Dark Prince (13 page)

She might say he was a stranger, but they had been in one another's minds, shared the same body and offered their lives for each other. The exchange of blood as they made love was the ultimate in confirmation of their commitment. Each literally offered his life, vowed to give up his own life to safeguard the other. It was a beautiful, erotic ritual. It was a oneness of mind, heart, soul, body… blood.

Carpathians safeguarded their sleeping quarters from one another. They were vulnerable in sleep and while they were in the throes of sexual passion. The decision to take a lifemate was not a conscious act; it was instinct, a hunger and need. They knew. They recognized their other half. Mikhail recognized Raven as his. He had fought the binding ritual, yet his animal instinct had overcome his civilized trappings. He had dragged her halfway into his world and he was totally responsible for the consequences.

Light was beginning to filter in from upstairs. Mikhail completed the task of making his home safe against intruders. The next night would be long. Work had piled up, and he needed to go hunting. But he had this moment for peace and contentment.

Mikhail slid into bed beside Raven, dragged her hard against his body, wanting to feel every inch of her. She murmured his name sleepily, snuggled into him with the innocent trust of a small child. Instantly his heart somersaulted, and a curious warmth and contentment spread through him. Peace. He touched her because he could. His hand cupped the fullness of her breast, his mouth brushed her nipple, feather light, just once. After pressing a kiss to the vulnerable line of her throat, he sent the command for deep sleep, regulating his breathing to join her.

Chapter Five

Raven surfaced through layer after layer of sleep, felt as though she were wading through quicksand.
You did it again!
It was sheer outrage that brought her awake, had her sitting up quickly. She was alone in the bedroom. His bedroom.

His mocking, masculine laughter echoed in her mind. Raven threw the pillow against the wall, wishing she could hit him with it. She had lost another day. What was she becoming? His sex slave?

The idea has possibilities
, he mused.

Get out of my head!
she snapped indignantly, then stretched languidly, a lazy, feline quality to her movements. Her body was deliciously sore, aching everywhere, an intimate reminder of his possession. She couldn't be angry with him; he made her laugh at his outrageous behavior. How could she mind when her body felt the way it did?

When she rose to take her shower, she saw clothes laid out for her at the end of the bed. Mikhail had already been out shopping. Raven found herself smiling, absurdly pleased that he had remembered. She fingered the skirt, the soft, full midnight-blue material, the matching blouse.
You didn't buy me jeans.
She couldn't resist teasing him.

Women do not belong in men's clothing
. He was unruffled.

Raven stepped into the shower, released the thick braid so she could shampoo her hair.
You don't like the way I look in a pair of jeans?

His laughter held deep, genuine amusement.
That is a loaded question
.

Where are you?
Without realizing it, Raven was communicating a sultry invitation. She touched his mark over her breast with light fingertips. The contact caused her blood to heat, the mark to throb.

Your body needs rest, little one. I have not exactly been the gentlest of lovers, have I?
There was self-mockery in his tone, guilt in his mind.

She laughed softly.
I don't have very much to judge you by, do I? There hasn't been a parade of men in my life.
Her soft laughter wrapped him in loving arms.
If you like, I could always find someone to compare you with.
She offered it sweetly.

She felt the brush of strong fingers on her throat, curling around the fragile column. How did he do that?
I'm so scared, macho man. Someone needs to drag you kicking and screaming into this century.

The fingers brushed her face, caressed her lower lip.
You love me the way I am.

Love. The smile faded from her soft mouth at the word. She didn't want to love him. He already had far too much power over her.
You can't hold me here, Mikhail.
Obsession might be the right word, not love.

Little rabbit. There are no chains on the doors, and the telephone is in working order. And you do love me; you cannot help yourself. I am perfect for you. Hurry up; you need to eat.

You're a pain in the neck.
As she brushed out her hair, she realized how much easier their telepathic communication was. Practice? Her temples didn't ache from the effort. She tilted her head for a moment, listened to the sounds of the house. Mikhail was pouring liquid into a glass; she could hear it clearly.

