“You’re playing with fire, girl.”
“Am I? You don’t feel like fire. Are vampires always so cool to the touch?”
He nodded. “We don’t need to breathe as often as you do. Our hearts beat more slowly.”
Her questing fingers stilled as she waited for him to go on. There was so much about him she didn’t know. She glanced at his forearm. A faint red line marred his pale skin.
His gaze followed hers to the faint red line that stood out against his pale skin. “I got that when I was five or six. Fell off my bike and landed on a piece of glass. Any wounds I get now heal almost instantly and leave no scar.”
“But you can’t be up during the day?”
“I can, for short periods of time, as long as I stay out of the sun’s light, but I prefer the night. My mother assures me that, in a year or two, the sun will no longer affect me.” He drew in a deep breath, let it out in a soft huff. “I could do it now if I drank from her, but . . .” He shook his head. The thought of drinking from his own mother was abhorrent in ways he didn’t care to contemplate. “Any more questions?”
She shivered when he ran his fingertips over her lower lip. Though his touch was cool, heat spread through every nerve and cell in her body.
In a move so quick it was over before she realized it was happening, he rolled over, tucking her body beneath his. She recognized the hunger in his eyes, felt her body’s primal instinct to flee from danger.
Derek growled low in his throat, his hunger sparked by the scent of fear on her skin, the sudden, rapid beating of her heart. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.
“I’m not afraid,” Sheree said, forcing herself to relax. “And I’m not prey. But if you’re thirsty . . .” She turned her head to the side. “Drink, Derek.”
He growled again, though it was more of a purr, and then he bent his head to her neck and took what she offered.
Sheree closed her eyes as his fangs brushed her skin. How was it possible that something so unnatural—so revolting—could feel so wonderful? She should push him away, never see him again, but she knew she would not—could not. There was something remarkably intimate about letting him drink from her, about knowing that her blood was nourishing him. A little voice in the back of her head reminded her that she would die if he took too much. But even that didn’t seem to matter as pleasure rippled through her.
She felt bereft when he lifted his head. His tongue laved her skin, sealing the wounds, and then, murmuring, “Forgive me,” he buried his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Sheree sifted his hair through her fingers, then softly whispered, “I love you.”
“I . . .” Derek cursed inwardly, afraid to tell her he loved her, afraid to believe she loved him. Those three words had started feuds, brought kings to their knees, changed the fate of nations.
He had no idea what havoc those words might cause in his life.
Or hers.
Dammit, he had to say something.
“It’s all right,” Sheree said. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but”—she made a vague gesture with one hand—“I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”
Sitting up, he raked a hand through his hair, conscious of her steady gaze. “You remember I told you I’d learned something new about myself?”
“Yes.”
“I think I’d better tell you about it before this thing between us goes any farther.”
Sheree’s heartbeat ratcheted up a notch.
Derek closed his eyes, one hand massaging his brow. How was he supposed to tell her he might turn into a werewolf ? She had accepted his being a vampire without much fuss. Time to find out how she felt about werewolves.
“Listen, I don’t know how to sugarcoat this, so I’m just gonna say it straight out. My father was a werewolf, but the gene he carried was latent and never manifested. Turns out, I also carry that gene.”
“Werewolves are real, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you be both at the same time?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll probably find out the next time the moon is full.”
She fidgeted a moment; then, murmuring, “Excuse me,” she left the room.
He heard the sound of a kitchen cupboard opening, water running, knew she was trying to ease her nervousness. He didn’t smell fear on her, which surprised him. But she was ill at ease, confused, unsettled. Well, he could hardly blame her. He felt the same way.
He was debating whether to go to her or just leave when she returned. She hesitated a moment, then perched on the edge of the sofa like a bird poised to take flight at the first sign of danger.