A Warrior s Desire - By Pamela Palmer Page 0,46

from his hair and glanced at her, eyeing her fruit suspiciously.

"It's black."

She swallowed the tangy bite.

"It's good," she countered, and tossed him the second one.

Charlie turned the round globe over in his hand.

"Looks rotten."

Tarrys rolled her eyes.

"In your world black might mean rotten.

Here it just means black.

Eat it."

With a grimace, he bit into the fruit, made a sound of appreciation and devoured the rest.

Things had changed between them over the past couple of days.

The tension and need to drive through the mountain as quickly as possible had obviously worn on Charlie, turning him more moody than she'd seen him.

More withdrawn.

She supposed a death mark would do that.

Yet it saddened her, too.

The closeness that had been growing between them had fallen away.

Charlie rarely looked at her anymore.

He hardly even met her gaze, as if even that small connection was more than he wanted with her.

She told herself it was the worry eating at him.

That their mating wasn't at the root of his withdrawal.

But she wasn't so sure.

Which made what she had to say to him all the more difficult.

Tarrys took a deep breath.

"Charlie, I think the poison's back.

I think it's time I shared my power with you again."

He glanced at her, wariness in his eyes.

"And just how would you do that?" "You know."

The knowledge flared in his eyes, then disappeared with a scowl.

"I'm fine."

But they both knew that was a lie.

The knot of disappointment that had lodged itself beneath her rib cage a couple of days ago grew larger and more painful.

If only she knew how she'd displeased him.

Because being with him had been the most extraordinary experience, and she desperately wanted to repeat it.

But Charlie had made it clear he didn't feel the same.

And that hurt.

She tossed her head, feeling the heavy weight of hair brush her shoulders.

It was funny, really.

In the human realm, she'd wished she had long, thick hair, thinking Charlie might be more likely to notice her if she had.

But now that she suddenly had thick tresses, he barely looked at her at all.

She stared down into the water, kicking her feet slowly back and forth.

"Would you like to try another fruit?" When he didn't answer, she glanced at him, then watched with alarm as his body began to collapse.

"Charlie!" Tarrys grabbed for him as he tipped forward and fell into the shallow stream in a boneless heap.

Pulse pounding, she leaped in after him and yanked his head above the water.

Humans had to breathe or they drowned.

"Charlie, wake up!" As she stared into his unconscious face, she saw the mottling pattern rising from his neck to his face, darkening by the second.

Fear was a vise, crushing her ribs.

Struggling and panting, Tarrys hooked her arms beneath his and backed him out of the water, sliding him up the bank until he lay on the grass.

She didn't know if he was breathing, didn't know how to make him start breathing if he'd stopped.

She only knew one way to share her power with him and hoped that would be enough.

With shaking hands, she untied his soaked pants and reached inside to free his penis only to find it soft and flaccid.

Reaching for it, she began to stroke the damp flesh, eliciting a groan from him that sputtered into a cough.

"Charlie?" He said nothing, showing no sign of waking, but the worst of her fear slipped away with the proof that he was still alive, still breathing.

Slowly, the flesh beneath her hand began to harden, her soft ministrations awakening her need for him as much as his for her.

By the time he was hard enough, she was damp and ready.

Tarrys pulled off her gown, then bent and kissed his unresponsive lips.

"I love you, Charlie Rand."

She rose and straddled him, guiding him into her damp heat.

Pleasure tore through her as she took him deep inside and she gasped and threw her head back, absorbing the rush of passion.

His sudden thrust against her startled her.

Her head snapped forward until she was staring into heated eyes in a face devoid of the poison's mottling.

Like something out of his fantasies, Charlie woke to find Tarrys straddling him, riding him, drawing him deep into her body with velvet strokes of wickedly intense pleasure.

He grabbed her hips and thrust himself harder, watching her back arch, her perfect breasts rise, her head falling back on a moan.

Passion roared through him, cleansing him of sleep and weakness, lifting him up as if on the winds of a storm.

A storm that, like before, threatened to tear him loose and dash