The guttural, constant growl coming from the back of her throat only added to it. She’d dug her fingers into her own arms, half-circle marks that bled, again and again.
Yeah, she didn’t look like anything he’d let anywhere near him, let alone into his bed. So maybe when this was all over, he’d be shouldering his swag, giving her a short nod and putting her behind him, a campfire story to share with himself on occasion, or with the aboriginal kinsmen who sometimes walked with him. But he’d said he’d stick by her. If you change your mind, I won’t hold it against you . . .
She’d killed people before yesterday, he was sure of that. There’d been grief in her eyes at the loss of her men, but no shock at the deaths.
He’d become proficient at continuing to walk in one direction when he couldn’t decide if a turn was the best course of action. But this was pushing it. Why was he still here? Was it because he couldn’t help noticing the old sheath left gleaming skin in its wake? In her case, that skin was pale and smooth, a deadly invitation to touch.
His insane tangle of thoughts froze at the yip, a howl. Jesus, night had fallen, bringing a new problem. The dingoes had smelled the blood. Retrieving the pistol from his pack, he checked the ammo for it as well as the rifle. He needed to build a fire, but his gut told him not to betray their location. He’d moved the bike under a screen of brush, but if a plane sighted the burned Rovers, someone would be sent to check it out, and if that man was a good tracker, they’d be easy to find. It would be a little problematic to explain why he had a na**d woman covered with blood trussed up in a cave. Of course, once they wrestled him to the ground and untied her, she’d eat everyone, so no worries.
His lips twisted at the thought as he positioned himself at the cave mouth, at the bend where he could still see her, and yet also see the approach the dingoes would most likely use from the ground. If he shot a couple of them, maybe they’d get involved enough with the fallen fellas to leave them alone. Predators were drawn by warm, fresh blood, after all. He steeled himself not to think about that. About the red, still eyes that had followed him across the cave and were fastened on him still.
Three more feedings. Two dead dingoes. He leaned his head against the cave wall at his sentry position, the moon fuzzy around the edges. Like one of those funny flowers . . . dandelions. The kind that you blew so they flew away in the wind, drifting to plant in new places. Create more fuzzy little balls. Funny. Nice to be a fuzzy little ball, something simple, short-lived and yet continuing on, forever and ever.
He stumbled to his feet. Another feeding. “Bugger,” he muttered as he tripped, fell to one knee about five steps in. Using the rifle to get himself back up, he found her in the gloom of the cave. An hour or two ago, she’d stopped making the hair-raising growls and hisses. The pale wisps of skin appearing among the burns had now become a reassuring wide cream expanse, where he could see the delicate bumps of her spine. However, fuddled as he was, he came to a dead halt when he realized her arms were in front of her. The snapped rope lay like a sprawled snake between him and her, one end disappearing under her hair, up over her shoulder.
His grip on the rifle increased. As he hobbled around her cautiously, he considered his options. She hadn’t come at him while he was at the entrance, so maybe . . .
When her gaze rose as he moved around her feet, relief flooded his chest. Her eyes were blue, only a tinge of red left. “Danny?” She gave him a tired smile, and the fist squeezing his gut eased further. Her close scrutiny was intelligent, aware, not feral hunger.
Lowering himself to one knee next to her, he used the rifle to prop himself. “Do you need—”
“No. You’ve done enough. More than enough.” As she started to lift herself up on her arms, he reached out with clumsy fingers, and drew the loosened rope away.
Danny watched him, saw the shadows go through his gaze at the bruising around her throat. It moved her, even as she knew it was absurd. If her burns had vanished in less than a day, the bruising would be gone in barely a blink. He was so pale. Given the amount of time that had passed, she assumed he’d given her far too much of his blood. If he’d lost that much all at once, he would have gone into shock. As it was, even over time, it was far too much.
With three marks, it would have affected him far less, and she could have replenished him with her own blood after she recuperated. While she saw signs that he’d been smart enough to dig into his provisions, she also smelled the blood of the wild dogs and knew he’d been fighting a battle on two fronts.
She could also smell herself. Stale saliva and metallic dried blood. Discarded spaghetti in a garbage can likely looked more appealing than her hair at the moment. Even so, he reached out and touched her face without hesitation, brushing his knuckles along her cheek, under that limp fall of hair. She had to quell the overwhelming urge to give him the second mark then and there, because she wanted to know what was going through his mind.
“Good on ya, love. Nice to have you back.”
