Stroke of Midnight (Nightcreature #1.5)(71)

When she didn't answer he pushed away from the mirror, splashed some water on his face, and looked up. To his horror the only light in the room were two glowing orbs behind him that were her height. He froze.

"Don't be afraid," she said quietly. "But I can't go out in the sun anymore."

He spun so fast that he almost shattered the mirror with his elbow as he slapped on the light.

She immediately covered her eyes with her hands and turned away. "Turn it off!"

"Oh, bullshit," he said, backing toward the door and touching the sides of his neck.

Her body looked normal, except that she was shivering and had goose bumps covering her skin. His gaze scanned her frantically, while hovering in the doorway ready to bolt.

She turned to him slowly, and brought her hands away from her face in gradual increments. She looked like she was about to keel over. Half of him wanted to go to her; the other half of him was transfixed where he stood. She looked like a junkie. Her beautiful eyes had dark circles under them. Her gorgeous lips were nearly blue. Her once-fantastic coloring was ashen, and her hair looked wiry and brittle. He almost wept as he went to her.

"Oh, Jesus, what's the matter?"

She pulled away from him and cringed when his fingers trembled at her cheek.

"I'm so sick," she whispered. "I have to get there before it's too late."

She felt for his hand when he extended it, as though she were blind, and he helped her out of the tub and sat her down on the toilet seat, then lifted her chin with his finger and stared into her eyes. Her once-beautiful eyes had a bluish-gray seal over them like an old person's with cataracts.

"I'm blind," she whispered, feeling for his face. "I opened the curtain and the sunlight…" Her voice broke off with a sob.

He turned her throat to the side and saw two puncture marks on it and ran his fingers over the fresh wound. "Did I do that? Did I do that to you last night? Oh, shit!" He turned her wrists over, and then looked at the insides of her elbows, terror coursing through him by the second. Every major pulse point on her was scored, and witnessing it dropped him to his knees. His head found her lap. "Oh… baby… I swear I didn't mean to hurt you like that. I don't even remember."

"You didn't do it," she whispered, absently stroking his hair. "I went out last night while you slept."

Her confession snapped his head up and he looked at her blind eyes, holding her upper arms tightly. "What!"

"I needed human blood," she said quietly. "There are only a few ways to get it."

He stood slowly and then sat on the edge of the tub. There were no words. His mind couldn't process the madness fast enough. What was she talking about! Some crazy ritual?

"If I take an innocent, I'm damned. You're an innocent, Rider. Last night, I felt my gums rip. The teeth didn't come all the way down, and I haven't died, so I have time. But the hunger is like an acid burn inside your intestines that will eat them away until you satisfy it. The animal blood isn't working anymore. That's why I keep throwing up; even the steak didn't stay down. When the hunger came, I could feel it coming back up, so I left the room… I didn't want to hurt any of the townspeople—they're innocents, too. So I had to get real blood the only other way…"

"What the hell is that?" he said, standing quickly.

"I went to the one who made me like this, and fed from his veins."

The incomprehensible lodged in his throat. Irrational jealousy swept through him as he looked at her bite marks; the one by her femoral artery twisted him up the most. She instinctively knew where his gaze had traveled and she tried to hide the wound with her hand. He instantly understood her erogenous zones, and why a kiss at her throat would make her shudder. It was a painful comprehension that carved a section out of his brain. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.

His fist went through the bathroom door and came away bleeding. She swallowed hard, as though the scent were making her salivate. He now understood what she'd been telling him all along. He had some insight into how these things that were hunting her did a blood transaction. He watched her literally pull her blind gaze away from his bloodied fist and begin rocking.

Yet, the more she rocked with tears streaming down her face, the more his pulse points lit with a desire that was nearly beyond his will to fight. Her bottom lip quivered and the sensation made him want to offer her his throat. She pressed her knees together tightly and dropped her head back; he felt the phantom sensation of entering her sweep through his groin so brutally that he had to hold on to the edge of the sink and breathe through his mouth.

"I never meant to hurt you," she said on a choked whisper. "I tried to tell you, tried to warn you that you needed protection… and whatever you're feeling, it wasn't a feeding seduction. I wanted to make love to you for who you are, not for what you have… not for your blood."

A sense of violation spiked his fury, as he bitterly understood that there was a difference between an outright attack, and a seduction to feed. He wanted in the worst way to believe what she'd said, but as he began to hear his own pulse in his ears and she quietly moaned in a way that sent a hard spasm through his groin, he just couldn't.

"You want me to open up a damned vein, Tara? Answer me, now! Is that what you want me to do?" A sob cut off his words. He looked at her as she blindly followed the sound of his voice. "Because if that's what you need, baby… I'll do it—just ask, but you come to me." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Don't ever go to that sonofabitch again!"