“I don’t know,” she murmured into his shoulder.
“I knew from the first moment that you were mine,” he said, “but I never imagined it would be like this. Loving you.” He inhaled the fresh scent of her hair. “Loving you is a gift, Suzanne. You’re my heart, my soul. You’re everything.”
“Mmm.”
Her voice hummed against his throat and her breathing became shallower, indicating sleep. He pulled her closer to his body.
My heart. My soul. My love.
34
Markus opened the door and entered. For three weeks, he had kept the young American imprisoned in an old abandoned cottage on the outskirts of town. Markus had fed the man well, beef and venison, bloody rare of course, with potatoes and cabbage and lots and lots of Guinness. The red meat increased the iron and testosterone in the blood, making it more potent. The Guinness, well, that just made it taste even better. The American—Wade was his name—hadn’t complained. Markus kept him comfortable, with a four-poster bed, a flat-screen TV, and one of those Japanese video game consoles. Thanks to Markus’s mind control, Wade thought he had lost his way in the Highlands and had become ill. Good Samaritan Markus had found him and cared for him in the cottage until he could resume his travel.
Markus came early in the morning, before first light, and after dusk, to feed from Wade. He couldn’t keep the American much longer. Soon, someone would come looking for him. He had considered releasing him for the last several days. But then the bloodlust would hit, and faced with the hunger for Wade’s androgen-laced plasma, he hadn’t been able to discharge his prey. What the hell? Wade seemed perfectly content to lounge in his Highland bungalow, watching TV and playing something called Final Fantasy.
Damned lazy Americans. No wonder the majority of them were overweight.
Not this one, though, and not that stacked little chippie Rex had thrown him a few weeks ago either. Markus would have loved a taste of her. Just thinking about that night consumed him with wrath. He had a score to settle with Damian MacGowan, Voldlak or not.
Aye. Female. It was time to let Wade go. Because as much as he savored the male’s blood, Markus couldn’t find satiation of another nature with him. He had no sexual hunger for males. Markus was ready for the sweet tang of a female. In more ways than one.
Markus’s gums stung as his fangs elongated, his salivary glands activated. One more taste.
He approached the bed where the American lay, still slumbering. Markus sat down on the bed next to him and touched his cheek to keep him asleep. While he sometimes enjoyed tormenting his prey, feeding from their fear and screams, he had grown tired of it with Wade. He wanted a quick drink. Then he’d wake the man and let him go.
With wide eyes, he sank his teeth into the man’s neck and sucked. As the intoxicating liquid oozed down his throat, Wade’s strength and masculinity flowed into Markus. He sated himself, careful not to take more than a cup. Wade needed his strength to leave later today. He carefully licked the wounds closed and wiped his mouth. Then he shook the sleeping man.
“Friend,” he said, “how are you feeling today?”
Wade opened his eyes and struggled to sit up, clearly a bit weak from the blood loss. “All right, I guess. You?”
“Never better. Your color’s back to normal, and your temperature down. Sure and I’m thinking you can be on your way today. Where are you headed?”
“A castle outside Padraig. My fiancée's cousin inherited it.”
“Not the O’Day place?” MacGowan.
“Don’t know. The new owner’s name is Isabella Knight.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“My fiancée's name is Suzanne Wood.”
“What’s she look like, mate?”
“Brown hair, gray eyes.” Wade grinned coltishly. “Stacked.”
Markus chuckled. “Sounds like my kind of woman.” And remarkably like the woman he had almost tasted a few weeks ago, until Damian MacGowan had interfered.
Maybe…
“I can show you to the O’Day place, friend.” Markus stood and looked out the window. “It’s not far from here. I’ll take you there after sundown.”
“Why not sooner?”
Because I’ll incinerate in the sun. “Work, mate. But I’ll be back.”
He left the cottage and went to his car parked in the drive. As he grasped the car door handle, a gust of icy wind sliced into his back, pelting his skin with freezing glass shards.
Icy wind? In midsummer? Glass shards?
He turned to face long hair even paler than his own falling from a widow’s peak around an eerily beautiful face. Glowing crimson eyes burned into Markus’s flesh.
“Morning, Da.”
35
The pale man extended one long manicured finger to Markus’s chin and wiped away a small speck of blood. “Been keeping blood slaves again, lad?”
“Maybe I just cut myself shaving.”
“I know you better than that.”
Markus scoffed. “You don’t know me at all. And I haven’t hurt him. I’m letting him go tonight.”