Her irises were jet black, light reflecting in silver-shot threads off of them. Her scent made it hard for him to think about anything but her. It didn’t matter that he hardly knew her. He had to touch her. He had to. Nick reached out, Danielle growling when his fingers closed around her waist. He urged her to him in a feral need he’d never known before, her slight body forming perfectly to his. And just as he bent to kiss her—Danielle lunged, biting him on the shoulder.
He released her, his hand going to his arm. Blood trickled from between his fingers as pain exploded like an aftereffect through his shoulder and down his back.
“What did you do?” he gritted.
Danielle wiped his blood off her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh, no.” Her fingers fumbled over his shirt. “Get it off,” she ordered, yanking it over his head.
“All right, all right,” he said tossing it aside. Her reaction seemed like overkill, but then he clearly had left the boundaries of normal town long ago.
And then he staggered, falling to his knees, his vision blurring.
“Listen to me.” She dropped down beside him. “You’re sick. Very sick.”
He’d never been sick a day in his life. “It’s all right, baby. I’ll be fine. I always am.”
“You’re not going to be fine. You’re going to…” She took a deep breath. “There is one thing I can do. Sometimes it works.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, and he didn’t really care. This close, all he wanted was to be in her arms. He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger, tugged until she bent toward him.
“Stop that,” she said, shaking him off. Danielle pressed her hands to either side of the bite wound. “I really don’t want to do this.”
She bent, sucking the blood out like a venomous snake bite and spitting it aside. Nick moved to stop her, because, well, she was sucking out his blood for crying out loud—but his head was beginning to clear. After she repeated the process four or five times, the pain eased to a dull burn down his arm.
“Can you walk?” She swiped up his shirt, wiping her mouth with it.
This couldn’t be happening. Things like this didn’t happen. He felt a chill coming on.
“We need to get you to the cabin,” she said. “I removed enough of the venom that you might not die.”
Might not. “What?”
She came to her feet, hand over her mouth. “Excuse me.” Danielle stumbled into the bushes. A moment later he heard her throwing up.
He heaved himself off the ground and stumbled after her, finding her kneeling in a bed of pine needles, hands braced on her thighs. Nick helped her to her feet.
“I had to remove venom once before,” she said. “Only I wasn’t the one who did the biting. It was an adolescent. She didn’t know any better. I’ve never bitten anyone, I swear. Well, Lothar once—okay, twice—back when I didn’t know any better.” She seemed pretty adamant about convincing him.
“What are you?” he asked.
“I’m not like other women.”
“I gathered that. What are you?” he repeated.
She looked at the ground between them. “I can’t tell you.”
“You’re crazy.”
“And you’re sick. There are herbs that will help, assuming your immune system is strong enough.” She paused, as if listening for something. “Your heart is very strong. That’s good.”
“Herbs?”
“There’s never been much research done on this kind of venom. All we have are the old cures.” She ducked under his arm, leading him away.
Her scent was getting him a little buzzed. He buried his face in her hair instinctively. “Sure, baby. You can take me anywhere.”
“Walk,” she gritted, urging him on. “Just walk.”
Darcy Branwyn 
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