A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark #2)(43)

But his words had no effect. She shook in his arms, still afraid.

She didn’t trust him—never had—and he’d just reminded her why.



Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw him take one hand from the steering wheel, reaching out once more to touch her. As he had each time before, he closed it to a fist and brought it back.

She sighed, leaning her face against the cool glass, staring out, seeing nothing.

Her emotions were so torn over what had happened, she didn’t know how to react.

She wasn’t angry with him over this particular incident. She’d been stupid enough to touch a Lykae in mid-nightmare and had paid the price. But she regretted that her throat hurt and that she couldn’t take a pill to ease it. And she regretted what she’d learned about him.

She had wondered if it was possible that the Horde had imprisoned him, but she’d dismissed the idea because prisoners simply didn’t escape the Horde. She’d never heard of a single instance. Even her aunt Myst, who’d actually seen the inside of a Horde stronghold, hadn’t escaped until rebels had taken the castle—and until a rebel general had freed her in order to make love to her.

Having ruled out the Horde, Emma had figured that since he was the Lykae leader, this was political, possibly some kind of coup by his own kind.

Yet it had been Demestriu, the most evil and powerful of all vampires, who’d imprisoned him. And if the rumors were true about Furie, if the tales of her torture at the bottom of the sea were correct, then what had he done to Lachlain? Had Demestriu ordered him drowned as well? Chained him in the earth and buried him alive?

For one hundred and fifty years they’d tortured him until he’d escaped the inescapable.

And she feared he’d somehow lost his leg to do it.

She couldn’t imagine the pain—endless pain that he’d experienced for so long only to culminate in that…?

What had happened tonight wasn’t his fault. Though judging by his bleak expression he certainly thought so. Yet now, knowing what she did, she resented him for keeping her with him. What in the hell had he been thinking? After what he’d been through, Emma now knew that the incident tonight had been inevitable. Eventually he would have exploded in rage at her, and might do it again.

She wouldn’t allow this to happen again. She might not survive it. And if she did, she didn’t want to have to tell people she had bruises circling her throat and a starburst of blood radiating from her pupil because she’d run into a sodding door. Why had he kept her with him?

To take out his pain on her.

He’d treated her like a vicious vampire. Disdained her as one for days. If he didn’t watch out, she’d begin to behave like one to protect herself.

They’d make Kinevane tonight, and at sunset tomorrow she’d be gone.



Emma leaned against the window and had that thing in her ears, though she didn’t sing as she had last night.

He wanted to remove it and talk to her, apologize to her. He was fiercely ashamed of his actions, had never been more ashamed, but he thought if he took it away from her, she would break. Since he’d seized her, he’d terrified and hurt her, and he sensed she was at her limit, barely coping with the events of the last four days.

The streetlamps shone down from overhead, illuminating her face—and the bruises on her pale throat, making him wince again.

If he hadn’t come to his senses when he did, he could have…he could have killed her. And because he didn’t understand why he’d done it, he couldn’t ensure it would never happen again. He couldn’t guarantee her safety around him—

A bell pinged, startling him.

She leaned over to look, nodding at the fuel gauge that was now lit red. She pointed out the next exit, still without saying a word. He knew she was silent because it hurt her to speak.

He was distracted, restless in the car that now seemed far too small for him, clenching the steering wheel. Yes, he’d been through hell, but goddamn it, how could he have choked his mate in any state of mind? When all he’d wanted to do was find her?

When she’d been his salvation?

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t claimed her—if he hadn’t found her and been near her, been eased by her soft words and gentle touches, right now he’d be in a back alley, irretrievably mad.

In return, he’d made her life into a hell.

Off the exit, he spotted the sign for a gas station. He turned into the dirt lot, parking in front of the fuel pump she indicated. Just as he shut off the ignition, she pulled the things from her ears. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, she gazed upward, sighed, and held her hand flat out—which meant he was to give her the credit card. He did, then followed her outside to learn how to fuel the car.

While they waited, he said, “I want to speak with you about what happened.”

She waved her hand. “Forgotten.” Her voice was hoarse, belying the ridiculous statement. Under the harsh, unnatural lights of the station, her right eye appeared awash with red. She had to be furious again—why hide it?

“Why will you no’ confront me? Rail at me? I give you free leave to scream at me.”

In a low tone, she said, “Are you asking me why I avoid conflict?”

“Aye. Precisely,” he said, then, seeing the glare on her face, wished he hadn’t.