Carpathian 12 - Dark Melody

there was all the time in the world. He watched dispassionately as the intruder turned back to his post without seeing the body of his partner or the danger to himself.
    The leopard inched forward once again without even a whisper of movement to betray him. He had stalked prey countless times and defeated his enemies time and again. The merciless black eyes never once left their target. When he was within striking distance, he gathered himself for the attack, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He struck hard, going for the throat, the quick kill, and this time he shifted shape as he did so, bending his head to drink as he took the man unaware.
    At once the rush of adrenaline-laced blood hit him hard, a fireball moving through his system. The forbidden. Addicting as any drug. He was hungry and he drank deeply, the beast rising, fighting for supremacy. Dayan calmly held the man's weight in his enormously strong hands and deliberately thought of Corinne. She anchored him, kept him safe. She was there to ensure he did not cross over to become the very thing this man was hunting. The vampire. The undead. Dayan was a Carpathian male, as old as time, one of the ancients walking the land in search of his lifemate. Without her he would eventually be forced to seek the dawn or choose to lose his soul and become the vampire.
    The blood was moving through his system, reviving cells and muscles and tissue, soaking into his body and giving him a false high. Everything in him demanded more, demanded he feed while the life force faded from the body. Corinne. He called her name in his mind for strength to resist the wildness. A cool breeze seemed to find its way to his hot skin. Corinne. He could see her face – he had memorized every inch of it. Her soft skin begging for his touch. Her moss-green eyes, the color as rare as she was. The Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    light inside her, shining out of her. Corinne. He felt her with him and it was enough. He closed the wound with his healing saliva, allowing the man to die at his own pace. The beast inside him raged for a moment, fighting him, wanting more, wanting to gorge itself, but Dayan ignored the terrible whispers of power and concentrated on Corinne.
    Her mouth. The intriguing dimple that came and went. The way her lips curved into a smile. She was extremely kissable. He looked around the spacious house. Corinne's house. He inhaled her scent as he moved through the rooms. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, lots of wood and was very clean.
    Instinctively he knew that Corinne was the one who did the housekeeping. Lisa's bedroom had clothes on the floor and draped over chairs. Lipsticks and cosmetics were scattered over a vanity. A large gilded mirror was on the wall above the small vanity. The room held Lisa's scent and two pictures. One was of Corinne. The other was of a young male. Tall. Laughing. Blond like Lisa. It had to be John.
    Dayan stared a long time at the man. He could see Lisa in him. The eyes were intelligent, the smile real.
    He wanted to find something not to like about the man, some hidden demon, but he seemed genuine.
    Dayan moved out of the room and wandered through the house getting a feel for those who lived there.
    A large room off the main living area held a gleaming piano and a drum set. He paused for a moment, inhaling Corinne's scent. This was a part of her domain; he knew she was often at the piano. It was only after he had inspected the area carefully that he allowed himself to enter Corinne's room. Various antique instruments hung on the wall.
    The bedroom was decorated in soft colors, very neat and tidy, the bed with a multitude of throw pillows.
    Her clothes were neatly folded in the drawers and hung in the closet. Books were everywhere. Books of every kind. There was an entire section devoted to wild cats. Dayan found himself smiling as he picked up a particularly thick one on leopards. The pictures were excellent. His finger touched the snarling face on the cover. Books on weather and the ocean were in a pile on the left side of the bed. Thick volumes dedicated to the history of music were scattered on the floor beside a case holding a state-of-the-art music system.
    On the walls were rare signed posters of various artists. A keyboard was set up in a corner of the room.
    There was an electric guitar leaning up against the wall and a beautifully crafted acoustic instrument lying in a