Dark Desire by Christine Feehan Read Free Book Online

bones. The signs of suffering were stamped on that face, harsh and merciless.
    And she knew him. He was the man in her dreams.
    Although it seemed impossible, there was no mistake; she had seen him enough times. And he was the man in the photo graph Don Wallace had shown her. Though it all seemed out of the realm of possibility, she felt linked to him, felt she should have saved him. Grief was welling up, real grief. Shea felt as if a part of her lay dead in the coffin.
    Shea touched his dirty, raven-black hair with gentle fingers. He must have had the same rare blood disorder as she had. How many others had been hunted, persecuted, tortured, and murdered for something they were born with? "I'm sorry," she whispered softly, meaning it. "I failed all of us."
    A slow hiss of air was her only warning. Eyelids snapped open, and she was staring into eyes blazing with venomous hatred. A burst of strength shattered one rusty manacle, and a hand fastened around her throat with a grip like a vise. He was so strong, he cut off her airway, so it was impossible even to scream. Everything seemed to swirl, black and white rushing to overtake her. She had just enough time to feel regret that she would be unable to help him, to feel searing pain as teeth tore into her exposed throat.
    Let it happen fast. Shea didn't struggle; she knew it was useless. In any case someone owed this tormented creature something, and she had long ago accepted death. She was terrified, of course, but strangely calm. If she could somehow give him a measure of peace, she wanted to do so. Guilt for not finding a cure was uppermost in her mind. And something else, something elemental, as old as time itself. The need to save him. The knowledge that he must live and that she was willing to offer up her life for his.
    Shea woke dizzy and weak. She had a headache, and her throat was so sore that she was afraid to move. She frowned, unable to recognize her surroundings. She heard herself moan. She was lying in the dirt, one arm locked behind her, something tight around her wrist. She tugged to get her arm back, but the band tightened, threatening to crush her fragile bones. Her heart jumped, and with her free hand she touched her throat, remembering. Her neck was swollen and bruised. There was a wound, too, torn and aching. Her mouth felt odd, a faint coppery taste coating her tongue.
    She had lost too much blood, she knew immediately. Her head was splintering, fragmenting as the pressure increased. She knew the creature was responsible, attempting to get inside her mind. Moistening her lips carefully, she inched backward, closer to the coffin, to take the pressure from her arm. His fingers still encircled her small wrist like a handcuff, a vise that threatened to crush her bones if she made one wrong move. Another moan escaped before she could prevent it. She wanted to believe this was a nightmare. Steeling herself, Shea turned her head slowly to look at him.
    The movement was intensely painful, taking her breath away. Her eyes locked with his. Involuntarily Shea struggled, tried to get away. His eyes, as black as night, burned at her. Fierce hatred, venomous rage, were concentrated in the soulless depths. His fingers tightened, crushing her wrist, locking her to him, dragging a cry of pain and fear from her bruised throat. Her head pounded.
    "Stop!" Shea's forehead cracked against the side of the coffin in her struggles. "If you hurt me, I can't help you." She raised her head to meet those black eyes. "Do you understand? I'm all you've got." She forced herself to hold that black gaze. Fire. Ice. He had the most frightening eyes she had ever encountered. "My name is Shea O'Halloran. I'm a doctor." She repeated it in several languages, gave up when his eyes continued to burn at her. He seemed to have no mercy in him.
    Not soulless. An animal. Trapped. Hurt. Confused. A predator dangerous beyond belief, reduced to a helpless shell. "I'll help you if you let me," she crooned