" As she moved past the bed, his hand snaked out, fingers shackling her wrist, drawing her close.
“What?” Shea perched on the edge of the bed, a faint smile on her face, her eyes soft, even tender, although she was unaware of it.
His palm slid up her arm; strong fingers massaged her aching shoulder. Thank you, little red hair. You made me feel alive again.
“You are alive, Jacques,” she reassured him, smoothing back his hair. “Disrespectful but definitely alive. I don’t know a single physician referred to as ‘little red hair.’”
Her quiet laughter remained in his mind long after he fell into the mortal state of sleeping. On some level he was aware of her closeness as she mixed soil, herbs, and saliva for his wounds, and it soothed him, kept rage, pain, and the terror of his empty, isolated world at bay. "

― Christine Feehan , Dark Desire (Dark, #2)