Kiss of Midnight_ A Midnight Breed Novel - Lara Adrian [104]
She backed off to give him space, but she wasn’t about to leave him suffering like this by himself. “Should I get someone for you? I can go tell Gideon—”
“No! Don’t…can’t tell. Not…anyone.” When he lifted his eyes to her, she saw that his pupils were thin slits of black, swamped by pools of glowing amber. That feral gaze went to her throat. Locked onto the place where she could feel her pulse hammering. Lucan shuddered, squeezed his eyes shut. “It will pass. It always does…eventually.”
As if to prove his point, after a long moment, he started to drag himself to his feet. It was hard going and graceless, but the growl he sent Gabrielle’s way when she tried to help him convinced her to let him do it on his own. By sheer force of will, he got up and flopped onto his stomach on the edge of the bed. He was still panting, his body still tense and heaving.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Go.” He blew the word out on an anguished gasp. “Just…stay away.”
She remained right where she was. Braved a light touch on his shoulder. “Your skin is on fire. You’re burning up with fever.”
He didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure he was capable of words when all his energy was focused on grounding himself and getting free of whatever it was that had him in such a fierce hold. He’d told her he needed to feed tonight, but this seemed to be something deeper than basic hunger. This was suffering on a level she’d never seen.
A chill thought ran through her head, carried there by a term Lucan had used earlier tonight.
Bloodlust.
That was the addiction he had described as being a hallmark of the Rogues. All that separated the Breed from their savage brethren. Looking at him now, she had to wonder how difficult it might be to feed a hunger that could also destroy you.
And once Bloodlust had you by the throat, how long before it pulled you under completely?
“You’re going to be all right,” she told him softly, stroking his dark hair. “Just relax. Let me take care of you, Lucan.”
CHAPTER
Twenty-three
He was lying in cool shade, a soft breeze sifting through his hair. He didn’t want to wake up from the deep, dreamless sleep. It wasn’t often that he found this kind of peace. Never like this. He wanted to nestle down into it, sleep for a hundred years.
But the faint trace of jasmine floating close by made him stir. He sucked the sweet scent into his lungs, tasting it in the back of his parched throat. Savoring it. He peeled open his heavy lids, looked up, and saw beautiful brown eyes gazing back at him.
“Feeling better?”
He was, actually. The searing headache was gone. His skin no longer felt like it was being shredded off of him. The twisting pain in his gut had faded to a hollow gnawing, uncomfortable as hell, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
He tried to tell her he was better, but his voice came out in a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat, pushed sound out of his mouth. “I’m okay.”
Gabrielle was seated on the bed with him, holding his head in her lap. She pressed a cool, damp cloth softly to his forehead and cheeks. With her other hand, she was stroking his hair, her fingers gentle and soothing.
It felt good. So incredibly good.
“You were in pretty bad shape. I was worried about you.”
He groaned at the reminder of what had happened. The attack of blood hunger had knocked him on his ass. He’d been reduced to a sputtering, feeble ball of pain. And she had seen it all. Jesus, he wanted to crawl in a dark hole and die for letting anyone see him laid low like that. Particularly Gabrielle.
Humiliation over his own weakness hit him hard, but it was the sudden jolt of dread that made him rise up, fully awake. “Christ. Gabrielle, I didn’t…did I hurt you?”
“No.” She touched his jaw, not a trace of fear in her eyes or her tender caress. “I’m fine. You didn’t do anything