Swallowing, she put her hand over his on her face, the large, capable fingers. He was cold—the blood loss, she knew—but beneath that was something that warmed her in a way she couldn’t explain.
“Why are you still here?”
“I said I’d stay,” he said simply.
“So you did.” She managed another smile. “You gave too much. You’re weak.” He shrugged. “I expect you’d like to get cleaned up.”
That was an understatement. All vampires were vain, but when reduced to this, fussing with her hair or wiping some blood off her chin wasn’t going to cut it. Nothing would suffice but a full bath.
“Is that possible?”
“How strong are you?”
When she gave him an ironic look, he chuckled. “I mean, there’s a small billabong, a little under a mile away. It’s about midnight.
We have time before daylight to get there and back with an easy walk. There’s also a moon tonight, so we’ll have enough light to likely stay out of much trouble. And the dingoes—” He cut himself off, gave her a shrewd glance. “ ’Course, you don’t have to worry about that, do you?”
“Now that I’m back up and about, the dingoes shouldn’t cause any problems. Most scavengers and predators won’t come near me unless I’m wounded,” she reminded him. Her lips curved. “Though reptiles can be a bit thickheaded about it, kind of like bushmen. I don’t think the problem is if I can make it. Can you manage it?”
“I’ll do.” His mouth tugged up as well. “And you’re strong enough to carry me if you need to.” Though she stayed close enough so that he could lean on her as much as his pride would allow, Dev did manage. He was quiet, scouting his surroundings in a way that appeared casual, but she suspected was a detailed surveillance. Apparently he’d been doing it long enough that it was as second nature to him as breathing. She felt the twist of guilt again. If she’d been equally vigilant, would her men still be alive?
The moon bathed the land, the expanses of sand among the vegetation and trees gleaming like the shimmer of a tranquil ocean.
Great, vast, unaffected. Yet intensely sentient, listening and alert.
When she first scented the water, her pace quickened, though she tried not to push him, knowing he’d feel it necessary to keep pace with her. She felt like a dog who’d enjoy a good full-body roll in scratchy sand. She’d used a little of the water in the pot back at the cave to take the worst off before she donned her clothes, but she couldn’t wait to be fully immersed.
At the same time, she keenly missed the maidservant she’d kept in Brisbane to help her with things like back scrubbings. As pleasurable as it would be to coax Dev into that duty, she didn’t think he could afford to have any more fluids drained out of him at the moment.
She felt gloriously alive. If you gave him the second mark right now, it would help restore him a bit. Though not as much as the third mark . . .
However, it wasn’t only her knowledge of his physical condition holding her back, but that quiet that had settled between them since the cave. He squatted by the billabong now, in profile from her, filling his large billy so that when she was ready for soap, she could use the cloth-wrapped cake he’d brought along. At a distance from the watering hole, of course, so she wouldn’t contaminate the water for other creatures. If he was her servant in truth, he’d haul the rinse water, pour it over her, maybe pass his hand over her flesh, make sure all the crevices were free of slick soap . . .
Stop it, Danny. That gentle caress on her face in the cave, the moment of relieved levity, that was the brief bond of two people who’d shared a rather intense experience. One that was now over. He’d come out here on a hunch, thinking she was in trouble.
Now that she wasn’t, maybe he was feeling trapped, his sense of nobility chaining him to her side until she reached her destination.
And he’d had to kill for her.
Bugger it. Moving off to a nearby tree, she bent to unlace her boots, pull them off, hopping a bit, then shimmied out of her trousers.
As she shrugged out of the shirt, she did a quick pirouette to flash him a smile. “Come in if you dare, bushman. I’ll protect you from the beasties.”
“Hold up a moment.”
She paused. As he moved toward her, the moon glanced off the planes of his face, the sensual mouth. In darkness, the green of his eyes had some of the gold and gray of hazel. Though she liked watching him move, the sinuous play of muscles at abdomen and waist beneath his shirt, she tried to keep her expression indifferent.
Patiently, he gathered her clothes and put them together in one spot, stuffing the socks in the boots in a way that reminded her horrible things could crawl in while she was gone. A spider or lizard might not be able to hurt her, but she didn’t relish the idea of one scuttling over her toes as she poked them back in. She made a mental note to shake out the boot, even with the protective sock in it.
“You can’t cross this ground with those soft, pretty feet.” Despite the weakness she sensed was still hampering him, he nevertheless guided her arm around his broad shoulders, bent and lifted her, moving forward toward the billabong. She was beginning to wonder if he was made of iron, or if he was too stubborn to know he should be falling down, not hauling her about.