“Are you okay?”
He winced. “My head is f**king killing me.” He cupped his throbbing forehead in a palm. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to speak so crudely.”
“I’ve said worse, stuck in traffic.”
His lips twitched. Only Jenna could make him smile when things looked so damned grim. It was one of the reasons he loved her despite all of the monumental obstacles littering their path. “You know what the ironic thing is?”
“What?”
“If this battle had not taken place, I would have told you everything last night.”
The bedding rustled as Jenna rose on the other side of the bed.
“I know it sounds like I’m just saying that to cover my ass, but it was your night off. If we couldn’t be alone here, I was going to boot Sheldon out of my place and . . .” He shook his head. “I wanted so badly to make love to you, but didn’t feel right doing so without first telling you the truth.”
Jenna circled the bed and stood no more than a foot away from him. “Is that why you held back whenever we . . . ?”
“Kissed?” He studied her beautiful face, following the lovely line of her neck down to her full br**sts. “Touched?” Despite the lethargy that plagued him, Richart felt his pulse leap and his body harden as memories of slipping his hands beneath her shirt, unfastening her bra, and filling his palms with that soft, silky flesh flitted through his mind. Dragging the cloth up and closing his lips over the tights buds. Hearing her moan and feeling her clutch him tightly in response.
Squeezing his eyes closed, he turned his head aside.
“Richart? What’s wrong? Is it your head?”
He shook his head. “It’s my eyes.”
“Are they hurting?”
This was so not the time for his nature to assert itself. “No, it’s . . .” A huff of frustration escaped him. “They glow when I’m in the grips of strong emotion and—trust me when I say I realize now is not the time for this—but just the thought of making love with you . . .”
He jumped when her small, cool fingers touched his jaw and turned his face back toward her.
“Let me see,” she coaxed.
He did as bidden.
Her hazel eyes brightened, illuminated by the amber glow emanating from his own.
She raised her other hand, cupped his face in both, and studied him with such painful intensity that he forgot to breathe. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered.
A lump rose in his throat. “Don’t fear me, Jenna.”
Amusement lit her features. “It’s kind of hard to be afraid of a vampire who apologizes for using harsh language in front of a lady.”
Could he really be so lucky? “I’m not a vampire.”
“And I’m not a lady.” She motioned to the bed. “Stop worrying about how I’ll react, sit down before you fall down, and explain all of this to me.” She started to step back, then paused. “Wait. Scratch that. I need to do something first.” Slipping her arms around his waist, she pressed her face to his chest and hugged him close.
Heart pounding, Richart wrapped his arms around her.
“There was a moment last night,” she murmured, “when I thought you were dead. You lost consciousness and your chest stopped rising. I couldn’t find a pulse.” Her hold tightened. “I’ve only felt that overwhelming despair and helplessness once in my life, when police showed up at my door and told me John’s father had been killed in a car accident.” She burrowed closer, her breath warm on his chest. “I don’t ever want to feel that way again.”
Richart buried his face in her hair. “I’m sorry.”
Many long moments passed while they clung to each other.
Sighing, Jenna loosened her hold and looked up at him. “Feelings that deep aren’t going to dissolve overnight because I found out your eyes are prettier and your teeth are sharper than I thought they were.”
Richart dipped his head and captured her lips with his own, pouring everything he felt into the contact until both were breathless.
When she placed a hand on his chest and applied gentle pressure, he reluctantly withdrew.
“I need you to explain everything to me before we get too distracted.”
Nodding, he sank onto the bed, stretched his legs out, and leaned back against the headboard, then pulled her down beside him, catching and holding her hand.
“Now they’re even brighter,” she said, her eyes locking on his with fascination.
“You do that to me,” he admitted. “I’ve had a hell of a time hiding it from you.”
Swiveling to face him, she sat with her legs crossed and toyed with his fingers. “So . . . how old are you?”
He grimaced. “Two hundred and thirty.”
She shook her head. “I feel so stupid for making such a big deal out of being older than you.”
“Please don’t. I was the one who feared you would reject me if you knew my true age.”
She offered him a small smile. “I won’t lie. If you actually looked your age, I wouldn’t have given you a second glance.”
He laughed. “I don’t blame you.”
“How can you be so . . . ?”
“Old and young at the same time?”
She nodded. “And not be a vampire? I mean, the fangs . . .”
“I’m infected with a virus. A very rare symbiotic virus that behaves like no other on the planet. We don’t know where it originated. We know only that it first conquers, then replaces the immune system, lending those infected with it far greater strength, speed, and regenerative capabilities. It heightens our senses, causes extreme photosensitivity, and . . . we don’t age. Essentially, we are immortal, and call ourselves such.”
Jenna stared at him, her thoughts reeling. “A virus.”
“Yes, one that can only be transmitted through a bite.”
“Do you drink blood?”
“I do require frequent infusions of blood. The virus depletes my body’s supply as it repairs damage. But I don’t drink it. During my transformation, I grew a pair of retractable fangs that function like IV needles. When I bite into a blood bag, my fangs siphon the blood directly into my veins.”
“Do you ever bite people?”
“We all did before we were able to collect and store blood donations in our own blood banks. But we never frightened or killed the donors.” He grimaced. “Well, not unless they were fiends who preyed upon the innocent.”