“I don’t want anything from him!”
“Take it. It comes from me, not him.” His gaze moved over her face, as if to memorize every line. “I am sorry for the pain I caused you. Had I stayed out of your life, none of this would have happened. Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. You saved me from my uncle. I’ve loved the time we had together.” She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. “And I love you.”
His hand slid down her cheek, his fingers curling around her nape, gently drawing her closer, closer. Murmuring her name, he pressed his lips to hers.
Holding the candle out to the side, she placed her free hand on his shoulder and closed her eyes. His kiss was so tender, so filled with longing, that it brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes.
Knowing he would not be alone with her again, Drake kissed her harder, deeper, his tongue tasting the sweetness of hers while a voice in the back of his mind urged him to defy his sire, to hold fast to Elena and will the two of them back to Wolfram even though he knew it would be madness. There was no escape. If he defied Rodin again, his sire would hunt him down and destroy him, and Elena, too.
She moaned softly as his tongue tangled with hers. The sound, filled with yearning, fired his desire and he kissed her again and yet again, his rising desire igniting his hunger. His fangs extended. One sharp tip grazed her tongue. The taste of her blood roared through him. It had been days since he’d fed. Need rose up within him, urging him to drag her closer, to drink his fill and, in so doing, ease the dreadful agony that ebbed and flowed with every breath.
Cursing the bars that separated them, he slid his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, his fingers curling over her wrist. He could feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath his fingertips, hear the quick tattoo of her heartbeat.
Why not take what he so desperately needed? He lifted her arm, ran his tongue over her palm to her wrist. The scent of her warm, living blood called to him, enflaming his hunger, promising an end to his pain. The beating of her heart was like sweet music to his ears. His hand tightened on her arm as his fangs teased the tender skin of her wrist.
“Drake . . . Drake! Stop!”
He was breathing heavily now, the urge to feed riding him with whip and spurs.
Elena struggled in his grasp. She would willingly have given him what he needed, but he wasn’t going to allow her that option. He was going to take what he wanted. For the first time since she had met him, she was in sudden fear for her life.
Muttering, “Forgive me,” he bit down, his fangs piercing the tender skin on the inside of her wrist.
Exclaiming, “Forgive me!” Elena jabbed the candle’s flame against his neck.
With a howl, he released her and backed away, one hand slapping at the scorched cloth of his shirt collar.
“I’m sorry!” she cried. “So sorry!”
“Go.” He forced the word out through clenched teeth. “Go now!”
Sobbing, Elena turned on her heel and bolted up the stairs as if all the hounds of hell were barking at her heels.
She didn’t stop running until she was safely in her room, with the door locked.
Chapter 18
“She was here.” It was not a question.
Drake nodded. There was no point in lying. Rodin could detect Elena’s scent in the air as easily as he.
“You promised not to try to see her.”
Drake glanced at his surroundings—the thick iron bars, the stone floor, the corpse of the large brown rat in the next cell—before he stated the obvious. “She came to me.”
“You expect me to believe you did not summon her? That she found you without any help?”
Drake shrugged. “Believe what you will.”
Rodin lifted his head and sniffed the air. “You drank from her.”
Drake’s hands curled around the bars, his knuckles going white as he tightened his grip. “I tried.”
Rodin grunted softly as he caught the faint odor of burnt cloth. “Are you ready to feed?”
Drake nodded. He was certain Elena would never return to the dungeon, but if she did, he needed to be in control of his hunger.
“I will send one of the sheep to you,” Rodin said, approval in his voice. “Is there anyone in particular you would care for?”
“ No.”
“I have arranged for a meeting between you and Katiya for tomorrow night.”
Drake took a deep breath. Then, knowing it was useless, he asked, “Is there nothing I can say or do to change your mind about this?”
“You are my eldest son. You should have taken your rightful place at the head of the Council centuries ago.”
“Let Olaf take my place as head of the Council. He has made no secret of the fact he wants it. I do not.”
Rodin uttered a short, pithy curse. “I thought we had come to terms on this!”
“Yes, your terms!”
“Did I not agree to your stipulations regarding the woman?”
Drake snorted. “My stipulations? Keeping her safe is nothing more than she deserves. I brought her here as a guest. I expected you to treat her as such.”
“Be careful your weakness does not become your undoing.”
Drake shook his head. “Be careful your arrogance does not become yours.”
“We are much alike,” Rodin remarked as he turned to leave. “Perhaps too much.” He paused, speaking over his shoulder. “Very well,” he said curtly. “I will appoint Olaf as head of the Council until you come to your senses.”
Drake stared after his sire. Rodin had changed in the years since Drake had last seen him, but then, change was inevitable, even for vampires.
It was near midnight when the drone known as Number Ten entered the dungeon, with one of the sheep in tow. Drake regarded the girl impassively as the drone unlocked the door.
“Her name is Sophie,” the drone said, and thrust her into the cell.
She was tall and slender, with long brown hair and timid gray eyes. He guessed her to be no more than fifteen or sixteen. Had he ever been that young? At the moment, he felt every one of his five hundred years.
He grunted softly as her clean feminine scent filled his nostrils. It was forbidden for vampires who were old enough to reproduce to mate with the sheep. It would be doubly forbidden for him, he mused glumly. He was to save his seed for Katiya in hopes she would conceive and bear a son.
But it wasn’t Sophie’s body he wanted, tempting as that might be. It was the blood he could hear whispering through her veins.