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"Are you sick?" She went to him and reached out a hand. She was stunned when he

batted it away.

"The gods-be-damned Healer took out one of my kidneys!" he answered through

clenched teeth.

Bridget stared at him. "What Healer? When?"

"On Helios Twelve," he snarled. "There was a fight; I was stabbed and the bitch took out my kidney." As he said the last word, he doubled over, hunkering down on the cave

floor.

"Oh, Kam! Tell me what I can do!"

"You can get the hell away from me!" he yelled, looking up at her with a wild look in his eyes.

"Let me help you." She put a hand on his shoulder and was shocked when he sprang to his feet, his lips drawn back over his gleaming teeth.

"Don't touch me, woman, unless you are prepared to feed me from your veins!" He

took a step toward her, grinning malevolently as she stumbled out of his reach.

Cree's feral eyes narrowed and his voice was a husky growl. "I didn't think so." He turned away, pacing the restrictive confines of the small cave like a caged beast. Now and

again, he looked past Bridget to the lethal lightning still spearing the ground beyond the

cave's entrance and growled with frustration.

"How soon?" She understood what was going to happen. Being well versed in Reaper

anatomy, she knew the loss of an organ could alter the Transition cycles.

"An hour," he spat. "Maybe two. No more than that." He raked his fingers through his hair, armed the sweat from his brow, and then bent over the growing pain in his abdomen.

"You need a transfusion," she said quietly and saw his head come up.

"And just where the hell do you think I'll get it out here?"

"Kamerone, you can—"

"They did this to me."

"Who?"

"The gods-be-damned Resistance, woman!" he shouted. He bent forward, his gut on

fire, and a small groan of growing frustration pushed from between his tightly clenched

teeth. "It's always them!"

"The storm stranded us, Kamerone."

He turned on her. "Don't you think the weather station on FSK-9 knew we were going

to have a storm today? Don't you think they would have alerted my own station to warn

me to get my ass back to FSK-14 before it was too late?"

"I don't understand."

"There are female weather techs on FSK-9," he seethed. "Females who belong to the Resistance!"

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us. We—" She stopped, eyes flaring, as she realized what she had said.

Cree nodded as though he had been expecting her to admit her connection to the

infernal witches who had been tormenting him for more than a year. "By the gods," he said quietly, fiercely, "I had hoped Taborn was wrong. I should have known better."

"It isn't what you think," she said, starting toward him only to have his hand shoot out to point a rigid, denying finger at her.

"Stay the hell away from me, Bridget!"

"Let me help you," she pleaded.

"You have done enough! It was a trap, wasn't it?" He looked at her, his face filled with hurt. "They used you to get to me. They—" He slumped against the cave wall, his body arching with the excruciating pain ripping through it. "Oh, god!"

"Kamerone, please," she said, going to him. "At least let me hold you."

A part of him wanted desperately to be held, to feel the gentle comfort only she could

give him. In her arms, perhaps the pain would not be so great; but the danger of him

hurting her would increase tenfold so he shook his head, denying them both.

"I am not afraid of you," she insisted and reached out but he put up a stiff arm to keep her at bay.

"You should be!" he spat. He started to tell her why but his words were cut off by a sudden surge of torment that made him hide his face against the stone. "Sweet Merciful

Alel!" he whimpered and dropped to the ground, his body jackknifing.

"I can't stand to see you like this!" Despite his warning growl, she came to him, knelt down only a foot away. "Kam, please let me help you!"

He lifted his head and looked at her. A slow, menacing grin creased his face when he

watched hers lose its coloring. Her lips parted in shock and began to tremble.

"What's wrong, Bridget?" he growled, holding her in the grip of his savage gaze.

Bridget felt the cold shudder go down her body as she stared at the altered condition of

his face. She knew the wetness that appeared between her legs was not sweat from being

too close to the small fire.

Gone was the dark brown of his eyes; gone was the bold, clean line of his nose; the

handsome planes of his face; the white gleam of his teeth.

"Like what you see?"

His eyes were glowing red behind the wrinkled advance of his snout. His cheekbones

had flared, become elevated, and swept back to sharp, pointed ears. The yellowed fangs

protruding from his leathery lips and dripping thick streams of saliva were like needles as

he grinned at her.

"Want what you see?" he taunted.

It took every ounce of Bridget Dunne's courage and compassion to hold her arms out to

him. "I love you, Kamerone Cree," she whispered.

Like the bloodbeast he was rapidly becoming, the Reaper cocked his head to one side

in question, looking up at her through the dark brush of his hair.

"Let me hold you." She put a trembling hand to his rough cheek. "Let me hold you, sweetheart."

A moan of despair came from the very depths of his being and he ducked his head in

abject shame. "How can you bear to touch me?" he whimpered and his voice was barely recognizable as human.

Bridget could feel her fury rising. She knew who was to blame for this. Kam had been

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right: the Resistance had set this evil plan into motion. They had known full well what

terrible pain—both physical and mental—having her see him like this would do to Cree.

"Come here!" she bit out, drawing him into her arms and holding him even when he

tried to break free. "You are my heart. Do you think I care what is on the outside of the man? It is what is inside that matters!"

"There is a beast inside me, Bridget!"

"Be quiet," she insisted. It wasn't her words, but the descent of her lips with protective fierceness on his savage brow that finally calmed his struggles.

"Do not look at me," he pleaded, his heavy claw of a hand wrapped around her wrist as she held him to her. "I can not bear you to see this!"

