That got her attention. He’d been gentle these past weeks, seeing the fragile state of her mind. But his emotions had been so involved, he’d forgotten what he’d told her from the very beginning. You don’t help a traumatized cat get past the trauma by acting as if the trauma is still happening. Life went on, so they all had to as well. She was his servant, and he was her Master.

Her gaze flickered toward him, then away, her lips pressing together, a combined sign of frustration and nervousness. Good. Both were new. As he drove up to the habitat area, Chumani raised a hand, coming out of a wire enclosure they’d put up temporarily for the new arrivals.

When Mal got out of the Jeep, Chumani nodded to them. “They’re ready for the next feeding, the little monsters. Milk’s in the warmer and should be the right temp. I’m headed up to the northwest corner to help the young lions hunt. The zebra herd’s looking likely tonight.”

“Good luck. Be careful.”

The Indian woman gave him a nod, and Elisa a quick stroke down her arm, but she didn’t linger over it, going about her business. Mal gestured to Elisa to precede him to the wire cage. “We received a litter of ocelot kittens found by a ranger. A poacher had their mother. Since the ranger station didn’t have the resources to nurse them, they asked for our help. Unfortunately, their eyes were already open, and we don’t have a nursing mother right now, so we’ll deal with their human bonding later, when we get to the rehab stage. For now, we need to get them stronger. This is a job that takes a good bit of time, so you’ll take over for the hands. You can drive back and forth from the house for the feedings.”

She’d stopped at the wire fence, and saw the kittens in a box lined with grass and leaves. Though their eyes were open, they did in fact appear weak, uninterested in their surroundings and not moving around as they should be. The mewling noises they made were muffled.

Mal took her to the makeshift sink and directed her to wash her hands in the strong antibacterial soap. Then he removed two bottles from the warmer. “Exotic cats are very sensitive to fatal intestinal problems, which is why we’re careful about giving them the wrong kind of bacteria. They can also aspirate if you don’t feed them correctly. That means the milk gets into their lungs and they drown. We’ll go slow this first time; don’t worry.”

Her eyes had gotten dark, the blue like deep ocean. “Mal, I don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t recall making it a request. You stay here, you pull your weight. You’re one of my staff, aren’t you?”

“I’ll go home. I just said I would.”

“Fine, then. But you’ll do this until I arrange a plane.” Guiding her in, he put pressure on her so she was sitting on the ground, and then he sat down behind her, sliding her into the space between his thighs, bracing his back against the fencing. Her body stiffened. Since those couple of attempts to break her out of her catharsis through physical demands, he’d restrained himself to incidental contact only. That had been a mistake. He realized now it was easier to shut herself down to full-blown lust than casual intimacy like this. With both virtual feet firmly planted in her mind, he saw how one part of her mind rejected his closeness, while another part desperately wanted it. Being a vampire who’d abstained for well over a month now, he was more than willing to start forcing her to face her desire, rather than letting her hide from it.

The babies were making more noise, detecting the milk scent. He picked up one and deposited it in Elisa’s lap, putting the bottle in her other hand. “Here we go. Now, the hardest part is getting it in his mouth. Wrap the hand around his head, where you’re covering his eyes, and put your thumb under the jaw. It basically shuts down all other stimuli and helps him focus just on eating . . . Once in—there you go—you want the milk to drip into the mouth—”

For the next few moments, he instructed her in the proper angle to hold the bottle, how the kitten should be positioned, and at what rate to administer the milk. How much would be enough. She was trembling as she handled the baby, but he acted as if all was well, keeping his voice low, firm and calm, steadying her hand until the kitten was nursing enthusiastically.

They repeated the process with each of the three kittens, but it wasn’t until she was done, holding a lap full of sleepy babies, that she touched the animals for more than the milking function. Her now-free hand touched the back of one. Normally he would have discouraged human affection, but given the circumstances, he let it go. As he watched her stroke the kit hesitantly, he saw the slight adjustment in her mind, the crack of the door, as she let herself be aware of the dependent body in her lap, the beat of his tiny heart, the way he’d taken nourishment from her. As the moment lengthened, her body eased some more, leaning back more fully into his. Putting a hand on her brow, he guided her head to lie on his shoulder as they watched the kit doze off, exhausted from his struggle to live.

“Do they . . . do they have a good chance of making it?” She pressed her lips together as if she hadn’t meant to ask.

