Instead Jacob tamped down a desire to break his fingers for touching his Mistress. Jesus, jealous of a soon-to-be-dead man who was re- sponding to a chemical inducement, like a drug. Compared to previous annual kills, she was hurrying it along. From Thomas he knew that in earlier years she'd enjoyed her prey, even spent most of the evening with him, taking her own carnal plea- sure while giving him the sensual experience of his life. She hadn't used compulsion or pheromones to anesthetize him until the actual kill moment. He knew enough about vampires, let alone his Mistress, to know that dallying with prey fulfilled a vampire's fetish for power and control. Holding a life in her hand before extinguishing it. The same way she might part her red, wet lips to blow out a flame and leave a room in darkness. They're predators, not minions of evil. He remembered his words to Gideon and used them to balance him now. All predators, though having to kill to survive, took some pleasure in the kill, for lack of a better word. A predator's nature was one of dominance, power. Each kill confirmed that dominance, the fine line between predator and monster, murderer. He believed his lady when she said this one life was all she took for her survival each year, but she might be incapa- ble of not deriving some pleasure from the act. Jesus, what was the matter with him? She was taking a man's life in order to prolong her own, not for her own selfish reasons, but be- cause she knew the lives of the vamps in her territory and the whole structure of vampire society might rest on how long she could main- tain the illusion of her power and existence. He understood that. But could Carl please just remove his fucking hand from her ass? You will never be comfortable with how I view your species . . . He closed his eyes. He wished she'd get it over with so he could just act, do something other than sit here and think about what was about to happen. When she turned the corner, he eased the car off the side street. They would cut through the park. She would draw Carl into the shadows of the trees. At that point, he would want nothing more than to be inside her. And she'd bite him . . .
She'd opened her mind to him now so he could follow her. Carl made a joke, a fairly good one, about the type of things a lady might encounter in the park at night. He was still feeling lust, his mind alive with the things he wanted to do with her, but through his lady's eyes Jacob noticed Carl simultaneously kept a lookout around them. Protective. Protective of her, a woman he'd only met a few moments ago, because he'd been raised a gentleman. Chivalrous. Jacob noticed she asked Carl nothing about himself. She kept the conversation on the present, the bar he was just at, the beauty of the night, how far his apartment was . . .
Reaching up, Lyssa caressed Carl Ronin's jaw with her fingers. "You are perhaps a little too good, " she murmured. He raised a brow. "Then tell me how I can be not so good. " She smiled. "Kiss me. " Lyssa brought his head down to her, stood on her toes as he framed her face, closed his eyes and brought their mouths together. He didn't rush it, demonstrating the prowess of a good, experienced lover. Leaning into him, she rubbed her abdomen against his aroused cock, signaling what she wanted. When he broke the kiss, lifting his head, she moved to his throat, licking him, nibbling. His arms tight- ened around her back, moving down to mold his palms over her ass and discover that stockings were all she wore. "Jesus, " he muttered. "You're a gift from Heaven. " "Or Hell, " she said soft ly. When he smiled against her hair, Lyssa felt the pull of it against her temple. She sank her fangs, slow and easy, into his skin, increased the hold of her arm around his back and waist as he jumped, startled. She shot a full measure of phero- mones into his bloodstream so the alarm was brief, vanishing as if it had never been. He groaned, jerking against her touch, the flood pushing him to a hard, brutal orgasm, dampness spreading across his trousers. She massaged him through his clothes, giving him the full measure of satisfaction as she began to drink. "I . . . Jesus, I'm sorry . . . Oh, God . . . "
"Sssh . . . There will be time for more. Let me just touch you . . . " Lyssa slid one hand to the side of his skull and cradled his jaw with the other, tilting his chin up. She rose on her toes, her fingers sliding into his hair to take a tighter hold.
Though he knew it didn't make sense, Jacob shut his eyes again, wishing he could shut out the image. Pain. So excruciating he thought somehow he'd connected to the man's mind and was learning a snapped neck was not as painless as it had always been supposed. But this was not Carl Ronin's pain. It was Lyssa's. Blinding, rocketing through her head, so fast and brutal she'd been unable to close her shields, something she'd never let happen before. Jacob received it full force through his own temples, in his gut where it gnashed like one of those sharp-toothed parasites in a space movie, tearing through the lining, loosening his bowels. Lights flashing . . . "Shields, my lady . . . " He was out of the car and trying to run, though he could barely see, staggering. "My lady . . . Shields. So I can . . . Help you . . . " He gasped it, heard her cry out, a scream of agony. Adrenaline shot through him, diluting the hold of the pain. His will kicked in to carry him through the crimson mist, his mind telling him this was psychological. She was experiencing the pain, not him. Only when the end came would the pain be real, since he would die with her. And this was not that moment, damn it. But his lady never cried out. No matter the pain he'd seen her suffer thus far, she kept quiet. The way a wild animal in pain kept silent, not wanting to draw the attention of another predator. One only cried out when one preferred a predator to end the pain instead of prolonging it. Somehow though, she heard him. Suddenly the pain throbbed away like fading strobe light, the nausea pushing one last, lingering sick wave through his stomach before it, too, dissipated. He length- ened his strides, coming over the hill that overlooked the copse of trees in the park they'd specifically chosen for its isolation.
Lyssa was collapsed on the ground, trying to struggle to a sitting position. Her hair was disheveled, dress rucked up from her col- lapse. As she lifted her head, the moonlight shone on her elongated fangs and reflected the red of her eyes that came through most strongly when she fed. Even from his distance, anyone would know she wasn't human. He saw Carl's hand was on his neck, fingers soaked with blood. He stared down at his shirt where drops had splattered. The flowing stream of it had turned his collar bright red. Slowly he raised his head, his eyes widening as he saw her fangs, the preternatural light in her eyes. He backpedaled, stumbled, turned and began to run. Jacob's gaze darted between him and his lady. Her head dropped, her body shuddering. Her strength apparently deserted her, for her arms went out from under her and she rolled to her side. Convul- sions shuddered through her, but even amidst her fogged, pain-filled brain, her mind spoke to him. Let him go. It doesn't matter. The rejuvenating blood of an annual kill combined with the third mark would give her more time, widen the space between the epi- sodes again. Give her more time to protect her territory. Maybe give her more time for something to change. Even a cure. Debra had said Brian thought they were close to something. Something, anything that would give him more time with her. He could feel his soul hanging in the balance, but didn't know what decision would damn or absolve it. He'd made an oath to protect her with his life. An oath she'd just exonerated him from. But she'd also told him that no matter what, he had to put her desire to protect her territory, her people, first. Let him go . . . His attention went back to her, curled on the ground, suffering. His lady. His feet were in motion before he even realized he was moving, and then he was running. A lean, strong man, skimming low over the grass of the tended park where children came to play and lovers to tryst, lying on picnic blankets and drinking wine. Where people brought a book to read.