Raven dressed slowly, thoughtfully. Her telepathic abilities were increasing; her senses were more acute. Was it simply Mikhail's company, or was it something in the herb concoctions he was always pouring down her throat? There was so much she wanted to learn from him. He had great psychic talent.

The skirt swung around her ankles with a sexy little swish, and the blouse clung to her curves. She had to admit that the outfit made her feel feminine, as did his choice of sheer lace panties and matching bra.

Are you going to sit there and moon about me all night?

Night! It had better not be night again, Mikhail. I'm turning into some kind of a mole. And don't flatter yourself; I was not mooning over you.
It took great effort to lie blatantly; she was proud of herself.

And you think I believe your nonsense?
He was laughing again, and Raven found she couldn't help giving in to her own sense of humor.

She found her way though the house, marveling at the artwork, the sculpture. Outside, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains. Raven gave a little resigned sigh. Mikhail had set a small antique, beautifully carved table on the porch outside the kitchen. He turned his head as she approached, a smile warming his eyes, chasing away the shadows. Heat pooled in her abdomen, ran liquid through her body.

Mikhail bent his dark head to hers, his mouth brushing hers tenderly. "Good evening." He touched her hair, skimmed his fingers down the side of her face in a long caress. She allowed him to seat her at the table, marveling at his gallant, old-world courtesy. He placed a glass of juice in front of her. "Before I go to work, I thought we could collect your things from the inn." His long fingers selected a blueberry muffin and transferred it to the antique plate. It was exquisite, but Raven was so shocked at his words, she could only stare at him for a moment, her blue eyes enormous.

"What do you mean, collect my things?" It hadn't occurred to her that he might expect them to live in the same house together. His house.

His smile was slow, wicked, sexy. "I could keep providing you with new things."

Raven's hand trembled. She put it in her lap, out of sight. "I'm not moving in with you, Mikhail." The idea was scary. She was a very private person, needing large amounts of time alone. He was the most overwhelming being she had ever encountered. How would she ever be able to sort things out with him so near all the time?

His eyebrow shot up. "No? You accepted our ways; we went through the required ritual. In my eyes, the eyes of my people, you are my lifemate, my woman. My wife. Is it the way of the American women to live apart from their husbands?"

There was that infuriating trace of mocking male amusement in his voice, the note that always made her want to throw something at him. She had an idea he was laughing at her secretly, amused by her caution.

"We aren't married," she said decisively. It was difficult to ignore the way her heart leapt with joy at his words.

Tendrils of fog were drifting into the forest, winding around thick tree trunks, spreading out to hover a few feet from the ground. The effect was eerie, but beautiful.

"In the eyes of my people, in the eyes of God, we are." There was an implacable resolve, a my-word-is-law in his voice that set her teeth on edge.

"What about in my eyes, Mikhail? My beliefs? Do they count for nothing?" she demanded belligerently.

"I see the answer in your eyes, feel it in your body. You struggle needlessly, Raven. You know you are mine…"

She stood up quickly, pushed the chair out of her way. "I don't belong to anyone, least of all you, Mikhail! You can't just decree what will be in my life and expect me to fall in with your plans." Raven ran down the three steps to the path winding into the forest. "I need some air. You're driving me crazy."

Mikhail laughed softly. "Are you so afraid of yourself?"

"Go to the devil, Mikhail!" Raven set her foot on the path and began walking quickly before he could charm his way around her. And he could; she knew it. It was his eyes, the shape of his mouth, the little grin he gave her when he was deliberately provoking her.

The fog was very dense, the air wet and heavy with it. With her acute sense of hearing, she could hear every rustling in the bushes, every swaying of the branches, the beat of wings in the sky.

Mikhail paced himself behind her. "Perhaps I am the devil, little one. I am certain that has crossed your mind."

She glared at him over her shoulder. "Stop following me!"

"Am I not a gentleman, obligated to see his lady home?"

