Intending to rise, she gathered her power around her, only to realize there was no need. He had found nourishment in the woman. And, more than that, he had found love. Perhaps the woman would heal the hurt in Rane’s soul and take him home.
Love…The word lingered in her mind. She closed her eyes and the image of a man she had known aeons ago rose from the depths of her memory. Hektor. She banished his image and forced herself to think of Kyle instead. Hektor was past history, but Kyle was here, now. He would be waiting for her this evening when the sun set. Perhaps tonight she would discover why her skin tingled whenever they touched. It could be nothing more than physical attraction, she mused, but something told her it was more than that.
Nothing perked up an affair like a hint of mystery.
Smiling faintly, she drifted away into the darkness of oblivion.
Chapter Thirty-One
Pleasure flowed through Savanah as Rane eased his thirst. Odd, that it didn’t hurt, that she wasn’t more repulsed by what he was doing. She should be shocked, horrified. She should be trying to kill him.
If she didn’t stop him soon, he would kill her. “Rane, that’s enough.”
He looked up at her, his mouth still pressed tightly against her wrist.
“Rane, stop.” She pulled the cross from her pocket and lifted it so he could see it.
With a hiss, he released her arm, and then turned his back to her. He took several deep breaths, his shoulders shaking.
Savanah stared at what she could see of his back through his ruined shirt. Blood was supposed to heal the Undead, but as far as she could see, there didn’t seem to be any improvement. His skin was still red and puckered in some places, singed and black in others.
Puzzled, she asked, “Why didn’t it work?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why aren’t you healing?”
“It takes longer to heal the effects of the sun,” he replied, still refusing to look at her.
She grunted softly, thinking she still had a lot to learn about the Undead. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.”
“Rane?”
“I need to get cleaned up.”
She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. She wondered if he was angry with her, and then realized that he was ashamed, embarrassed because she had seen him at his worst.
Savanah watched him walk away, noting again that he moved soundlessly across the floor. She stood there long after he was out of sight, wondering what effect this last incident would have on their relationship. After slipping the chain over her head, she rummaged through the linen closet for a sheet. She was about to go outside and cover the body in the patio when her good sense reasserted itself. He could rot out there for all she cared.
Dropping the sheet over the back of a chair, Savanah folded her arms under her br**sts. She wasn’t going out there alone. The way she felt now, she might never go outside again. Moving to the kitchen window, she stared at the body. It was grotesque. In movies, dead Werewolves always reverted to their human state. But this wasn’t a movie. The Werewolf lay sprawled on his back, his face set in a rictus of pain. Hair still sprouted on the backs of his hands, grew thickly on his forearms. His face and clothing were spattered with blood. What if he wasn’t really dead, but playing possum? What were they going to do with the body? Should she call the police? Maybe she should discuss it with Rane first.
With a sigh, she grabbed a dish towel, and began scrubbing the blood from the tile.
Rane stripped off his bloody jeans and ruined T-shirt and stepped under the hard spray of the shower. Closing his eyes, he relived the last hour.
He had been resting in Mara’s lair when Savanah’s terrified cry had reached his ears. Reacting on instinct, he had flown up the stairs and, following the sound of her heartbeat, he had run out the back door in time to see a giant of a man slam her against the side of the house. Oblivious to the sun’s light and his own danger, he had pulled the Werewolf off of Savanah. Had the sun been down, there would have been no contest between them. He would have killed the Werewolf with no more thought or energy than it took to swat a fly. But the sun had been high in the sky, its light burning his flesh, leeching his strength, leaving him weak and vulnerable. He had ignored the pain of his singed flesh, the threat to his own life, his only thought to save the woman he loved.
He laughed humorlessly. In the end, it had been she who had saved his life. Foolish woman, he had almost killed her in return. Had it not been for the heavy silver chain around her neck, there was every chance that she would now be dead, another victim of his insatiable thirst.
He had sworn to protect her. How could he face her again after what he had done? Stepping out of the shower, he reached for a towel and went into the bedroom, only to stop short when he saw Savanah sitting cross-legged in the middle of Mara’s bed.
She looked up when he entered the room. He noticed she had changed her clothes. His blood had undoubtedly ruined what she had been wearing earlier.
He had rarely been at a loss for words, but they failed him now. What could he say to her after what he had done, what she had seen?
“I didn’t thank you for saving my life,” Savanah said, her gaze not quite meeting his.
“I think you’ve got that backward.”
“Maybe we saved each other.”
“Yeah, and then I tried to repay you by ripping your throat out.”
“Rane, you’re exaggerating.”
He shook his head, the pain thrumming through his singed flesh as nothing compared to the self-loathing he felt for what he had tried to do, what he would have done if his fingers hadn’t brushed the thick silver chain circling her slender neck.
He stilled when she rose and walked toward him. “Don’t.”
She stopped, her brow furrowed. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t come any closer.”
“You’re still hurting, aren’t you? Is there anything else I can do?”
He groaned low in his throat. Was the woman insane? Not thirty minutes ago he had tried to kill her and she had still given him her blood, and now she wanted to do more. There was only one thing that would help. Surely she knew that.
Savanah’s heart went out to him. She knew he was hurting, and not just physically. She could see the guilt in his eyes, knew he was berating himself for what he had done. She couldn’t deny that he had frightened her badly, that for a moment she had been certain he was going to drain her dry, but even as scared as she had been, she had understood what drove him. He was like an addict, driven by a need he couldn’t always control.