His voice didn't just whisper in her ear, but over her skin, touching nerve endings, the trail of fingers brushing gently, shaping her body. The sensation was so real she shivered, fear choking her. She swallowed hard against his hand. Mutely she shook her head. It was impossible to look away from him. His eyes were compelling, so dark and fathomless, heat and fire where he'd looked so flat and cold before. There was something real inside of him - she could see it in his eyes. He wasn't entirely a killing machine, nor was he the undead as she'd first believed - those eyes were too alive. His body was too hot - too hard.
Marguarita reached for the animal part of him - the biggest part of him. He had long ago lost all civility - or maybe he'd been born as he was now, mostly cunning, savage and extremely territorial. She understood animals, even dangerous predators. Pushing aside her fear of the Carpathian, she concentrated on the animal, trying to find a way to soothe him. She didn't expect to be friends, no more so than she would have a jaguar, but she'd encountered one of the big cats and they had both gone their own ways with no animosity. She hoped for the same with Zacarias.
The problem was, he confused her far more than a large cat - or bird of prey. She felt the flowing warmth that
always preceded the connection. And it was easier than she'd believed, as if she already knew the path, as if it was well worn. She soothed him as she would a wild thing, a soft approach, touching him gently, stroking with her mind to quiet and calm him.
Zacarias abruptly stepped back away from her, dropping his hands, his eyes glacier cold and more frightening than ever. "You are mage-born."
It was an accusation, a curse, a promise of dark retaliation. Marguarita shook her head vigorously denying the charge. She had no idea why he was accusing her of being a mage - a being who could cast spells. That would be more him than her - he was the one bemusing her. If his eyes were anything to go by, no mage wanted to cast a spell around Zacarias De La Cruz and most certainly she didn't.
"What are you then?" he demanded.
She frowned. The answer should have been obvious, but then she was thinking of him as an untamed, feral animal, perhaps she was closer to the mark than she knew. I am just a woman.
Zacarias studied that perfect pale face in front of him for a long time. She was streaked with mud. Exhausted. Her heart-shaped face was all eyes, enormous and frightened.
I am just a woman .
Five simple words, yet what did she mean? He knew women - but none like her. She was far more than just a woman . He searched his memories and he had many over centuries of time, but no one had ever caught his interest, not like this woman had.
They stared at one another for a long time. "You will return to the hacienda with me." He stated it. Ordered it. Gave the command and waited for her typical reaction - disobedience. Perhaps she had some infirmity that made her do the opposite of a direct order.
He watched her throat work, a delicate swallowing and another wave of fear washed over him, hastily suppressed - one didn't show fear to a predator. He knew they were still very much connected and he was feeling her emotions. It was interesting seeing himself through her eyes. He knew, on a strictly intellectual basis, that other animals, including men, thought him a killer, but he didn't have a visceral reaction to the knowledge. Connected as he was to her on that primitive level, he felt her emotions as if they were his own and it was - uncomfortable.
Her small tongue licked at that perfect bow of her lower lip. She stepped back very slowly, feeling with one boot for solid ground. He shook his head and she stopped instantly.
Zacarias read her thoughts easily on her face. She wanted to run and she didn't care if anyone - including him - considered the act cowardly. Her self-preservation instinct was strong now. She'd sacrificed herself once. As far as she was concerned, that was enough. She'd been punished.
"I am not finished with you, woman. You will return to the hacienda with me while I figure out what is going on. And you will not leave again without my permission."
That got to her. He could see the storm clouds gathering in her dark eyes. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to. Her eyes weren't a dull gray like the world around her. Neither was her hair. Both were rich ebony, a deep midnight black, a true absence of color. Her mouth fascinated him. Her lips should have been gray or dull white, but he swore they were a darker pink. He blinked several times to try to rid himself of the impression, but the strange color remained, making him a little dizzy. She fascinated him as no other could possibly do.
Marguarita's chin went up. If you are going to kill me, do so right here. Right now.
