Taken by the Vampire King(6)

The leather sagged in his hand. "Change your mind, you just say." He glanced over his shoulder. "How's it goin' over there?"

Low voices fired back and forth for a moment, as if the pair by the car   was arguing. Finally, one of them replied, "Fine, but he's insisting I   not let him up."

"Do what he says."

"Is Jakob okay?" she whispered, half hating herself for caring. Half dying to know.

The blond in front of her turned back and frowned. "Jakob?"

She nodded, gesturing to the other men, er, vampires.

"I'm Jakob."

Dizziness washed over her. She clearly had no idea what the hell was   going on. "I asked his name...before...at the gallery. He said Jakob."

Jakob-the real Jakob, apparently-tilted his head. "I think he was   calling me, not answering you." He thumbed over his shoulder. "My   brother's name is Henrik."

Brother?

Her feet totally numb from the icy ground, Kaira felt her knees turning   to mush. The earlier fever returned with a vengeance, whipping through   her like a flash fire. Way she felt, she couldn't process all these   details. There was only one thing she wanted-needed-to know. "Are you   going to kill me?"

"Nei."

He said it so plainly, so matter-of-factly, that something inside told her to believe it.

The smallest sense of safety returned to her and right behind it came a   tsunami of post-adrenaline letdown. "Help," she said a split second   before her legs gave out.                       
       
           



       

Somehow Jakob was there. He caught her against his chest. "Okay. I have you," he said.

Good as he smelled, he didn't incite the cravings she'd felt a few   moments before. The comparison was as unwelcome as it was unbidden.

Growling erupted, fierce and sudden. Kaira looked up in time to see   Henrik take the man who had been holding him and flip him over the hood   of the car.

He spun and stalked toward them, glaring at Jakob, who tucked her under   his arm and tugged her back a full step. Her heart rate kicked up  again,  but the fright that came over her was less for herself than for  the  vampire holding her upright.

Jakob held out a hand. The other vampire scrambled up off the sidewalk and approached from the side.

Kaira peered around Jakob's chest and gasped. "His eyes," she said to   herself. Bright, piercing blue, like a cloudless sky on the most   beautiful, spring day. Totally captivating.

"Henrik," Jakob rasped. "Your eyes have changed."

Confusion played over Henrik's aggressive expression.

"Jesus, brother, your face-the cuts have all healed." His voice was awash in wonder.

"I'll be damned," the third vampire said.

Henrik paused and ran his hand over his cheek, his lips, his neck. His azure eyes went wide.

Kaira glanced between the three of them, unsure what explained their   sudden change in demeanor. All the aggression and tension flowed out of   them.

"How?" Henrik said. "It takes me days to heal..."

His words hung on the night air for a long moment, and then three pairs of preternatural eyes turned toward her.





Chapter 5

Healed. His face had healed. Henrik cut his gaze to his knuckles, but he   already knew what he would find. Now that he paid attention, the   swollen throb from moments before was gone. His eyes confirmed the truth   of it. She'd healed his wounds from the fight with the Soul Eater.

If mere moments of consuming the sweet blood circulating through Kaira's   veins could restore his ability to heal, what would a good and proper   feeding do?

Henrik stared at her for a long moment. Wonder and indecision and   dangerous, dangerous hope held him rooted in place despite the magnetic   draw of her blood.

And then all the little details of her penetrated the noise between his ears.

Busted lip. Bloodied throat. Ruined clothing.

He wasn't sure which of them looked worse.

Her. After all, his wounds were healed.

"Go get the truck," he said to Lars. The warrior nodded and disappeared.

Fierce longing speared through him. Not just to drink more, though that   was there with a greedy vengeance. But also to heal her in return. His   right hand prickled and he rubbed it roughly against his thigh.

He glared at Jakob, at how much of his brother's body touched hers.   Possessive rage rose up and demanded attention. Only the certainty that   the other male's presence ensured she'd survive riding with Henrik on   the thirty-minute trip off the island and back to their mountain citadel   kept him from acting on the territorial instinct.

The king cleared his throat. "Kaira, we need to get you off the streets.   There are more of them out tonight. We will take care of you."

"Them?" she said in a weak voice.

"Like the ones who attacked you."

Her brow furrowed. "You attacked me."

The truth of the words sucker punched him. Why would she see any   difference between him and the Soul Eaters? The comparison was no more   than he sometimes wondered about himself. Still cut him to the bone,   though. What the hell had he been thinking, believing he was fit to come   out among humans tonight?

He gave a nod. "Fair enough."

"My brother is-"

"Not going to stand here and debate." The glare he shot Jakob was full   of warning. He didn't need him to plead his case. "I've put you in   enough danger this evening."

"Just let me go, then," she said.

Her plaintive tone touched softer parts of him, parts that wanted to do   nothing more than please her, parts he didn't know he had. But his body   refused to let her go. Not when a few thick swallows of her blood had   done more for him than any other woman's blood had in years.

So, what's the endgame here, Henrik? Chain her up and use her whenever you want to keep you alive?

Jakob's voice yanked him from his inner turmoil. "You've seen too much."

"What?" She struggled against Jakob and pushed out from under his arm.   "Nei. I've seen nothing." As Henrik watched, she walked backward into   the street, clutching her arms around herself tight and shaking her   head. "I won't say anything. Who would believe me?"                       
       
           



       

The farther away she moved, the stronger the magnetic pull to follow her   tugged at something deep in his chest. He gave in to the urge with   slow, methodical steps. Her pale skin, dilated eyes and multiple   injuries all spoke of the degree of trauma she'd experienced tonight.   How could he inflict more?

A truck rounded the corner, headlights swinging over the ground behind   her. The backlighting threw a golden halo around her. She whirled toward   the sound of the approaching engine and moaned.

Suddenly, all the frightened tension left her body. And then she was freefalling straight backward.

Henrik launched himself toward her and caught her in his arms before her soft body made contact with the cold, hard ground.

Jakob appeared right next to him, stance clearly ready to intervene.

"I've got her, brother," the king said, voice full of gravel.

"Are you sure-"

"I've fucking got her." He rose, cradling her in his arms. Heat roared   off her. "Jesus, she's burning up." He shot to the Range Rover's   backseat. Lars already had the door open. Henrik climbed inside and slid   to the middle, Kaira still in his lap, her feverish heat soaking into   his chest.

Jakob stood in the open door watching, his expression full of hesitation.

"Let's go." His brother inhaled as if to speak, and damn if Henrik   didn't know what he was going to say. "Goddamnit, I'm fine. Let's go."

Jakob closed the rear door and climbed into the passenger seat.

Amazing thing was, Henrik did in fact have it under control-or what   passed for control for him. The bloodlust was there, causing his fangs   to throb so hard he had to keep applying the counter-pressure of his   tongue against the sharp points to offer some relief. And the hunger was   there, squeezing his gut and burning his throat. And the monster still   paced at the gates of his mind. And all three threatened to pull him   under the surface and suffocate him in the evil of the demon growing   stronger within him.

So what stopped him?

She stirred against his chest, and he drew his gaze to her face. Young.   Pretty, with her soft blond hair and high cheekbones and inviting pink   lips. Beautiful, actually. He stroked his hand over her forehead. Dry   heat blazed off her skin. What was wrong with her? Had she been feverish   when he'd drunk from her? Her succulent taste. The quenching of his   eternal thirst. The way her soft body cushioned all his hard angles.   These things came readily to mind. But not whether she'd had a   temperature.