“Hey.” She smiled. “It’s Kaira.”
“Hurt you,” he said, glaring at the hand still pressed to her face.
That’s what he was so wound up about? Her getting hit? Her heart swelled in her chest. “Just a bump. It was my fault. I guess you shouldn’t come up behind a group of fighting vampires. Lesson learned.” She stroked her thumb over his knuckles.
His hand flinched, then slowly relaxed. He slipped his fingers between hers and gripped almost painfully hard. Like he was scared to let her go. Surely her chest couldn’t contain a heart as big as hers felt just then.
“Come sit with me,” she said, tugging him toward the bed. “Let’s just relax for a minute.”
He sat heavily, all the fight just draining into the floor beneath him. Kaira took a step around him to sit, but he tugged her until she stood between his knees.
His forehead slumped against her breastbone and his shoulders sagged. He released a long, shuddering breath.
Tears pricked the backs of Kaira’s eyes. Defeat rolled off him. If this whole episode really was part of whatever ailed him, she could totally relate—how many times had she felt so sick that she gave into a moment of despair. Though she worked hard to remain positive, sometimes the unfairness of it was more than a person could bear. Maybe it was like that for him, too. She stroked her free hand over his hair. Oh, so soft! She wouldn’t have guessed it, but it was like dragging her fingers through thick strands of pure silk.
Minutes passed before his breathing returned to normal. Occasionally, his big body trembled against hers.
She glanced up...to find four huge vampires absolutely gawking at her.
* * *
Red-hot shame and a profound sadness rooted Henrik in place, head against Kaira’s breast. The beat of her heart in his ear was the sweetest music. He concentrated on the sound, because he wouldn’t be hearing it for much longer.
Without question, her blood attracted him, satisfied him, and was almost indisputably what he’d been needing all these long years. Even now, her sweet crimson coated the inside of his mouth and fueled his body with a small dose of vitality he hadn’t felt in so long.
But he was a complete and utter train wreck.
How could he possibly saddle her with a male so despicably weak—assuming she would ever want him? He couldn’t. Not when he didn’t know for sure that her blood would cure him, if the cure would be temporary or lasting, or if it would take days or decades to return him to the male he’d once been—a male deserving of a creature like her.
Christ, when he thought back to what she’d done. Fought for him against his warriors, put herself in harm’s way, single-handedly pulled him back from the brink... After all the ways he’d wronged her, why had she done any of it? And just to sink the dagger a little further into the heart of him, she’d gotten hurt for her efforts.
His fingers landed on the outsides of her thighs, clutching her just a little tighter. He breathed deeply, taking some of her incredible sweet scent into his lungs and, hopefully, his memory, too.
Before he lost the will, he gently pushed her back and rose from the bed. He cupped her uninjured cheek in his hand and kissed her forehead, his mouth filling with saliva at the luscious scent of her blood. “You are free to go,” he rasped. “Upon the nightfall, Jakob will return you to your hotel.” He made for the door.
“What? Henrik, I thought—”
The closing door cut off the rest of her words. A thousand pins and needles erupted against the palm of his right hand. He fisted it, refusing to linger on what that sensation might mean.
That, if he took her, they might blood match.
That, if they matched, she might become his mate.
That, if she were his mate, he might actually be able to live again.
But why in the name of all that was right and holy would she want him? And how could he possibly ask her to?
He wasn’t sure where he was going. He just needed motion, the distraction of putting one foot in front of the other. After a while, he ended up in his office on the opposite end of the compound from the infirmary.
Sitting heavily in the big leather chair behind his desk, his gaze fell on a folder lying dead center. Hadn’t been there before. Idly, he flipped it open.
SUBJECT: Kaira Sorensen
LAST KNOWN ADDRESS: Røsågade 7, 3. Floor, Copenhagen, Denmark
“Faen i helvete,” he muttered. Bloody hell. The dossier he’d asked for.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t—he really fucking shouldn’t—read another word, his eyes refused to heed his brain and continued to skim over the page.
He flew forward in his seat. “Nei. This can’t be.” He slammed his fist against the surface.