His eyebrow shot up. "If I am going to kill you, I will choose the time and place, not be dictated to by a woman who does not know the meaning of obedience."
She pulled a pen and notepad from her pocket and began to write. Zacarias swept both items from her hand and pocketed them.
Use our blood bond.
Mutely she shook her head and reached toward his pocket.
He shook his head just as resolutely, no longer shocked that she disobeyed him. He was certain she had an infirmity, some rare, peculiar mental disorder from birth, that made her do the opposite of what any authority figure told her.
"I read all forty-seven missives this night. I do not wish to read another."
All forty-seven? You went into my private room? They were in the wastebasket. Thrown away. Obviously not meant for you to read.
So she would use the blood bond when she chose. Something close to satisfaction rose in him. The fear had faded enough that she responded much more naturally to him. "Of course they were meant for me to read, kislany ku¦Çenak minan - my little lunatic. They were clearly addressed to Se?or Zacarias De La Cruz." He bowed slightly. "Very formal and proper of you. One would think you would be able to carry out simple instructions."
Give me back my paper and pen.
"You will use the blood bond between us." He knew it made her uncomfortable because it was a much more intimate form of communication, but he found himself craving the intimacy of their bond.
Her eyes went even darker, turned obsidian, flaring like shiny fire-stones. She clenched her teeth together in a snapping bite. The whiteness of them caught his attention. Without thought, he gripped her upper arms and yanked her close, turning her head toward him so he could see the intense color - gleaming white, like little pearls. Not gray. Not the dingy brownish white he was used to. For a moment there was nothing else in the world, but those small, white teeth and her incredible almost black eyes.
Something smacked his chest, not hard, he barely noticed, but her little yelp made him look down. She had slammed her palms against his chest and had obviously hurt herself. He frowned at her. "What are you doing now?"
I'm hitting you, you brute. What does it feel like?
She had a temper. He recognized the smoldering fire now. She'd hurt herself though, and truthfully, he'd barely felt a thing. "Is that what you call it? You really are a little crazy. No wonder Cesaro tried to remove you from the house. He feared I would be upset with your insanity."
Insanity?
Marguarita closed her fist and took a punch at him. Judging from the way she threw it, someone had taught her how to fight. He ducked to the side before she could land the blow and caught her, spinning her around, crossing her arms over her breasts and holding her tight against his body. His breath came out in a burst of sound that shocked him. He went very still, resting his mouth against her neck, against that warm pulse that beat so frantically and called so loudly to him. Laughter? Had he laughed?
Had he really laughed? That was impossible. He had never laughed. Not that he remembered. Maybe as a young child, a mere boy, but he doubted it. Where had that sound come from? Was it possible this crazy, dim-witted woman was his lifemate? By all that was holy, it could not be. He could not in any way be mated to someone incapable of following the simplest of directions. And his emotions and colors should have returned at once. But truthfully, he felt more alive in that moment than he had in a thousand years.
Like him, she had gone quite still in his arms again, like a frightened little rabbit. She shivered, her wet, muddy clothes clinging to her soft, feminine form. The moment he became aware she was cold, he removed the mud and rain from her clothing, his body heating hers. Such things were natural to his kind, and with her, he had to remember mundane things.
"I will make excuses for you as you did not have a mother to teach you proper etiquette, but my patience will go only so far." He whispered the words against her ear, determined that she would learn who was in charge. Certainly not some little slip of a thing, so silly she went out in the rain forest unescorted and at night. "You have certain duties."
I know my duties. What time is it?
Puzzled, he glanced up at the boiling sky. "About four in the morning."
Exactly. I am off duty. This is my time.
He was tempted to bite that sweet spot between her neck and shoulder as punishment for her continued defiance. "When a De La Cruz is in residence, you are on duty from sunset to dawn. Or whenever I tell you. O jel? peje terad, emni - sun scorch you, woman. Do not argue with me. Have you learned nothing in the last few hours? You will not go unescorted, anywhere. You are a woman. A single woman. And you will have a chaperone at all times."
