One minute the ground was rushing toward her face, and the next she was caught up in strong arms and pressed to a hard chest.
“Thank God,” she whispered as Domitian’s scent filled her nostrils.
“Mi Corazon?” Domitian whispered with concern when Sarita went still in his arms. She didn’t answer, and the scent of blood was heavy on her. He took a moment to listen for her heartbeat, his own heart stuttering with concern when he heard how weak and thready it was.
“Rest, mi Corazon,” he whispered. “I have you.”
Pressing her tight against him, he glanced around to be sure the way was still clear and the men had not returned from their search, and then he moved quickly around the corner and back along the wall. When he reached the light Asherah had pointed out, he hunched over and ran for the fence, making sure to stay within the dead zone between cameras as Asherah had instructed. Reaching the fence, he didn’t bother untying the tie, but pushed his way through, careful to avoid any part of Sarita getting caught by the sharp and broken wire.
Once through he immediately ducked into the jungle outside the fence and then hesitated. It would be faster to cut back on this side of the island and Sarita was injured and needed immediate tending. However, Asherah had warned him that route was too dangerous.
Cursing, he turned and followed the longer route, rushing through the small strip of forest that ran between the fence and the bluffs over the beach, following them around the fenced-in labs and then behind and past the big house. He had to stop only twice to avoid being spotted by the few searchers in this area. As Asherah had said, it appeared they were concentrating on the other side of the island in front of the house, expecting him to try for one of the boats.
Domitian continued on a straight path along the cliffs until he was a good distance through the forest between the big house and the cottage where Sarita’s grandmother and Mrs. Dressler lived. He then cut into the forest, avoiding the paths, but making a zigzag trail of his own toward the cottage. Domitian saw a pair of men to his left at one point, but both men were looking the opposite way and he continued on, moving as silently and swiftly as he could, hoping they wouldn’t turn and look in his direction until he was well past. When no one shouted or started shooting at him, he was sure he’d avoided detection.
It seemed to take forever to reach the cottage, and Domitian spent the entire trip listening anxiously to Sarita’s heartbeat, afraid it would stop at any moment. Nothing in his life had ever terrified him as much as the possibility of losing Sarita did during that interminable journey back to the cottage. He didn’t slow as he reached the edge of the clearing, simply raced forward down the path. When the door opened before he reached it, he thought Thorne must have been watching for him, but it was Sarita’s grandmother.
“Is she all right?” Maria Reyes asked with alarm as Domitian hurried inside.
“She will be,” he assured her grimly in passing and rushed up the hall to the stairs.
Domitian carried Sarita straight up to the guest room she’d slept in earlier, kicked the door closed behind him and settled on the bed with her in his lap. He didn’t think about what he was doing, or that he should lock the door or tie Sarita down first, or that he would need blood to help her with the turn, Domitian simply shifted his left arm under her neck so that her head dropped down to hang off it. When her mouth then fell open, he tore into his other arm with his own fangs and pressed the gushing wound to her mouth.
When the bleeding stopped, he repeated the action. Domitian was just finishing doing it for the third time when Sarita’s grandmother finally caught up to him and bustled into the room.
“Is she—?” Maria Reyes drew up short halfway to the bed as her eyes telegraphed what they were seeing to her mind. She stared at the blood soaking Sarita’s side and hip, the blood smeared on her lips and face, and the bloody wound now stretching from Domitian’s wrist to his elbow, and then her eyes rolled up in her head and she just keeled over.
Domitian sat up slightly, craning his head to see the woman, worried he’d killed Sarita’s grandmother, and then was distracted when Sarita began to scream and thrash in his arms. Obviously, she’d had enough blood. The turn had begun. Cursing as he realized how unprepared he was for it, Domitian scooped Sarita up, stood, set her on the bed and tried to hold her down.
He could hear shouting from below, recognized Mrs. Dressler’s anxious voice, but didn’t have time to answer her questions. He was in the middle of a battle royale with his life mate. Sarita was bouncing, thrashing, kicking, and hitting. She was also screaming her head off the whole time, in obvious agony and need and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. He didn’t have any blood.
After taking a third kick to the groin and having her nails raked across his cheek twice, Domitian, out of desperation, threw himself on top of the wild woman, hoping to pin her down with his weight. It didn’t exactly work as he’d hoped. Instead of pinning her down, Domitian found himself holding on for dear life as she bucked and bounced around on the bed like a wild bronco.
“Oh dear . . . What . . . ?”
Domitian wasn’t sure if he actually heard those words over Sarita’s caterwauling or if Maria Reyes was so distressed she was shouting her thoughts. Whatever the case, he glanced around then to see the woman sitting up on the floor, looking both dazed and horrified as she watched him and Sarita hump around the bed. At least until Sarita gave one great heaving hump and kick that sent them turning and tumbling off the bed onto the floor next to the woman.
Tightening his grip on Sarita, who was now on top, Domitian tried to offer the older woman a reassuring smile, but his head was bouncing repeatedly off the floor, sent there by Sarita’s breasts as she thrashed on top of him, and he suspected what he actually managed was a rictus of pain.
Eyes wide, Maria Reyes dragged a golden cross out from the neckline of her dress, clutched it between her hands and began to pray. It wasn’t until she started yelling “Out devil! Out foul demon!” that he realized she thought Sarita was possessed.
Domitian closed his eyes and began to pray as well, but he was praying that he would survive Sarita’s turning with at least one testicle still intact. He was quite sure that one of them was ruptured.
“What the hell?”
Domitian opened his eyes with hope to find Thorne standing in the doorway to the room with a very alarmed-looking Mrs. Dressler in his arms.
“Oh, gracias a Dios,” Maria Reyes cried and rushed to stand next to the pair in the doorway, chattering away in Spanish so quickly and frantically even he couldn’t understand it, and Domitian had been speaking Spanish for centuries. When she finally wound down, the three of them just stood there watching in horror as Sarita continued to rock and thrash on top of him as if he were a rocking horse. With Domitian’s hands locked around her waist, she was now throwing herself forward, smashing his head into the floor with her breasts, and then throwing her upper body back and bringing her knees down, pow, right between his legs. And they were just watching, he thought with disbelief. As if this was some WWF bout.
“Help,” Domitian whimpered in a voice he was sure was too low to be heard. Fortunately Thorne seemed to understand. He glanced around a little wildly, and then set his mother on the bed. Maria had followed and settled beside her so that the two women could clutch each other’s hands as they watched and prayed. At least he was quite sure Maria was praying, Elizabeth Dressler was shouting advice to her rather confounded son as he tried to sort out how to help Domitian.
“Quick, grab her around the chest when she swings up!” Mrs. Dressler shouted.
Thorne straightened his shoulders, straddled Domitian and Sarita and tried to wrap his arms around her chest as she threw herself up and back, slamming her knees into Domitian’s much-abused family jewels. Stars exploded behind his eyes, a buzzing sounded in his ears and he closed his eyes on a groan as he waited for the agony to end. But when he could hear again, Elizabeth Dressler was saying, “Oh dear, Thorne, no I don’t think—Oh, that isn’t working at all.”
Forcing his eyes open, Domitian saw that while Thorne had started out wrapping his arms around Sarita’s chest, she was thrashing and bobbing around so much that he now had her only by the breasts, one hand clutching each. It brought a growl from Domitian just before the man muttered, “Sorry,” and released her.