Carpathian 04 - Dark Magic

that even possible? "So, what does that mean?" she challenged. "I've heard my father and you both say that. I've heard it all my life.
    What does it mean?"
    "You will need the touch of my mind, my body, the exchange of our blood, and I will need yours. It will happen often, and the need is so powerful, one of us cannot long exist without the other." He kept his voice neutral, low, a soothing cadence.
    If it was possible for her to grow more pale, she did. Her heart jumped wildly, her eyes widening in fear.
    Never ! She could never, ever, under any circumstances, go through that again. Sex was a nightmare, the exchange of blood painfully overrated. She turned her face away from him in an attempt to spare him her fear. Her mind was working furiously, trying to find a solution. She had brought this on herself. If only…
    But if she had done anything differently, Gregori might be dead—or, worse, a full-fledged vampire, and somehow, even with the threat of a repeat performance, Savannah couldn't bear the thought of that.
    She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, felt the swollen, cracked evidence of his assault. "But there's no chance of you turning vampire now, right?"
    Gregori's heart hitched at the little catch in her voice. "There is no possible chance of my giving up my soul to darkness, Savannah, unless I should lose you. I will not lie to you, ma petite . Our life will be difficult at first. I had no idea of the depth of emotion you are capable of creating in me. It will take some time to adjust. If you are asking whether I will hurt you physically again, the answer is no."
    "You're certain?" This time there was a distinct quaver in her voice, and her hand trembled when she lifted it to brush back her hair.
    The movement caused her to wince, and Gregori felt that wince, that trembling, through his entire body like the blade of a knife. "You are in me, Savannah, a light to guide me through the darkest of times." He wanted to enfold her into the safety of his arms, shelter her for all eternity against his heart. But was he speaking the truth? He felt in his soul that he was, but he had long ago tampered with nature. Would the safeguards against his violence hold?
    "I need time." She hated the pleading note in her voice. But her life had changed overnight. And Peter.
    God help her, she would never forgive herself for Peter's death.

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    "Roberto was not alone." It was easy to read her thoughts.
    Savannah gingerly tested her ability to move. Every muscle seemed to shriek in protest. "What do you mean?"
    His hand moved over her shoulder, his touch possessive. A jolt of fear hit her hard. She was naked beneath the sheet. Instantly she felt vulnerable, her blue-violet gaze jumping to his pale one as if she expected him to grow horns.
    Gregori sighed softly and eased his weight onto the bed. "I will not hurt you, mon petit amour . I cannot with the ritual completed."
    "Then why did you say our life will be difficult?" Her fingers were clutching the sheet until her knuckles turned white.
    His hand settled gently over hers, tracing a fingertip over each tense knuckle. Every brush of his fingers sent an unexpected jolt of electricity through her. "I cannot lose you after waiting centuries for you. I know I am a hard man, and you will not find me easy to live with. We will both need to make certain adjustments."
    "Yeah, like you can lose the macho attitude," she muttered under her breath. Steeling herself, she said aloud, "I want to sit up, Gregori." She felt at a distinct disadvantage, fiat on her back and naked beneath the sheet. "If we're going to discuss our future, I'd like to participate."
    For a long moment his silver eyes moved over her pale, bruised face, studying her intently, clearly debating whether to allow it. A storm began to gather in her eyes, and reluctantly he shifted back to give her room.
    "Easy, bébé ," he said softly, slipping an arm around her, his breath warm on her neck. The feel of his hair-roughened, iron-hard arm wrapped around her bare skin sent a shiver down her spine and set warmth curling in the pit of her stomach. She detested that warmth, the way her body tuned itself to his, the way her mind struggled to ignore her firm resolution and sought to touch his. It was the ritual. She might tell herself that, but it didn't stop the self-loathing. How could her body want his brutal touch? Was she some kind of