“That is all it takes to control your fits?” He looked incredulous.
“I didn’t say it controlled them. I said it took the edge off, much the way good-quality weed does. If someone provokes me enough, I’ll still go under. But not as easily. Now let go, or are you the only one who gets to touch?”
Apparently so, because he pulled me back to my feet, keeping my hands trapped between us. His were strong, with the warmth of familiar calluses. I felt my breath speed up as I remembered what those hands could do.
Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because he flushed slightly. “I was told that you had found a cure.”
“It’s genetic. There is no cure.”
“Lord Mircea said—”
“You asked him about me?”
“He mentioned it in passing.”
I narrowed my eyes but let it go. “I’ve found something that cuts down on the frequency of the attacks, and controls some of the symptoms. But there are problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
I sighed. For a Frenchman, he was the hardest damn man to seduce I’d ever seen. “It brings out dormant magical abilities in humans.”
It was Louis-Cesare’s turn to narrow his eyes. “You are speaking of fey wine? Do not tell me you are still taking that concoction.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
“It is dangerous!”
“So am I, without it!”
“And that is worth risking your life? You do not know—”
“I haven’t had a full-on attack in weeks. And the last time I did, I was conscious.” His expression said he still didn’t get it. “I was conscious, Louis-Cesare!” I repeated, struggling to find words to explain just what that meant.
But there weren’t any. He’d never had to worry about blacking out for days, only to wake up in some unknown location, covered in blood and surrounded by corpses. He would never understand the constant nagging fear that next time it wouldn’t be an enemy I killed. That next time I would wake up to find my hands buried in the throat of a friend.
Something must have shown on my face, because his gaze softened. “I thought your friend was looking for a cure.”
“She was. She is. But so far, no luck.”
“There are other physicians. Have you sought out their help?”
“I don’t need them. I have something that works.”
“Thus far. You have no idea what the long-term effects might be.”
“Whatever they are, it’s a damn good trade!”
He set his jaw, that old stubborn look coming over his face. “There must be an alternative.”
“There is.” I deliberately slid my hands up his chest.
“Dorina—”
“Don’t. Don’t say anything.” I didn’t want to talk anymore. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to drive him as crazy as he had me, wanted to see him lose control, wanted him to feel something when I damn well left.
I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. His body was a tight wall of muscle, as yielding as rock. But his lips were warm and soft as they met mine, asking nothing, forbidding nothing, surrendering to my need as I had known, deep down, that he would.
He tasted like smoky whiskey and Louis-Cesare, an elusive sweetness that had haunted me in odd moments for weeks. I pulled him even closer, and my leg wrapped around him, hunger mounting as I deepened the kiss. I felt a surge of pure satisfaction as his arms went around me, one hand settling on my nape, the other cupping my jaw, the thumb stroking with a terrible gentleness.
It was so easy to lose myself in this, in the searching caress of his tongue, in the silken press of his lips. Running my hands over the broad planes of his back, I traced light fingertips over the knobs of his spine, felt the smooth roll and flex of hard muscle under the soft material of his shirt. So warm . . .
And so dangerous. A dhampir inside his defenses, at his neck, close enough to kiss or to kill. He had to feel it. I felt it, the usual tingling sensation of a vampire’s presence screaming a warning along my nerves.
Yet his only movement was to draw me nearer, his hands sliding down my sides to grasp my hips. It left us close, so close, as I never was with any of them, never could be, because being this near meant violence, meant fear, meant death for one of us. It always had and it always would, and there was no goddamned other way it could be. And yet he was still there, hard and hot and so close. . . .
So close, the scent of her, wild and comforting at once, enveloped him. He needed to stop this; he needed to leave. If he immersed himself in that scent, grew to depend on it, need it, it would starve him when it was gone.
He was already too hungry as it was.
Shut up, I thought savagely. I didn’t want one of Louis-Cesare’s random memories intruding, especially not of some other woman. Not here, not now. This was mine.
I deliberately slipped, falling backward onto the bed and dragging him down on top of me. “Dorina—”
“You’re breathing heavy.”
“Vampires don’t breathe.”