She made no sound, but he felt her absolute rejection of his decree. Deep inside, it came again, that strange sound that started in his belly and welled up like champagne bubbles. By all that was holy, she made him laugh. He felt amusement. This slight woman brought laughter into his life. Until he figured out why she had such power over him, he wasn't about to leave her side. She could deny his authority all she wanted,
but she was about to learn what and who was the dominant in her life.
He inhaled her scent and found himself fighting the call of her blood. He tasted her in his mouth. That exquisite, rare taste beyond anything he'd ever known bursting in his mouth, trickling down his throat to seep into his veins, pouring through his body like molten gold. Her skin was so warm and soft, her pulse calling to him. He closed his eyes and simply listened to the rhythm of her heart. He wasn't hungry, yet he craved her, like an addiction, wanting to bite down, to feel her soft flesh . . .
His hands slid up over her wrists, stroking, his palms brushing her breasts. Her nipples were peaked with cold - or excitement. He couldn't make his mind stop long enough to find out which. His every sense, his entire being focused on her body. The shape of her. The feel of her. Time slowed. Tunneled. There was only his hands sliding over her, cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing those hard nipples. His heart hammering. Hers answering.
Heat rushed into him. Filled him. Blood pounded through his center, rushed into his cock, until he was hard and thick and aching - and shocked. His body burned from the inside out. There was a strange roaring in his head. He felt on fire, flames scorching his skin, racing through his veins. Erotic images filled his mind, her body writhing beneath his, a million things he'd seen in his existence, a million ways to make her his. He had seen such things, but never once thought of them. Never once in all his existence had he ever entertained the idea of taking a woman without consent. Never considered burying his body deep in a woman and doing whatever he wanted with her - until that moment. The images and his terrible, brutal need overwhelmed him. Tiny beads of blood dotted his skin, sweat as he'd never known it. He felt edgy, out of control, insane with the terrible craving that had spread from his need of her blood to his body's need of hers.
He shoved her away from him, breathing deep, taking in great gulps of air to stop the madness burning through him. He had known his soul was in pieces, no more than a sieve held together with tiny, fragile threads, but this - this would destroy him - destroy his honor. He wiped the sweat from his face and stared at the blood smears on his hands. "What are you, woman? You have bewitched me."
She shook her head mutely, so pale she nearly glowed there in the darkness. I didn't. I swear I didn't. I don't know why this is happening to you.
She'd felt him all right, felt the rising demand of his cock pushing against her body with urgent demand.
"You will not control me."
I'm not trying to.
She took two steps away from him, staring at the large bulge in the front of his trousers. He saw the exact moment when her fear got the better of her and she turned and ran from him.
Zacarias took another deep slow breath and spread out his arms, welcoming another shape, needing the relief from his male human form. Feathers burst along his skin as he shifted. This time the harpy eagle was enormous. He took flight, staying low as he gave chase. The eagle twisted and turned, easily making his way through the trees, hunting his prey. He loomed over her. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with terror as he dove, his talons reaching for her, snagging her as she ran, and lifting her into the air, Zacarias's enormous strength aiding the large harpy eagle.
Marguarita struggled, but as he took her higher, his giant wingspan beating to gain height, and the ground dropped away, she went utterly still, her hands wrapping around the bird's legs. Once he gained altitude, he sped his way through the rain forest back toward the hacienda. Harpy eagles easily flew a good fifty miles per hour when they wanted, and with the ferocious wind at its back, the bird swiftly covered the distance, reaching the ranch in record time.
Zacarias dropped Marguarita gently in the grass just outside the front door. He shifted as his feet touched the ground beside her. She didn't attempt to run again, but lay quietly, her hands pressed tightly over her waist where the talons had clutched her so tightly. Zacarias bent down and caught her up in his arms, cradling her to his chest.