Suddenly overcome with an irrational need to touch him, she sifted her fingers through his hair, ran her fingertips along his sculpted cheekbones, then lowered her hand to trace the width of his shoulders, the rock-hard planes of his chest and flat belly.
He never stirred. Was he really dead while he slept, or merely trapped in the darkness, aware of what went on around him, but unable to respond? She couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to be sucked down into oblivion with every sunrise. True, she was compelled to change into a wolf when the moon was full, but it was something she enjoyed. And it was only one night a month. Unlike movies and books, she didn’t turn into a ravening monster that killed everything that crossed her path, although deer and rabbits were fair game.
There were advantages to being a werewolf, though she was only half wolf. Even in her human form, her senses were sharper than those of mere mortals. Werewolves aged more slowly than humans, and healed more quickly.
Rising, she paced the floor. Gideon’s plan had to work. It was bad enough being caged as a human; she had no idea what effect it would have on her in her wolf form. During the full moon, she had always been in the wild, free to run and hunt to her heart’s content. Who knew how she would react if she couldn’t escape? She had never attacked anyone before, but then, she had never been in close quarters with a human—or a vampire—when the moon was full.
She paced until her legs ached and then she sank down on the floor and buried her face in her hands. She was hungry, so hungry. And thirsty …
Ever so slowly, she lifted her head and stared at Gideon. He drank from her to sustain his life. What if she drank from him?
The mere idea turned her stomach. It was one thing to eat raw meat in her wolf form, quite another to sink her human teeth into mortal—well, almost mortal—flesh.
Her stomach growled loudly. With a low groan, she curled up on the hard, cold floor and cried herself to sleep.
Warmth, pressing against his side. The scent of blood and woman. Not yet fully awake, Gideon was still aware that Kay was lying beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, one of her legs flung over his.
Slowly, he slid his hand along her side, lingering at the warm swell of her breast beneath his palm. Three years since he had lain with a woman. Three long years of abstinence. Vampires were sensual creatures by nature. With their preternatural senses, everything was enhanced—taste, smell, touch. Especially touch. He groaned softly, remembering how soft and sweet her lips had been. Turning his head, he captured her mouth with his, felt his desire roar to life.
Tamping down his hunger, he drew back, frowning when he noticed how pale she looked, how shallow her breathing, how irregular her heartbeat. She hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since Verah had brought her here; last night he had taken more than he should have, which had weakened her still more.
“Kiya?” He shook her lightly. “Kiya, wake up.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze unfocused. “Mark?”
“No.” Dammit, he knew he had taken too much. And who the hell was Mark? “It’s me. Gideon.”
She blinked at him. “Gideon?”
Cursing under his breath, he bit into his wrist, then held the wound to her lips. “Drink this.”
She wanted to refuse, but she was so thirsty. And there was nothing else. She forced down a swallow, gagged, and turned her head to the side.
“Look at me, Kiya.” He captured her gaze with his own. “What’s your favorite drink?”
“Hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon and lots of whipped cream on top.”
“Okay, that’s what this is, and it’s the best you’ve ever had, hot and sweet. Drink now. You need it.”
When he held his wrist to her lips again, she drank willingly. When he took his arm away, she asked for more.
“That’s all for now,” he said, gathering her into his arms. “Go back to sleep.”
Her eyelids fluttered down, and she slept.
“Damn.” Gideon stroked her hair, bemused by his feelings for this woman. In the three years he had been here, he had never offered his blood to any of his prey. It had grieved him to take their lives, but it was theirs or his, and his sense of self-preservation would not be ignored or denied.
But this woman … Kiya. She was different, and it wasn’t just because she was a werewolf.
The witch’s appearance at the cell door put a stop to his musings.
Verah lifted one brow when she saw the girl cradled in his arms. “Like this one, do you?” she asked with a leer.
He shrugged. “Her blood pleases me.”
“And yet she still lives.”
“I decided to savor it while I could. It was a long time between meals last time.”