Chapter Twenty-two

Jon sat in the hotel bar, drinking his third cosmopolitan and eyeing the available smorgasbord. He saw a pretty brunette leaving the bar alone; now was his chance. He followed her outside and to her car. Jon managed to contain his fury with Mac, so that he didn’t hurt the innocent woman. Leaving the woman safely locked inside her car with no memory of what happened, he went back to the bar. He couldn’t go to far from the hotel and maintain the hold on Mac’s doors.

He was on his fifth cosmo and smoking a cigarette, when Richie found him. Richie could see that Jon was in a full blown fit of rage. Wondering what had happened to push him this far, the guitarist sat down at Jon’s elbow. Richie was probably the only person brave enough to confront Jon when his temper was this close to boiling. Richie wouldn’t exactly call it bravery; it was more that he trusted that Jon wouldn’t really hurt him. He might say something in anger that would cut Richie to the bone, but words wouldn’t leave him dead. His throat ripped out and all blood gone.

"So," Richie said softly, "how’s it hangin’ there, Kidd?"

"Don’t ask," Jon answered.

"But it is still hangin’ right?" Richie asked grinning. "I mean, Mac didn’t cut it off or anything did she?"

"Only because she hasn’t thought of it yet," Jon answered dryly.

"Where is the little woman?"

"Locked in her room," Jon replied.

"Locked?"

"Yeah, do you believe the little witch threw a vase of flowers at my head?" Jon told him.

"Was it a bullseye or a miss?" Richie asked, grin still in place.

"Bullseye," Jon answered. "Her aim is deadly accurate."

"So, that’s what’s got you so angry," Richie stated.

"Well that, and she was going to leave. I found her packing."

"Jon you can’t keep her locked up. If she wants to leave, well, you pretty much have to let her," Richie told him.

"Even if it means that she’ll die?"

"Die?"

"Yeah, she needs my blood to survive," Jon answered.

There was just a slight pause; Richie didn’t even have time to respond to Jon’s statement, before Jon cursed, "Shit!" and got up from the barstool and started to leave.

Richie grabbed his arm. "What is it?"

"I haven’t fed her," Jon answered softly, before storming from the bar.



It had been a few hours since he left her beating on the door. For the entire ride up in the elevator, Jon worried over his reception. He didn’t know first hand about the pull between life mates, but Kristoff had told him that it was a powerful thing. Jon did know that he was drawn to Mac like a magnet to steel, even as angry as he was. But, did she feel that same pull? Was she still angry? Would she fight him on taking his blood? Something she needed so desperately? She had said that she didn’t want to drink blood, but he realized he had forced that on her. Had he been right to do it? He knew he had turned her out of selfishness, not to save himself as she had accused, but because he couldn’t bear to live without her. He did love her. He knew that now, as well as he knew that the sun would rise in the morning.

She was a beauty; he’d give her that, but he also admired her other qualities. She was strong, stubborn, and independent. She had an intelligent mind and a quick wit. There were so many things to love about her, that he knew he couldn’t count them all. But, he was also afraid that if he told her now, that she’d never believe him. Regardless of what Richie thought.

He entered her room cautiously. Finding the sitting room empty, he moved to the door of her bedroom. She was laying on her side in the bed. The tear stains on her cheeks tugged at his heart. Had she cried herself to sleep?

Jon sat down on the edge of the bed at her hip. Bending over her, he lovingly stroked her face. "Mac," he said softly, straightening and laying one hand on her hip.

His name was a question on her lips as she opened her eyes. Groggily, she looked at him. But, he knew the moment she remembered her anger. She sat up, digging her heels into the bed until she had pushed herself up against the headboard.

He joined their minds then, but spoke to her aloud. "We need to talk."

"I know," she answered, "but I’m still angry."

Because of the link, Jon could feel her anger, but what made him rethink his whole position was the fear he also felt. What was she afraid of?

"I’m afraid of losing me," she answered the question she had felt flash across her mind.

He knew that wasn’t all there was to it. "You won’t," he assured her.

With their minds joined he could feel her fear, and was able to determine the cause. If she was more experienced in using the link, she would have the answers she was seeking. If only. He shook his head at his own stupidity. She didn’t want to be needed just to keep him sane, and she didn’t want to be a liability, only kept around because he needed her. He realized she needed to be wanted. For herself. Richie had been right after all.

"Mac," he began, "when I ran out of that warehouse and saw you broken and bleeding, dying in Richie’s arms, I lost it." Jon laid one hand on her raised knee. "I couldn’t bear to lose you. I held you, begging you to wake up, to talk to me. I wanted to ask permission to change you, but you didn’t open your eyes and look at me." He leaned forward to gently stroke one cheek. "You couldn’t answer me, and I loved you too much to let you die." He waited a few seconds, letting his words sink in. "Use the link, Mac," he told her. "You’ll be able to see I’m telling the truth." He moved until their lips were almost touching. "Ti amo."

He kissed her softly, nibbling gently on her bottom lip. When she didn’t push him away, he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue in to taste her sweetness. His tongue slid across hers, and she let out a sexy little moan, that sound that drove him crazy.

Did you just say you loved me? she asked him. In Italian?

Yes, moglie mia, ti amo. I love you, he told her in both his native language and the one she would understand.

But then, with her hands resting on his chest, she pushed him away. "Is it true? Do you really love me? Or am I just the person you need to live another 450 years?"

"Our minds are joined, Mac," he told her. "You should be able to feel what I feel for you." It had occurred to Jon that Mac hadn’t confessed how she felt about him, but he tried not to let himself be concerned about that right now. He realized it was more important to convince her of his feelings. He left his feelings completely bare for her to see them. No masks, no defenses.

His love seemed to envelope Mac, and it warmed her heart. She leaned forward to press her lips to his, but he was the one that deepened the kiss. Their tongues tangling in an erotic dance that left her weak.

Make love to me, Jon, she pleaded.

Your wish is my command, amore mio, he answered her.