Mary took a nervous step back when Dante turned to her, but his fangs were gone and every trace of blood with them.
“Now do you believe?” he asked, moving slowly forward.
Mary swallowed and continued to retreat, one step for every one he took forward.
“I am an Atlantean,” Dante said proudly. “Immortal. I need blood to survive. Normally we only feed from bagged blood. In fact, it is against our laws for us to feed directly from mortals, except in emergencies, when we are without bagged blood and in need. Then we may feed on mortals as I just did.”
“Dave,” she began weakly.
“Is fine and will not remember it so long as I don’t spend much time around him,” he said grimly.
“Oh,” she breathed and then felt her knees give way. Mary was sure she was going to hit the floor and even tried to prepare herself for the impact, but she’d backed all the way to the bedroom and instead of hitting the floor, her fall was brought up short when she dropped to sit on the bed.
Mary blinked in surprise as she bounced on the cushioned surface, and then blinked again when Dante immediately dropped to kneel before her and took her hands in his. He started to look up at her, but then paused and glanced back to her hands with a frown. “You are so cold.”
Mary made a sound in her throat that could have meant just about anything. Even she didn’t know what it signified other than her confusion at that moment.
Concern on his face, Dante began to chafe her hands. As he did, he said, “My brother and I were born in 1906. I am over a hundred years old. I cannot read or control you. Among my people that means you are a possible life mate for me.”
“What’s a life mate?” she asked with bewilderment.
“The one person we cannot read or control and whom we may be happy with for all our days. Our mate for our very long lives,” he said solemnly.
“And you think because you cannot read or control me I’m this life mate for you?” she asked
“It is one of the signs,” he said simply.
“What are the other signs?” Mary asked uncertainly.
Dante stopped chafing her hands and met her gaze. “Shared dreams . . . like the ones we experienced last night.”
“What?” Mary stared at him blankly. “You mean you know what I was—?”
“I know what we were dreaming. Yes,” he interrupted solemnly. “I was there with you every time. I held you in my arms and made love to you while we slept.” Pausing, he grimaced and added, “Well, I tried to, but every time we got close, Bailey would wake you and—” He stopped and eyed her warily when her hands jerked in his and she made a choked sound in her throat. Squeezing her hands gently, he said, “Shared dreams too are a sign of a possible life mate. Along with shared passion.”
“What’s that?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know. This was all madness. She’d gone off her rocker, she was sure.
“When I kissed and touched you earlier . . .” Dante paused and then added dryly, “When we were actually awake before Dave interrupted . . . I was experiencing your pleasure as I gave it to you.”
“You were?” Mary asked shakily, and when he nodded, frowned and asked, “How?”
“I am not sure,” Dante admitted. “As much as we understand it, it seems that the pleasure between life mates is shared somehow. It bounces back and forth between them, growing with each pass back and forth until it is overwhelming, and when the couple finds their release it is usually so overwhelming they both briefly lose consciousness.”
“Oh,” Mary breathed, and then simply stared at him for a moment, unsure what to think. After a moment though, she said, “But you keep saying possible life mate. It’s not for sure?” she asked, trying to grasp what he was telling her. “It’s just possible?”
“Yes, well . . .” Dante hesitated and then sighed and said, “The truth is that for me, you are a life mate. But the decision is yours as to whether you agree to be that life mate I can share my long life with.”
Mary’s eyes widened. He said the word life mate as if it was something special, even sacred.
Raising her hands, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then met her gaze and said solemnly. “You are my life mate, Mary. And I would like to claim you. Will you accept me as such?”
Dante sounded like he was reciting some kind of marriage vow and Mary stared at him, her heart in her throat. She was tempted to just throw herself at him and say yes, then rip off his clothes, but . . . shaking her head, she whispered unhappily, “But I’m so old.”
Her words brought a tender smile to his face and he pointed out. “You are almost half my age.”