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Turning away from the dresser, she began to pace again. What was Rane doing up there? She knew he needed blood to heal, but it was hours until sunset. Was he in pain? Did he need to sleep and if so, where would he rest now that she was in the lair? The curtains were open upstairs. What if the sun found him?
Fear shot through her. What if the Werewolf that attacked her hadn’t been alone? What if there were more of them, waiting outside? Rane was alone upstairs, wounded and helpless.
Spurred by her concern for his safety, she unlocked the door and bolted up the stairs. “Rane!”
She ran into the kitchen and skidded to a stop. The back door stood open. There was no sign of him.
Surely he hadn’t gone outside! Taking a deep breath, she went to the door and took a quick look at the patio and the yard. There was no sign of him out there, either.
Closing the door, Savanah turned the lock, then glanced at the floor. For the first time, she noticed the spatters of blood on the tile, as if he had dragged himself out of the room.
She followed the crimson trail out of the kitchen and down the hall, thinking it was a good thing Mara had chosen tile for the hallway instead of the beige carpet that covered the floor in the living room.
The blood spots ended at a door under the staircase. Savanah stood there a moment, her heart hammering in her chest and then, with a hand that trembled, she opened the door, revealing a combination closet and storage area. A few coats hung on a wooden pole. She couldn’t see anything beyond that.
“Rane? Are you in there?”
A low growl rose up from the darkness. And then she saw his eyes, eyes that burned red with need. “I told you…to stay…away.”
“I can’t.”
He growled at her again, a sound filled with soul-deep pain and need. A sound that tore at her heart even as fear of the unknown rose up within her once again.
She took a step into the darkness, and then another, her love and concern stronger than the fear that screamed in her mind, urging her to turn around and run back down to Mara’s lair as fast as her feet could carry her.
She could hear him breathing now, the sound ragged and uneven, loud in the stillness. She shrieked as his hand shot out and closed over her wrist, his grip like iron.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded gruffly.
She forced the words through lips gone dry. “You need blood.”
“Are you offering?”
She nodded, wishing she could see his face, and then glad that she couldn’t. The tone of his voice frightened her anew. He didn’t sound like her Rane, but a stranger. A stranger whose eyes burned into hers, threatening to steal her very soul.
“Savanah.” Her name was torn from his throat as he dragged her across the floor and into his embrace.
“Rane…please…” She fought down her terror. “Please don’t…hurt me.”
But he was beyond hearing. With a savage growl, he jerked her off balance. She tumbled into his lap, crying out as his arms imprisoned her. His breath skimmed over her face, her neck, and then she felt his fangs, cold and sharp against her skin, and knew she was going to die.
Trapped in the darkness, unable to move, she closed her eyes and waited for death, only to be jarred to full awareness when, with a vile oath, he pushed her away. Confused, she scuttled out of his reach, her hand lifting to her neck. And then she felt it, the cool touch of the silver chain that had belonged to her mother.
His curses continued to fill the air.
And suddenly, in spite of his earlier warning, she knew what she had to do. Gaining her feet, she backed up until she stood in the hallway. “Come to me, Rane.”
Mocking laughter tinged with pain and despair rang out.
“Rane, come and drink.”
She jumped when he suddenly loomed over her.
“Are you courting death, Miss Gentry?” he asked, his voice harsh. “Isn’t one close call a day enough for you?”
Squaring her shoulders, she met his mocking gaze. His T-shirt was in tatters, there was blood smeared across his mouth and splattered across his chest and arms and down the front of his jeans. His skin was blistered wherever the sun’s light had touched him. He looked scary as hell.
She took a deep breath, and then lifted the silver chain over her head and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans.
Rane stared at her through narrowed eyes as she tucked the cross out of sight. What the hell was she doing? Not long ago, he had told her to put it on and keep it on. She might be dead now if she hadn’t followed his advice.
“Savanah, no.”
“You need blood.” Brushing her hair away from her neck, she turned her head to the side. “Take what you need.”
He clenched his hands into tight fists. “Dammit, Savanah, do you know what you’re doing?” He closed his eyes, trying to control his hunger, to breathe through the pain that burned through him with every breath.
“I’m not leaving. It’s my fault you’re hurting. If I’d listened to you…”
He stroked her cheek, his gaze moving to the hollow of her throat.
“I’m not leaving,” she said again.
“All right.” Taking her hand in his, he turned it over, then stroked the vein in her left wrist with his fingertips. “Don’t let me drink for more than a few minutes.”
Savanah frowned at him. “But…” She lifted a hand to her throat. “I thought…”
He shook his head. He could take more, faster, from the vein in her neck, but he didn’t trust himself to stop. Drinking from her wrist would take longer and be less satisfying, but it was safer for her.
He could hear the fierce pounding of her heart, smell her fear.
“Tiger heart,” he murmured, and lifted her wrist to his lips.
Chapter Thirty
Deep in the fertile earth of the Nile Valley, Mara stirred, then woke, all her senses alert. Werewolf blood had been spilled at her lair in the mountains. Closing her eyes, she reached out into the universe, her preternatural senses narrowing, sharpening, focusing on her mountain retreat. Rane was there. A mortal woman was there. And death was there.
She knew a rarely experienced moment of fear. Had Rane been destroyed? But no, she would have felt an emptiness deep inside if he had ceased to exist.
She concentrated on the blood link that bound them together, let herself experience what he was feeling. He was wounded, in agony from the touch of the sun’s light on preternatural flesh. Stubborn, foolish man. Had he not denied the gift she had once offered, the sun would have no effect on him. She wondered what he had been doing outside during the day, wondered if she should go to him.