"I am watching the lightning," she answered and resolutely looked toward the cave

entrance.

Bridget became lost in her raging thoughts of vengeance against the Resistance for the

deliberate torment of this man yet again. Cree was sunk as low into the quagmire of

beasthood as he could go and was completely unable to comprehend time or space in his

pain. She whispered words she doubted he could understand, but knew the sound of her

voice soothed him. He held on to her, his face pressed tightly against her bosom so she

could not see the full transition that had taken place. She hummed to him, trying with all

her might to ignore the rank odor of his body and the sharp nails grazing her wrists as he

gripped her. He panted with his pain, trying with all his might to ignore the smell of

sweet, rich blood flowing through her arteries and the warm flesh so close to his jaws. It

wasn't until his need became an undeniable agony that he tore loose from her hold and

rolled away, drawing his knees up to his chest. His netherworldly howl of frustration and

pain brought tears to her eyes.

"Tell me what to do for you."

"I will let you do nothing!" he rasped, the words more snarl than speech.

Bridget began to unbutton the cuff of her blouse and roll up the sleeve.

A low growl of denial came from the Reaper as he realized what she intended to do. He

felt as though he were being eaten alive—as his victims always were—yet the relief that

was only three feet away, he refused to take. He knew he would rather die than feed on

Bridget's blood. It took the very last bit of the human ability to speak left in him to form

the single word:

"
No!
"

"I am not going to argue with you." She crawled to him and put her wrist against his lips. "You don't have any choice. I'm not giving you one!" He tried to move his head away. "Reaper! You have to!"

Cree was horror-stricken to find he had no control over the beast within him. The

monster flicked out a tongue to taste the warm skin. The salty flavor overwhelmed it and

its strong jaws clamped around Bridget's wrist, but with the first touch of fang to soft

flesh, the humanoid still struggling to maintain control of the Dearg-Dul's body, froze.

"Do it," Bridget demanded, seeing his hesitation.

A helpless groan came from Kamerone Cree. His tongue slavered over her flesh, but

even though he held her fragile wrist in his mouth, he would not sink his fangs into her

flesh.

"Do it, Kam. Do it now!"

The thought of feeding on the mate he loved was repellent even to the beast in him. He

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should protect her; not cause her pain. She was the dam who would birth his whelp. He

must not let anything harm her. With a hiss of fury, he thrust away her arm, shook his

head wildly, then scrambled to his feet to bolt out into the raging storm.

"Kam!" Bridget screamed, running after him.

Once outside the cave, he loped across the crest of the hill by the stream. The rain

lashed at him as he ran; the wind whipped through his pelt. Now and again he stopped,

sniffed the air for possible prey to ease the burgeoning hunger in his belly, then threw

back his head and howl for the only blood he smelled was his mate's.

"Kam!?"

Bridget leaned into the onslaught of the hard rain and harsh wind. Her face was soon

numb from the cold that tore at her hair and whipped it to a froth about her head. She

called out to him, but her words were flung back at her, lost in the thunderous rumble and

sizzle of the storm. With grim determination, she headed toward the eerie baying she

knew came from the Reaper.

He stopped, hunkered down and turned his head from side to side, his chatoyant eyes

seeking out any trace of warmth from which he could feed. There was nothing.

"Kam!"

He hung his head between his paws. The temptation of her warm blood was becoming

too much for him. His strength was ebbing and the parasites inside him were whispering

vile demands he could no longer ignore.

Bridget almost stumbled over him as she came around a tall pine. He was squatting

there, making strange sounds that were part growl and part groan.

"Kam, let me help you."

He resolutely shook his head, his tangled mane spraying droplets of water.

She knelt beside him, her heart thudding as she heard his low, menacing growl. "I love

you," she said. "No matter what you are, no matter what you have to do in order to

survive, I love you."

In the last embers of humanity alive in his brain, he knew he must not allow her to help

him. He had to atone one day for the sin of his very existence—this abomination of

nature that was his life—and here and now, in her presence, was just as good a time as

any. He turned his head toward the river that overflowed its banks.

Bridget saw where he was looking and took one final tack; made one last-ditch effort

to make him see reason.

"Have you given any thought to what will become of me if you die, Reaper?"

He turned his head away from the river and looked up at her. His gaze locked on hers.

"I will go back to Konnor Rhye."

Fierce, savage possession filled his eyes and a low, warning growl came from his

throat.

"Is that what you want?" He shook his head violently.

"Then drink!" she insisted, holding out her arm to him.

Still he resisted. As furious as she knew him to be at the thought of another male

infringing on his territory, he was still trying to protect her.

"Either drink or let me go back to Koni!" she flung at him. "Which is it going to be?"

Which was worse, he wondered as he fixed his brutal attention on her flesh: To leap

into the moving water and drown or live and endure the shame of what she wanted him to

do? He would be damned—and her along with him—if he did this, but the thought of

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another male leaving his mark on her brought out a bloodlust like none he had ever

known. As he hunkered there, he thought of the Keeper touching his mate, thrusting into

her, seeding her with his litters, and he howled with despair.

Bridget extended her arm to his lips once more, her free hand to the back of his head

and pressed him toward her wrist. "Drink, Kamerone. Drink so we can be together."

He closed his eyes in surrender and sank his teeth into her willing flesh. He felt her

flinch, heard her slight gasp of pain, and worked his mouth over her flesh, his tongue

swirling around the punctures, easing the discomfort.

Bridget stroked his wet fur, pushing the matted strands from his jaw. She leaned her