make way for her and her nose was just inches away from a broad, cotton-covered chest.
As usual, he didn’t speak, even when she stared into his eyes.
“If you want to say something, say it,” she spat.
“Aidan’s not the only one who wants to speak with you. I do, as well.”
She rolled her eyes. “Miracle of miracles. Whatever it is will have to wait. You’re at the very bottom of my list, Sevliss.”
She felt his gaze boring into her back as she walked away.
He watched her as she strutted down the corridor. Christina’s fury burned in his nose and tasted like bitter spice on his tongue. Her never-absent arousal added a rich, intoxicating flavor to the complex array of emotions that always flavored the energy field that surrounded her. He forced himself to look away.
It shamed him beyond belief that he could have stared at her unceasingly for an eternity, drawing on her vast energy…feeding from her like the parasite he was until he’d drained every ounce of her vitessence, leaving nothing but a hollow shell.
Christina lit up his monochrome world like a blazing comet. Whenever he was near her, a lifeless, gray landscape flooded with vibrant, throbbing color.
He glanced into Christina’s comfortable, messy office, his attention fixing on the pale, undernourished-looking young woman who stood facing him. She trembled. His gaze flickered down to her wrists. Vitessence glowed around her wounds—the color a watered-out gold against the gray outlines of the rest of her.
For one such as he, releasing blood to the air was like breaking a safety seal. He caught the scent of her blood, her fear and excitement.
He stepped into the room.
“You recognize me,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.
“Of course.”
“Where have you seen me before? Here?”
Confusion flickered across the young woman’s expression. “I don’t understand…what do you mean?”
“Tell me where you’ve seen me before.” He removed his glasses and used his ascendancy, not to enslave, but to calm.