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that feel?” Not getting an answer, he grasped her
jaw and shook her by the face. “Rye?”
    He continued to pour the water on her until it was gone. It
wasn’t enough. With the coat over her, he scooped her up. He climbed the slope
to the steam-trekker. There he laid her on the ground. He had some extra water
in the steam-trekker meant for powering the vehicle. The moment he opened the
small hatch to check the fuel reserve and heat wafted out, he knew he’d have to
use what water he had stored in the cab to pour in the fuel tank.
    He opened the door of the steam-trekker and retrieved the
government storage can from behind the seat.
    “Damn, not even half-full,” he said, shaking the gray metal
container.
    He emptied it into the fuel funnel and then flipped the
hatch shut.
    Rye remained motionless on the ground. He could have used
the water on her, but then where’d they be if he couldn’t quickly get her to
more water? Putting the can back behind the seat, he picked Rye up and hoisted
her to his shoulder. He mounted the running board, leaned inside the cab and
dumped her into the passenger seat. She fell toward the console. He pulled her
back up and realigned the coat over her as best he could. When she slumped
toward both him and the open door, he saw no other choice other than to climb
in with her. From there he could get into the driver’s seat.
    He first straddled her to pull the door shut. Once in that
position, he decided to try to give her blood again.
    “No more arguments, Rye. I haven’t the water to keep you
cooled down, so you’ll have to suck up your pride and drink my blood.”
    She lay unresponsive. Had her body gone into hibernation?
While normally that could be a good thing, she had the blood poison flowing
through her veins. She’d never heal if hibernation turned into a coma.
    Sevrin pulled the petrified-wood-handled knife from the
sheath in the side of his boot.
    “You better appreciate this,” he said, clenching his jaw as
he sliced into the soft flesh of his inner forearm. He held back the groan rumbling
to escape his throat. Grasping Rye by the back of her head, he pressed his
bloody arm to her mouth, forcing her lips to part. “Drink, dammit.”
    Unable to get her started, he put his arm to his mouth. He
had never tasted blood beyond the occasional drops that oozed from a split lip
obtained in a fight. The salty warm liquid had a metallic flavor, unusual yet
palatably sweet.
    He jerked back Rye’s head and angled her into position. He
stuck his fingers between her lips and pried open her mouth. Helpless and
vulnerable, she succumbed to his guidance. Then with a grip on her jaw, he
moved his mouth against hers and spit his blood to the back of her throat. He
withdrew and waited a few moments.
    Her lack of response prompted him to take another hard suck
at his wrist. Filling his mouth with more blood, he repeated the insertion of
it into Rye’s mouth.
    She gagged on the second, larger dose and then gulped. Her
tongue shot out and whipped expeditiously over his lips. He leaned in, allowing
her frenzied licks to swirl into his mouth. With a wildly smothering kiss, she
sucked on his tongue. Drawn to the aggression that matched the uninhibited
passion of sex, he held her face. Hit with a ravenous need of his own, he
hungrily kissed her.
    Rye’s soft lips yielded to the force of his. Her mouth
opened to the press of his tongue. For several moments, he licked the interior,
savoring the rise in energy between them.
    When her teeth scraped his bottom lip a little too hard, the
pain stung him out of his irrational indulgence and he jerked back.
    Rye let out a ferocious growl of annoyance at the
interruption. She grabbed his arm and pressed her wet lips over the cut. She
clawed at his arms and shoulders with greed. Her hold tightened, her fingers
dug into his biceps and her moans grew louder as she wildly slurped at the
slice in his skin.
    An onslaught of unexplainable sensations and