A figure that was not Lerina had moved through the door way and into the chamber. Dimitri’s labored breath caught. This was new. This was—
Maia.
Was he dreaming it? Hallucinating now, his brain turned to mush? He was too weak to even discern her scent.
But no, the glance of moonlight over that amazing bronze-gold hair and elegant nose confirmed his worst fears.
No, no, no! What are you doing here, foolish blasted woman?
He struggled violently, but nothing moved but for the intent, deep inside.
She didn’t see him at first; the room was dim and he was too weak to make a sound. But then she did, for she cried out and rushed to his side, dropping whatever she’d had in her hands.
“My God,” she whispered, suddenly there in front of him, close enough that he could smell her at last.
Such a clean, welcoming perfume after hours of his own blood and sweat mingled with the desperate essence of Lerina. His eyes hooded as he drank in the pure, fresh pleasure.
“What has she— Oh, God.” Her hands were everywhere, peeling away the blood-soaked shirt that hung from his shoulders, tugging at the rubies that bound him to the chair. When she lifted the necklace that had settled against him he was at last able to draw in a complete breath.
Even once he was loosened from the ruby manacles, Dimitri found he couldn’t move. He sagged in the chair, at once infuriated by his weakness and focusing on gathering up strength again. Trying to lift even a finger was impossible.
She’d taken much blood from him. Much. Too much, and the hours encapsulated in his Asthenia had drained him to little more than a loose pile of skin and bones.
Dimitri tried to speak, and managed only to say, “A…way.”
He was trying to tell her to take the rubies that she’d tossed to the floor away, far away, but Maia misunderstood. “I’m not going anywhere, you idiot man. Look at you.” There were tears in her voice, and fear, as well. “You need water. Something.”
Water was not what he needed.
No indeed.
Dimitri closed his eyes. Now that the incessant pain had ebbed a bit, his body was reawakening in a different way. Warmth stirred deep inside him, flowering into need. Soon, once he recovered his strength, it would be uncontrollable. No. Not now.
Maia—there was no use forcing himself to think of her as Miss Woodmore any longer; that shield was gone—had moved into the shadows and he dimly heard a dull clink. The next thing he knew, she was back, holding a pitcher.
It was a wonder there was any water left in it, after Lerina had dumped it on his head or splashed it in his face numerous times in an effort to awaken him. Perhaps she’d replenished it. Regardless, the cool water had been the highlight of his experience here, and now Maia applied it in a much gentler fashion that made his skin heat and leap.
She’d torn off a piece of sheet that covered a chair and used the wet cloth to mop up the grime and blood from his face. Dimitri closed his eyes, allowing the cool rivulets to trickle down his jaw and neck, concentrating on gathering what little energy he still possessed.
The room wavered and tilted, still tinged a dull red, due to his great loss of blood as well as the proximity of the rubies. He attempted to lift his head, but his best effort ended with him merely rolling from one side to the other.
How the hell am I going to get her out of here?
“My God,” Maia said again when she got to the top of his shoulder, where Lerina had bit. And then her breathing changed into another unsteady rhythm when she saw the other shoulder, the bite at its corner, and then down to his left biceps. Also wounded and oozing blood from Lerina’s pleasure.
He tried to snatch the rag from her hands, to clean himself up, but Maia was too quick and strong and she batted his hands away as if they were gnats. And so he was reluctantly complicit, so aware of every brush from her fingers, every waft of flower and spice from her sagging hair…the warmth of her body as she bent toward him, the dark shadow down between her br**sts. The sensual arch of her neck.
“Corvindale,” she said suddenly, sharply, and he opened his eyes, realizing he’d started to tumble back into the depths of darkness…but this time, the depths had been warm heat, filled with her scent and silky skin. “What do you need? What can I do?” she asked, tugging uselessly at him, obviously trying to get him up out of the chair.
He looked at her, his veins surging with hope and heat, his fangs swelling inside his gums. His breathing was ragged and he could hardly focus the words. “Ru…bies…away,” he managed to say.
She stumbled back, chagrin on her face. “Oh,” she said, anger in her voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” Her voice faded and he heard the soft sounds of the gems being gathered up. She hesitated, looking around the room as if uncertain what to do with them, but before he could gather up the strength to tell her, she rushed toward the door and went through it.
When she came back, her hands were empty and by then, Dimitri was actually breathing. His fingers had moved and the pain had centered back on his Mark, where he was used to it.
“Is that better?” she asked, coming closer to him. Too close.
His nose twitched as he inhaled her and a shudder rumbled through him. He wasn’t strong enough to push himself out of the chair, to stand…he needed blood. He needed sustenance.
Dimitri managed to nod and tried to tell her to stay back, but she kept moving closer.
“Let me look at you,” she said, right in front of him. She was examining the cuts on his cheeks. Her skirt brushed against the arm of the chair, where his ineffectual hand rested. “And I see that you can’t even stand.”
He tried to growl a warning and an argument, nothing but a dull groan escaped. She touched his face where the ruby had sliced his cheek. Dimitri closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness.
Never, never had a woman affected him so.
A little shudder raced through his limbs, turning into something hot and powerful and needy. When he opened his eyes, she was very close. Her cheek, smooth and white, a breath away. That intriguing scent filled his space and a lock of hair hung just in front of his gaze.
“Maia,” he whispered, turning his face away. “Get…away.”
14
IN WHICH INTRODUCTIONS PROVE UNNECESSARY
Maia heard the note in his voice when he said her name, and the tone made her insides plummet. It was a horrible combination of loathing and desperation. His eyes were hooded and shadowed, and she could see little but the dark shapes of them and the wounds on his face.