Inching closer, mouth gone dry, he said, "I doona ken how to care for you, but you will tell me. And this will no' happen again."
"I don't want your attentions. You...you frighten me."
Of course he frightened her - his rages left even him shaken. "I understand. Now, come down. I know you doona want to die."
She glanced over her shoulder at the waxing moon rising, giving him her flawless profile. A gust pushed her hair across her neck. In all his years, he'd never seen such a preternatural scene as her pale skin against her blood-red gown with the moon glowing behind her.
She didn't answer, only exhaled wearily, swaying.
"Look at me." She didn't - she glanced down. "Look at me!"
She seemed to wake up, her brows drawing together, her eyes bleak. "I just want to go home," she said in a small voice.
"You will. I vow you'll go home." To your new home. "Just help me get to mine."
"If I help you, you swear you'll release me?"
Never. "Aye."
"You won't hurt me?"
"No, I will no' hurt you."
"Can you make that promise? You can't seem to...control yourself."
"Every hour I gain control." Because of her? "And know that I doona want to hurt you." That, at least, was now true. He thought.
"You won't do those...th-things to me again?"
"I will no' unless you want me to." He held out his hand to her. "Do we have an agreement?"
She didn't take it, but after several agonizing moments, she did come down with a bizarre movement. She stepped down as if she were strolling and had stepped from a curb without breaking stride.
He gave her shoulders a shake. "Doona ever do that again." He had an odd urge to squeeze the vampire to his chest, and set her away.
She looked down. "I won't. Unless it's a better alternative."
He glowered at that. "Do we have an agreement?"
When she nodded, he wondered if it was only the position he'd forced upon her that had made her agree, or was it more? He'd thought he might have seen compassion in her eyes for just a brief moment when he'd admitted his imprisonment.
"Then we leave tonight for Scotland."
Her lips parted. "I can't go to Scotland! I was going to direct you. Or at least, MapQuest was," she added in a mumble. "How would you plan to get there without burning me alive?" She was clearly panicked. "I-I can't travel easily. No commercial planes. No trains. The sun..."
"I've secured a car. We'll drive there." He was pleased by how casual he sounded, since a week ago he hadn't known what a bloody car was. "And stop well before sunrise each day. A man downstairs mapped it out for me."
"You know how to drive? You acted as though you'd never even seen a car - "
"No, I doona know how to drive, but I'm guessing you do."
"I've only driven short jaunts from home."
"Ever been to the Highlands?"
"Uh, no - "
"Ever want to?"
"Who doesn't - ?"
"Then, vampire, you'll be going with me."
Emma lifted an unsteady hand to her hair and pulled a hank in front of her face. She stared in horror.
Streaked. By the sun.
He'd left her to shower and dress, and alone in the bathroom, she gaped at the vivid evidence of how close she'd come to dying. Dropping her hair, she slid off her nightgown and twisted in the mirror to assess her skin.
It was unharmed now, pale and healed - unlike the last time. She glanced at the back of her hand, growing nauseated. Thank Freya, the memory of her burn was mercifully hazy as usual.
Though she couldn't recollect specifics, she'd learned her lesson well, avoiding the sun for nearly sixty-seven years, yet near dawn she'd passed out before she could either escape this Lachlain or beg him to shut the curtains.
Shivering, Emma turned on the shower and stepped in, avoiding the broken marble. She still sensed his presence from the night before. She could almost feel his hands skimming over her wet skin, his finger pressing full inside her, his powerful body shuddering and tensing as she'd stroked him.
When she turned in the shower, the water sprayed her sensitive br**sts, making her ni**les hard - In a flash, the memory of waking under his mouth hit her.
She'd struck out at him with such violence because she'd been confused and frightened. Yet she'd also been nearer to orgasm than she had in her entire life. She was a weak woman, because for the briefest second the temptation to lie there docile and let her knees fall open to accept his fierce kiss had been nearly overwhelming. Even now she found herself wet.
For him. She was bewildered by her response. She wondered how she would react to him if he wasn't debating killing her.
At least now she knew why he was so savage. Besides clearly having issues, he was a Lykae, considered a ruthless menace by even the lowliest in the Lore. She recalled what her aunts had taught her about them.
Each Lykae housed a wolflike "beast" inside, like a possession. This rendered them immortal and made them crave and appreciate the elementals: food, touch, sex. But, as she'd seen tonight and the night before, it also could make a Lykae unable to control its ferocity, a ferocity their kind willingly unleashed during sex, reveling in scratching, biting, and marking flesh in a frenzy. Which had always sounded hellish to Emma - a being cursed with fragility and a deep-seated fear of pain.