Carpathian 01 - Dark Prince

filled with pictures of her, with erotic, taunting scenes. A vision of her lying on her bed, her body naked beneath white lace, her arms outstretched to greet her lover. He swore softly. Instead-of his body taking hers, he pictured another man. A human. Rage shook him, raw and deadly.
    Skin like satin, hair like silk. His hand moved. He built the picture with deadly precision and purpose in his mind. He paid every attention to detail, even to the silly polish on her toenails. His strong fingers circled her small ankle, felt the texture of her skin. His breath caught in his throat, his body tightening in anticipation. He slid his palm up her calf, massaging, tantalizing, moved up farther to her knee, her thigh.
    Mikhail knew the precise moment she awakened, her body on fire. Her alarm slammed into him, her fear. Deliberately, to show her what she was dealing with, his palm found the inside of her thigh, stroked, caressed.
    Stop! Her body ached for his, for his touch, for his possession. He could hear the frantic pounding of her heart, feel the strength of her mental struggle with him.
    Has another man touched you like this? He whispered the words in her mind, dark, deadly sensuality.
    Damn you, stop! Tears glittered like jewels in her lashes, in her mind. All I wanted to do was help you.
    I said I was sorry.
    His hand moved higher because he had to, found heat and silk, tiny curls guarding treasure. His palm covered the triangle possessively, pushed into the moist heat. You will answer me, little one. There is still time for me to come to you, to put my mark on you, for me to own you, he warned silkily.
    Answer me.
    Why are you doing this?
    Do not defy me. His voice was husky now, raw with need. His fingers moved, probed, found her most sensitive spot. I am being exceptionally gentle with you.
    You already know the answer is no , she whispered in defeat.
    He closed his eyes, was able to calm the raging demons knifing pain through his body. Sleep, little one; no one will harm you tonight. He broke contact and found his body hard, heavy, bathed in perspiration. It was far too late to stop the beast in him from breaking free. He was burning with hunger, consumed with it, jackhammers beating at his skull, flames licking along his skin and nerve endings. The beast was unleashed, deadly, hungry. He had been more than gentle. She had inadvertently released the monster. He hoped she was as strong as he believed her to be.
    Mikhail closed his eyes against his self-loathing. He had learned centuries ago that there was little point.

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    And this time he didn't want to fight it. This was not simply a strong sexual attraction he felt; it was far more than that. It was something primal. Something deep within him calling to something deep within her.
    Perhaps she craved the wildness in him as he craved the laughter and compassion in her. Did it matter?
    There would be no escape for either of them.
    He touched her mind gently before closing his eyes and allowing his breath to cease. She was weeping silently, her body still in need from the effects of his mind touch. There was hurt and confusion in her, and her head was aching. Without thought, without reason, he enveloped her in the strength of his arms, stroked her silky hair and sent warmth and comfort to surround her. I am sorry I frightened you little one; it was wrong of me. Go to sleep now and be safe. He murmured the words against her temple, his lips brushing her forehead in gentleness, brushing her mind with tenderness.
    He could feel the curious fragmentation in her mind, as if she had been using her mental capabilities to follow some sick and twisted path. It was as if she had raw, gaping wounds in her mind that needed to heal. She was too worn out from their previous mental battle to fight him. He breathed with her, for her, slow and even, matching her heartbeats until she relaxed, drowsy and worn. He sent her to sleep, a whispered command, and her lashes drifted down. They fell asleep together, yet apart, she in her room, Mikhail in his sleeping chamber.
    The pounding on her door penetrated the deep layers of sleep. Raven Whitney fought the thick fog forcing her eyes closed, making her body heavy. Alarm spread. It was as if she had been drugged. Her gaze found the small alarm clock on the bedside table. Seven o'clock in the evening. She had slept the day away. She sat up slowly, feeling as if