Lord of the Vampires (Royal House of Shadows #1)(18)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Come,” he said, leading Jane deeper into that dark part of the forest. More laughter echoed. Evil, promising retribution. Once again, he stilled. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

More laughter, blending with yet another man’s. “That.”

“No. I hear the rush of water now, but that’s all.”

Damn it. The laughter must be another trick of Laila’s, meant to send him fleeing. Nicolai kicked back into gear. Five minutes passed, an eternity. He remained on guard, without a weapon—he should have grabbed a damned weapon—but willing to shield Jane with his body.

Another five minutes eked by. Then another. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on, but he felt like he should stop, so he did the opposite. He pushed onward. Another five minutes. Another.

“Wait. Nicolai. You have—”

Jane’s words cut off when Nicolai felt the cool rush of water against his feet, droplets splashing up his calf. Brows knitting in confusion, he paused and looked down. He hadn’t noticed the water, even though it had been directly in front of him.

The rocks were slippery as he backtracked to the edge. Dangerous, he thought. This place is dangerous. He should—

Stay. Finally.

“You did it,” Jane said. “You found the source.” She laughed, soft and carefree.

Without thought, Nicolai found himself whipping around to catch a glimpse of her. Her expression was lit up, brighter than the sun on its best morning. Her plump pink lips were curved at the corners, inviting him to lick, to finally taste. To devour. The hem of her robe was wet and plastered to her ankles.

She was safe. He could have her. Yes?

His chest constricted, and his stomach quivered. He reached out. A touch, until she healed, he’d allow himself only a touch. Except, his knees gave out just before contact and he fell into the water. His chin resting on his sternum, he breathed quickly and shallowly, trying to fill his lungs but failing.

His energy was draining, absolute fatigue taking its place.

“Oh, no, you don’t. Not there. You’ll drown.” Jane latched onto his arm and managed to drag him to the shore.

Once there, he just kind of fell the rest of the way, crashing into a mossy embankment. He tried to rise, but couldn’t find the strength. He needed to forage for food. Jane must be starving. He needed to build a shelter. The bugs would eat his woman alive. He needed to stand guard. She must not be hurt.

“Relax,” she said.

“Protect,” he murmured.

“Yes, I’ll protect you.” Gentle hands smoothed over his brow,

“No, I…” Oblivion claimed him before he could utter another word.

NICOLAI…

The deep male voice that called to him was familiar. Always in his dreams, when his defenses were weakened, but it was stronger now than ever before. And…beloved?

Nicolai…time…save…

In the back of his mind, he heard the tick, tick, tick of a clock.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

An image flashed in his mind. Not of the speaker, but of huge, grotesque monsters crawling toward him. Each had eight legs, with sharp, deadly points. They were black and hairy, their eyes big and beady, their tails pointed and curling toward him. They were staring him down, as if he were a tasty snack. Bile rose in his throat, but he pressed on, ignoring them.

“Where are you? What can I do?”

Nicolai…brother…heal yourself, and come. Time…save…

Brother? Nicolai tried to picture a brother. Nothing. He could not picture his mother, either. Nor his father. Even in his dreams, pain exploded through his head, shutting down his memories.

Tick, tick, tick.

Kill! an equally familiar male voice suddenly boomed. Deeper, harder.

Damn it. He had to find out who was speaking to him. Had to know. Had to, had to, had to. Life—and death—rested on his shoulders.

As he considered their identities, he thrashed, his hand connecting with something solid and warm.

He heard a gasp. For some reason, the female’s pain only increased his agitation. Must protect…

“Everything’s fine. You don’t have to worry,” she said, soothing him. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Jane, he thought, stilling. His Jane. Such a sweet voice, such a pretty face. Such a commanding personality, worthy of a queen. She was nearby.

Heal yourself…time…save…

Yes, he thought. With Jane nearby, he could do anything. Heal himself, and even replenish the store of power he’d burned through. He relaxed, willingly sinking back into oblivion. This time, he had a purpose.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JANE SPENT TWO DAYS gathering supplies and making weapons. She never strayed far from the unconscious Nicolai, just in case he needed her or they had unexpected visitors, so those supplies were limited. However, she managed to find fruits and nuts to eat, as well as small, thin twigs and mint leaves. Those, she’d turned into surprisingly efficient toothbrushes, which she used liberally on both of them.

Because they were near a stream, bathing her patient was easy. In fact, there’d probably never been two cleaner people trapped in the wilderness. Nicolai was no longer oiled, his skin was scrubbed to a healthy pink shine, and yet, the scent of sandalwood was stronger than ever. Every time she breathed him in, she tingled, her blood heating, her mouth watering.

It hadn’t helped that in bathing him, she’d had to run her hands all over him. As dirty as he’d been—cough, cough—she’d had to bathe him a lot. Those muscles…so hard, thickly roped and laced with sinew. That trail of hair from his navel to his penis…always tempting her to wickedness.

And God, she was shame spiraling.

Nicolai might desire her, but he didn’t need another woman lusting after him while he was helpless. What’s more, he didn’t need another grabby woman touching him without permission, and already Jane had pushed the boundaries of his trust by bathing him (so many times).

Hands off from now on, she decided. And one day, she’d apologize for her behavior. Maybe. She wasn’t sure she would sound sincere. Despite his past, she’d liked touching him. Bad Jane. But, well, he’d seemed to like being touched by her. He tossed and turned intermittently, only calming when she was within reach.

Sometimes he questioned a man who needed his help, sometimes he cursed Laila for the vile things she’d done to him, and sometimes he fought ugly monsters, his arms and legs flailing. After the latter two, he always vowed retribution. Painful, slow retribution.