She flew down the second flight of stairs, tripping on the last three in a graceless slide that nearly deposited her on her ass when she hit the first floor. Mikhail came around the corner, looking as drop-dead gorgeous and put together as ever, one sardonic brow cocked curiously. “Claire.” How was it possible for him to sound totally calm and collected? It made her even angrier. And how dare he be so damned gorgeous! It was totally an unfair advantage. “You should be resting.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” God, he smelled good. A waft of dark chocolate and warm summer gardens hit her nostrils, and Claire’s step faltered. His effect on her was instant and visceral. She wanted to strip him naked and lick him from head to toe. Damn him. “Three days!” she railed. “I’ve been asleep for three days?”
He took a slow step toward her, and another. The rolling gait was hypnotic, predatory. Each individual muscle in his body flexed and released, an artistic display partially hidden by the expertly tailored dress shirt and slacks. A shirt and slacks she wanted to tear off of him—
Focus, Claire. Get it together. Don’t let him hustle you again.
She froze at the bottom of the stairs, her body temperature rising the closer he got. His gaze drifted to her cheeks that she knew were flushed with color. It didn’t take much for him to rattle her, and he was well aware that he had the upper hand. Well, not for long.
“Claire.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and she bristled. He’d done this to her before. At the doorway. His pupils flashed silver and Claire’s limbs became heavy. Tired. “Sleep.”
No! The command screamed through her mind as she latched on to the necessary will to fight whatever power he used to make her compliant. She felt a push, as though rejecting the intrusion into her psyche, and Claire straightened, her limbs no longer heavy and her mind clear of the fog that had weighed her down. “Don’t you dare try to work your mind-control magic on me ever again, Mikhail! Seriously, what in the hell were you thinking? I’ve been asleep for days?” Claire took a cleansing breath, but it did little to assuage her anger. “You’re lucky you’re bigger than me because if you weren’t I would lay you out!”
Mikhail pulled back, his brow furrowed as shock dawned on his handsome features. “Claire,” he said again as quicksilver chased over his gaze. “Sleep.”
“No.”
She’d never seen him so taken aback. Not the calm, bossy, überbadass vampire. The furrow in his brow deepened. A crease that cut just above the bridge of his nose. “I can’t compel you.”
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“Noway, nohow.” Her stomach growled with all of the ferocity of an agitated bear and Claire hugged her torso to mute the sound. Pretty hard to act like a tough girl when her gut was shouting for a cheeseburger. “Now, you listen to me. I’m not some doll you can tuck under the covers and disregard. I’m starving. Dirty. I ache everywhere. And I need a damned glass of water! Do you not have any idea how to take care of someone?” She marched past him toward the kitchen. “I’m serious, Mikhail. If you don’t feed me in about five seconds, I am going to go off.”
* * *
Michael stared after Claire, dumbstruck.
She’d shaken off his attempt to compel her as water ran from a duck’s back. It was impossible. A feat he’d never seen accomplished by a human. And yet she’d stood tall, her eyes sparking with gold fire as she resisted his influence. Fierce. Strong. Powerful. He turned and followed after her, helpless. He’d failed to control her, but her hold on him was undeniable. She accused him of starving her, but it was he who was starved. For her. For her blood. Her body.
For the first time, Michael was beginning to believe in Ronan’s insistence that Claire was indeed a Vessel. How else could she have withstood his power? He followed her into the kitchen, unable to resist her pull. The tables had turned, it seemed. For she had surely compelled him.
For days, he’d kept her in a state of oblivion. Ronan had condemned him for it, and Alex … he’d taken his leave with a disapproving glare and a vow not to return until Michael had regained his wits. It had seemed the only option at the time. They’d found little more information on Vessels than when they’d begun. Just useless mythology and conjecture. How could it be that no vampire in the race’s history had ever encountered one? If they had, Michael would have knowledge of it through the Collective. Of course, just because no one had encountered a Vessel didn’t mean that one didn’t exist.