He crossed the kitchen to where she stood by the sink, rinsing her plate. She faced him, her eyes large and luminous. “Behave yourself, Claire.” He kissed her forehead and she leaned in to his touch, her body melting against his. Gods, if he didn’t leave now he’d never part from her. “Have a good day, my little human.” Michael turned and walked away, and the effort was like prying two magnets apart. In a few short hours, Claire had managed to embed herself further into his heart. His soul.
And now that she was here, he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that she stayed.
CHAPTER
13
Freshly spilled blood perfumed the air and Mikhail’s throat burned with thirst. The need to drink was strong, despite the fact that he’d had his fill before going into battle. Accursed bloodlust. His secondary fangs throbbed in time with the beat of his heart. Some of the Sortiari had voluntarily slit their own throats in an effort to distract the vampire forces from the battle and weaken their defenses. Mikhail would not be deterred, however. The bastards had taken Ilya, and he would not rest until he found her.#p#分页标题#e#
With his heavy broadsword he struck out, cutting down his enemies like crisp autumn wheat. All around him was death: the bodies of the Sortiari soldiers and their slayers, more vampires than he could count. His stomach turned as rage clouded Mikhail’s vision. With all that had been lost, he wouldn’t survive losing her, too.
“Ilya!”
Michael came awake with a start, the name bursting from his lips in a tortured shout that echoed off the walls. Before the Sortiari had obliterated the vampires, he’d had a female. A newly turned vampire named Ilya. Though they’d shared a bed and blood, Michael had known that she wasn’t truly his. Hers was not the soul that made his whole. Only through the collective memory had Michael experienced the magic of a true mating bond. That is, until three nights ago when his soul had rushed back to him, filling the void that had consumed him for centuries.
The sun had yet to set; he felt it in every cell that constructed him. And yet he was awake. His body and mind alert. The death-like sleep of the daylight hours no longer held him in its grip. But he hungered.
For Claire.
His fangs throbbed in his gums, painfully so, and his throat burned with an unquenchable fire. Could it be that the remnants of his dream ignited his thirst? His urgent want of Ilya that crossed over centuries and fixated on a human? Or was he simply making excuses, anything to explain away the soul-deep need he felt for Claire.
In the inky darkness, the walls closed in on him, the air became stagnant. The smell of death was still fresh in his mind and panic surged in Michael’s chest, burning as hot as his thirst. He pushed himself from the mattress, tripped on the thick Persian rug, and stumbled to the ground. With a low growl he shot up from the floor and dressed, racing for the door, cracking the hinges free of the jamb as he threw it open. He ran, taking deep gulps of air into his lungs.
Want. Need. Desire. Thirst.
His emotions ran the gamut, cycling through him like boiling storm clouds. The house was dark, pockets of artificial light illuminating the long hallway to the staircase. Michael stumbled as he rushed down the hallway, his desperation rising to a fevered pitch. He couldn’t stand being locked up in this fucking tomb, shut out from the world. Each step down the staircase was rushed, his fingers cracking the wooden banister from his unyielding grip.
Her scent drove him mad, the thought of once again sinking his fangs into the tender flesh of her throat sending him past reason. On the second-story landing Michael paused before he rushed down the stairs and headed in the direction of that tantalizing scent.
“Claire.”
She stood at the front door, one hand frozen on the brass knob. The sheets of her hair cascaded down one shoulder and spilled over her bare arm, wheat on a snowy field. Her cheeks were flushed with blood, her lips dark pink and inviting. Michael shook the remnants of his dream from his mind, as well as the desire that surged within him, hardening his cock to the point of near pain. Gods, he wanted her, wanted to bury himself so deep inside of her that he no longer knew where his body ended and hers began.
“What are you doing?” Panic infused his tone as he pushed his palm against the still-closed door. Did she think to leave him? “I told you what would happen if you thought to walk out that door.”
“Mikhail.” She hid her nerves well under a façade of calm, but the sound of her rushing pulse echoed in his ears like thunder. A little mouse caught in the jaws of a hungry cat. “What are you doing up? I thought you’d be down for the count.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I was just going out for some fresh air. You know, feeling a little shut up.”