"Stop laughing! If you laugh at me one more time I swear I won't be responsible for what I do." Raven became aware of the slinking figures then, the burning eyes following her. Her heart nearly stopped, then began to pound. "Fine!" She whirled around and glared at him. "This is great! Just great, Mikhail. Call in the wolves to eat me alive. I find the idea so
you.
So logical."

He bared his white gleaming teeth at her like a hungry-predator and laughed softly, teasingly. "It is not the wolves that would find you delicious."

Raven picked up a broken branch and flung it at him. "Stop laughing, you hyena! This is not funny. Your arrogance is enough to make me want to throw up." It took every ounce of self-control she had not to laugh. The beast; he was far too charming for his own good.

"Your American colloquialisms are very colorful, little one."

She threw another branch, then followed it up with a small rock. "Someone needs to teach you the lesson of a lifetime."

She looked like a beautiful little spitfire, all sparks and flame. Mikhail drew in his breath slowly, carefully. She was his, all fire and fury, all independence and courage, all heated passion. She melted his heart with it, entered his soul with her soft laughter. He felt it in her mind, although she was being extremely careful not to allow him to see it. "And you think you are the one to do this thing?" he teased.

Another rock came flying at his chest. He caught it easily. "Do you think I'm afraid of your wolves?" she demanded. "The only big bad wolf around here is you. Call all your wolves. Go ahead!" She pretended to glare into the secret, dark interior of the forest. "Come and get me. What did he tell you?"

Mikhail pried her fingers loose from the branch she held like a club, allowed it to fall. He curved an arm around her slender waist, brought her small, soft body up against his much larger, rock-hard frame. "I told them you tasted like warm honey." He whispered the words with his black velvet sorcerer's voice. Turning her in his arms, he cupped her small, beautiful face in his hands. "Where is all that marvelous respect a man as powerful as myself deserves?"

His thumb stroked across her full lower lip, a sensuous caress. Raven closed her eyes against the inevitable. She wanted to cry. Her feelings for him were so strong, her throat was aching and burning. Mikhail brushed her eyes with his lips, tasted a tear, sought refuge in the sweetness of her mouth. "Why would you cry for me, Raven?" He murmured the words against her throat. "Is it that you still want to run from me? Am I really so terrible? I would never allow any living creature, man or beast, to harm you, not if it was in my power to prevent it. I thought our hearts and minds were in the same place. Am I wrong? Is it that you no longer want me?"

His words tore at her heart. "It isn't that, Mikhail, never that," she denied quickly, afraid she had hurt him. "You defeat my every good intention." She caressed his face with her fingertips, reverence in her touch. "You are the most fascinating man I've ever known. I feel as if I belong here with you, as though I know you completely. It's impossible in the short time we've been together. I know if I could put some distance between us, I could think more clearly. Everything happened so fast. It's as though I'm obsessed with you. I don't want to make a mistake that will cause both of us pain."

His hand cupped her cheek. "It would cause me great pain if you were to desert me, to leave me alone again after I have found you."

"I just want some time, Mikhail, to think things through. It's frightening, the way I am about you. I think about you every minute; I want to touch you, just to know I can, to feel you beneath my fingers. It's as if you crawled into my head and my heart, even my body, and I can't get you out." She said it like a confession, her head bent, ashamed.

Mikhail took her hand, tugged at her to get her walking with him. "This is the way of my people, the way we feel about a mate. It is not always comfortable, is it? We are passionate by nature, highly sexual, and very possessive. The things that you are feeling, I feel, too."

Her fingers tightened around his, and she sent him a small, tentative smile. "Am I right in thinking you're deliberately keeping me here?"

Mikhail shrugged his broad shoulders. "Yes and no. I do not want to force you against your will, but as to my wanting you to stay, I believe us to be lifemates, bound more irrevocably than by your marriage ceremony. I would be extremely uncomfortable without you here, both in body and mind. I do not know how I would react to your contact with another man and, quite frankly, I fear it."