“Kittens and cubs have a fairly high mortality out in the wild. If they don’t have any complications as babies, though, and you care for them the right way, they should. Maybe like Chumani, you’ll be the one to teach them to hunt.”

“Then one day they’ll learn enough, and they’ll leave. And they could die.”

“Yes, they could. Or they could live the lives they were meant to lead, hunting, having babies of their own.”

“It’s too painful,” she whispered. “It’s just too difficult.”

One of the kits had maneuvered to the edge of her lap, his head slowly dropping off the edge of her skirt. She steadied him, sliding him back down into the bundle with his siblings, making Mal want to smile at her instinctive mothering, even as he felt the pain of her words.

“It’s only too difficult when you shut us all out, face it all alone. When you think you’re all alone.” He slid an arm around her waist. “I don’t remember as much about the traditions of my people as I should. But I know that when a brave wanted a woman to be his, he would ask her family’s permission. If they agreed, from that point on, until they were wed, he would supply her with venison. So at the wedding ceremony, a blanket and venison were presented as his part, to show he would always provide for her, give her shelter and food.”

Her mind was turning over his words, trying to connect them to the ocelots, but of course there was no connection there. He was encouraged by the curiosity, lethargic though it was.

“There’s this movie called Broken Arrow, with Jimmy Stewart. Have you seen it?” When she shook her head, he continued. “He marries an Indian woman, and the marriage ceremony, while not necessarily Cherokee, picked up on some of those old traditions. I don’t recall the exact words, but they went something to the effect of: ‘Now we won’t feel cold, because we’ll keep each other warm. We won’t feel the rain, because we’ll give each other shelter. And we won’t know loneliness anymore, because we have each other.’”

She swallowed. “Mal, don’t. Please don’t.”

“You can’t stop me. You don’t want me to stop. It hurts; I know how much it hurts. It’s been tearing me apart, feeling your pain. Give it to me; let me share it with you.” He put both arms around her, and she latched onto his forearms, digging in, turning her face into his shoulder, trying to pull him in and deny him at once.

I love you, Elisa.

She went very, very still, and he felt that storm rising, knew he was drawing it to the surface, but he wouldn’t let it have her, would stay wrapped around her when it hit. He held her tighter, just to let her know. She might not realize it, but he needed the steadying as much as she did. He’d never told any woman he loved her, vampire or otherwise.

At length she spoke, a quiet, broken whisper against his shoulder. “Are you telling me this to make me feel better?”

“Yes and no. Yes, because I’m hoping such a pathetic offering will lift your spirits, and no, I’m not telling you just to make you feel better. It’s not a lie. You are my servant, Elisa. Not as a temporary measure for your fledglings, not as a matter of convenience. You are my servant because that’s what I wanted, and you are bound to me. You’re mine, and I want you to stay that way, always.”

He brushed aside the hair on her nape then, and laid his lips there, teasing the artery, scoring it with his fangs, reminding her of what was hers to give him, what he could demand. Her soul recoiled, afraid of such passion, such feeling, but his hands were already cupping her breasts. With the kittens sleeping in her lap, and not wanting to disturb them, Elisa couldn’t move away, and he stroked his thumbs over her nipples. They were highly sensitive, her whole body suddenly leaping to fire as if everything she’d kept tamped down had been released by his cursed ability to arouse her no matter what.

The flood of anger and passion she felt was gratifying and also a warning, so he took the role of aggressor before her emotions could turn against her.

“No . . .” It was a broken whisper, her only plea, but in answer, his fangs sank into her throat, taking what was his, those clever, devilblessed hands continuing to stroke, knead, and now pinch, making her surge into his touch, squirming on the ground as he woke other things up, below the waist.

Put the ocelots back in their box, Elisa.

Elisa did it, one at a time, though her hands were now shaking for a different reason. As soon as the last kit was situated, Mal’s hands descended farther, the heel of his palm pressing against her clit, accessible from her cross-legged position in the skirt. He moved the fabric out of his way, so that his callused palm was against her panties, a silky pair, because he’d gotten rid of her others, wanting her in only those pretty, lacy things he’d bought her.

It wasn’t a marriage proposal; she understood that. She wasn’t sure she knew what love meant to a vampire, but she knew it wasn’t something they said to a human. Mal wasn’t like a lot of vampires, and his words meant far more to her than she wanted them to mean. She wasn’t ready to feel this, this need for him. She was too fragile and brittle. She’d break into a million pieces.