But that would come later. For now, Zarek was up and moving. His immortal life or death rested completely in her hands and she intended to test him fully to see just what kind of man he was.
Did he have any compassion left inside him or was he just as empty as she was?
Her job was to be the epitome of the things that drove Zarek to anger. She would push him to the heights of his tolerance and beyond to see what he would do.
If he could control himself with her, she would judge him safe and sane.
If he lashed out to hurt her in any way, she would judge him guilty and he would die.
Let the tests begin...
She ran through her mind what little she knew about him. Zarek didn't like to talk to people. He didn't like the rich.
Most of all, he hated to be touched or ordered about.
So she decided to press his first button with idle conversation.
"What color is your hair?" she asked. The seemingly innocuous question made her memory flash to the way it had felt under her hand as she had bathed the blood from it.
His hair had been soft, smooth. It had slid sensuously through her fingers, caressing them. From the feel of it, she knew it wasn't too short or too long, but probably fell to his shoulders when styled.
"Excuse me?" He sounded surprised by her question and for once didn't growl the words at her.
He had a beautiful voice. Rich and deep. It resonated with its Greek accent, and every time he spoke, it sent a strange chill through her. She'd never heard any man who had a voice so innately masculine.
"Your hair," she repeated. "I was wondering what color it is."
"Why do you care?" he asked belligerently.
She shrugged. "Just curious. I spend a lot of time alone and though I don't really remember what colors look like, I try to picture them anyway. My sister Cloie gave me a book once that said every color had a texture and feel. Red, for instance, it said was hot and bumpy."
Zarek frowned at her. This was an odd conversation, but then, he'd spent enough time alone to understand the need to talk about anything to anyone who would stand still long enough to bother. "It's black."
"I thought so."
"Did you?" he asked before he could stop himself.
She nodded as she rounded the bed and came a little too close to him. She stood so close that their bodies almost touched. He felt an odd impulse to touch her. To see if her skin was as soft as it appeared.
Gods, she was beautiful.
Her body was lithe and tall, her breasts a perfect handful. It'd been a long time since he had last screwed a woman. An eternity since he had been this close to one without tasting her blood.
He swore he could taste hers now. Feel her heartbeat pounding against his lips as he drank from her while her emotions and feelings poured into him, filling him with something other than numbness and pain.
Even though drinking human blood was forbidden, it was the only thing that had ever given him pleasure. The only thing that buried the pain inside him and allowed him to experience hopes, dreams.
The only thing that allowed him to feel human.
And he wanted to feel human.
He wanted to feel her.
"Your hair was cool and silky," she said softly, "like midnight velvet."
Her words made his cock tighten with need and lust.
Cool and silky.