He says nothing for a very long moment.
"Eve," he says. "Don't." He shakes his head. "Don't tempt me or yourself. Once you get a taste for it, you'll want more and down that road lies addiction."
I step closer. "I'm not trying to tempt you," I say, slipping my arms around his neck. "At least this way if anyone comes and I can't fight them off, you'll know about it."
He stands in silence as if trying to decide.
"Not like this," he says finally, chopping his hand down.
"Not like this?" I say, barely able to control my frustration. "Yesterday, I offered myself to you and you refused because I thought this was just a psychotic episode and you wanted me to understand it's real. So now I do. You showed me that last night. Now," I say, clenching my fists, "You scare the shit out of me about the danger I'm in." I rub my forehead, the twinge of a migraine threatening. "If you feed me your blood now and you're killed, at least I'll know and can prepare to be claimed by whoever finds me like a cheap bottle of plonk."
I cover my eyes, tears of frustration biting at the corners.
"No, no," he says, taking me in his arms, crushing me against him, burying his face in my neck, his lips beside my ear. "I'd never let that happen," he whispers. "Never. I'd destroy every vampire in existence to stop it."
I let him hold me. I let him comfort me, rocking me slowly in his arms, brushing my hair back. I slip my arms around his neck and pull him down in a kiss that starts out soft, chaste, just a pure expression of a need to touch him, but very soon becomes more passionate. When his tongue touches mine, I feel one agonizingly intense surge of lust and desire.
"This," he says, his voice husky as he bends down and picks me up in his arms. "This is how I want you."
He carries me over to the side of the bed and lies on top of me. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him against me. As we kiss, the connection between us deepens until I can barely tell my own senses and emotions from his. He needs no words, for I know what he feels. I feel it as well – his intense desire for me as a woman, for my blood, and for this union. His need to touch me, to taste me, to lose himself even momentarily in this connection we form like some salve for all the centuries of existence. He presses his mouth against the beating pulse at my neck, lingering over it, delighting in the feel of it under his lips and against his tongue. He bites me, and the short sharp pain is counteracted by the pleasure.
Soon, the edges of my vision blur and it isn't from tears. My heart beats so rapidly that I'm sure I'm dying. Which I am.
Chapter 23
"We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them."
Khalil Gibran
"NO, NO,NO!"MICHEL PULLS AWAY, our connection diminishing, his presence receding while the world rushes back in. Blood loss saps me of all strength and I struggle to see past the fog that clouds my vision. Michel looms over me, his mouth bloody. He runs to the door. "Vasily!" he shouts into the hallway. "Transfusion! Now!"
He returns and bites his own wrist, holding it to my mouth, pressing the gash against my lips.
"Drink," he said. "You must drink."
"I don't want to be a vampire. I'd rather die."
"You won't be," he says, trying once more to get me to drink. "I promise you. Just drink."
I can't see his face clearly, for it goes in and out of focus, but I know he's there, his huge black wings open behind him, his blue eyes visible through the fog.
"Don't lie to me," I say.
"I'm not," he replies.
Finally, I comply and swallow a few mouthfuls. Vasily comes in and works on me, tying a tourniquet around my upper arm, struggling to find a vein, then the tiny prick as the needle enters my vein for the I.V.
"How many units do you have?" Michel says.
"Several of O negative."
"That might not do." Michel turns back to me, bending down close. "Eve, you must drink more. If you don't, you'll die.Drink."
"I can't feel my arms and legs." Tears spring to my eyes. "I don't want to be a vampire," I say, barely able to speak.
"You won't be," he says, shaking his head. He leans over me, his face darkened by fear. He keeps pressing his wrist to my lips, urging me on. On my other side, Vasily attaches a second bag of blood to the I.V. pole as if he's done this before and is an expert.
Finally, I drink more, the tangy coppery tang pleasant, but it doesn’t have the effect on me that Julien’s blood had. Michel doesn't need to speak for I know what he's thinking.Don't leave me. I don't hear his voice in my head as if he were speaking to me. I just know his thoughts.