Immortals After Dark 10 - Demon From the Dark by Kresley Cole Page B

he used to be.
    She'd fought him. In turn, he'd broken her bones. And now he hazily recalled that he hadn't merely pierced her neck.
    Malkom had torn her skin.
    He'd harmed the most precious thing he'd ever been given, a woman delivered unto him to safeguard.
    Not to ravage.
    Never could he have imagined that both his demon and vampire natures would rise to the fore. If he hadn't lost control and spent himself against her...
    He understood why she'd run. Since she didn't recognize him as her mate, she believed him to be no different than the demons he'd saved her from. But Malkom wasn't like them.
    Somehow he would have to convince her that as his mate, she was his chattel, and by claiming her he would merely be taking what already belonged to him.
    But without speaking her language, he could never explain these things....
    When the night began to wane, Malkom finally slowed. He gazed round him at the dust-blown wastelands, accepting that he might not find her before dawn.
    So he decided he'd do whatever he could to ensure her safety.
    To do what he did best.
    When he scented the ghouls, he attacked with all the ferocity seething within him.

    A growling sound woke Carrow the next morning. Her head jerked up-- has the vemon returned? --but the noise had faded.
    Probably her empty stomach.
    She rubbed her gritty eyes with the heels of her palms, but she could see little of the area around her. Though the winds had died down, the smoke was still suffocating.
    Gods, she was in a bad way, even more exhausted than before. Throughout the night, she'd dozed intermittently in an unsettling slumber, rife with dreams about Ruby and the lives waiting for them back home. She'd been on edge--ghouls had wailed, the sounds chilling her. Then near dawn, they'd abruptly ... stopped.
    Carrow's stomach growled loudly, reminding her that no one was bringing gruel to her cell this morning--and that she hadn't really eaten in over a week. Her thirst was even worse, her mouth as dry as the swirling dust.
    She rose with a grimace, her every muscle protesting. With her first step, the blisters riddling her feet threatened to burst. Her healing wrist ached, and smoke burned her eyes and nose.
    Ignoring her discomfort, she set out, with no idea of where to go, intent only on sating her thirst and hunger. She figured she was s.o.l. on the former--short of locating the water mines. The ones guarded by Slaine.
    But she had to try. Hours had passed since she'd had a drop of water, and last night she'd run for miles in this desert climate. Bad enough for anyone, but especially for Carrow, who hailed from a bayou city known for its moisture.
    At every turn there, she was inundated with damp gulf breezes, pounding showers, or sultry humidity.
    How Carrow yearned to get herself and Ruby back to the city! To return to their wonderful coven and an existence filled with friends, pranks, and revelry.
    For most of her childhood, Carrow had been as good as alone, her neglectful mother and father showing no interest in her. Her toys had echoed in mausoleum-like mansions where "lowly" servants were forbidden to speak to her.
    Then her parents had turned her over to the coven at Andoain, the hearth and home where she'd met her beloved mentor Elianna and eventually Mari--a place where Carrow had been enveloped by a sisterhood of witches, cherished and protected.
    She desperately missed everyone, but especially Mari.
    Though Mari was so full of power--more so than any other Wiccan--she couldn't use the majority of it without gazing into a mirror, her focusing tool. Only problem? Whenever she communed directly with a mirror, she accidentally mesmerized herself, unable to break her gaze.
    Carrow had nicknamed her Glitch, short for glass witch .
    The last time it'd happened, Mari had mesmerized herself so deeply that her Lykae husband had barely broken the enthrallment. Apparently, it'd been a bloody, grueling affair and far too close a call.
    If Mari hadn't sent in the