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“Stop!” He caught her shoulders and shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth. She was no longer sure who was in the greatest danger. “Pintura, you must calm down—”
“Stay away from me! You’re bleeding!” She hated him, but never wanted to hurt anyone. She just wanted him to let her go. She needed to call the cops. “What did you give me?” She had to be on drugs. This had to be some terrible acid trip. “Help! Somebody help me!”
He roughly shook her again. “Delilah! Hush!”
She whimpered, tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t know what was happening to her. It was like her body was no longer her own.
His hold on her gentled and he pulled her stiff body close, pressing her ear to his chest. It was then she understood the thumping had been the pounding of his heart.
“Hush, now,” he whispered.
She trembled under his touch, incapable of softening as he attempted to soothe her.
“Be calm, pintura, it’s all right. Everything is all right.”
Shock took over and she shivered, her panic drifting to the back corner of her mind as a sort of numbness took hold. He carried her back to the bed and laid her down. She blinked at the plain walls and ceiling, salvaging whatever was left of her sanity. Her brain moved under a fog of subconsciousness.
He wiped her mouth with a damp cloth. She watched him as if in a trance and said nothing.
When her face was clean, he tucked her under the covers. “You must rest, little one. Sleep will do you well.”
She was going to die here. Inexplicable confusion convinced her that some memories had been moved or implanted because her actions were not her own, and the timeline she had to work with didn’t make sense. Was she some sort of government experiment, in some strange incubation period where they stripped away her past habits and conditioned her for a new life?
She tried to scream, but there was a disconnect between her brain and vocal cords. She couldn’t push through the weighted calm, even when her brain knew she should be panicking. She never felt so out of control of her own autonomy, so frightened, so certain she was not herself, but trapped in her body—or a body that felt almost like her own.
His fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and he looked down at her, concern weighing heavily in his eyes. “Rest, little one.”
Giving in to his command, her mind shut down. She surrendered to the oblivion of sleep with the lingering hope that this was all a terrible dream and when she awoke, the nightmare would be over.
CHAPTER 4
Consumed by concern, Christian paced, worried for his mate’s well-being. The female was nothing like he expected. Since the start of his symptoms, he accepted his inevitable fate and set out to conquer the challenges ahead with absolute determination. But claiming his mate had been an absolute disaster.
He didn’t regret keeping his calling to himself. He was an elder. He knew how such things worked. The outcome was inescapable and the risks were great, so he moved with haste and did what was necessary.
“You mustn’t fight God’s will, little one,” he’d whispered softly, wiping away the last of his blood from her lips as she stared up at him, her mind in some sort of shock that kept even her most unguarded thoughts quiet and at bay.
Whenever he sensed her conscience waking, she would mentally push her attention to objects in the room, mentally listing each one. Chair. Pitcher. Curtain. Hat. He suspected it was some sort of coping mechanism.
She was terrified, of him, but also of things he’d yet to discover in her memories. Someone had hurt her and he wanted to know who.
He winced, considering his actions. He’d hurt her. Having never shared any sort of emotional attachment to another, he wasn’t expecting this deep-rooted self-doubt or irrational need to please her. No. He would not go down that road of regrets and possibilities. He’d made his decision and the messy deed was done. It was for her own good, end of story. If he’d waited and tried to reason with her, they might have run out of time and run into real problems.
Her even heartbeat assured she was calm. He quietly observed her, finally able to let this new reality settle in.
Her beauty—when she wasn’t screaming like a banshee or swearing like a heathen—was unmatched. Her soft, lily-white flesh against her long, dark lashes gave her the look of an antique doll. The marks on her body were unexpected, as he hadn’t noticed such markings in his dreams, but he was coming to like them.
She had a vibrancy about her that was all her own. It was sinful to enjoy such showiness, but in private, between only the two of them, there could be no sin.
