Carpathian 17 - Dark Curse

control in her life, without a say in what she did. She couldn\'t allow herself to be used for food, or, as she feared would happen, sex and food.
    Lara thought of her past, the few memories she did have of her childhood and knew she could never relive those times as an adult. She lay awake as the sun rose to its height and her body became so leaden she could barely move. When the sun began to sink, she began trying various spells to rid herself of the iron shackle binding her to Nicolas, but no matter what she tried, she couldn\'t counter his guards.
    She stared up at the gem-studded ceiling without seeing it, tears swimming in her eyes. There was so much left undone that she\'d promised to do, but it was too late. Her first promise had been to herself and she refused to even consider anything else. She just needed to work up enough courage to escape in the only way left to her.

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Page 73
    Christine Feehan: Dark Curse
    Nicolas awakened, drifting, taking one shallow breath every few minutes, allowing his mind and spirit to find peace in the quiet of Carpathian twilight-not fully gone, but not far from the surface. Lara had hurt him and he couldn\'t remember the last time anyone had ever done such a thing: He hadn\'t known anyone could. He knew he should wake fully and face her, but he needed to sort out his unfamiliar emotions. She had certainly pricked his pride when she\'d accused him of being addicted to the rush of his power. Honor had sustained him these long centuries, not addiction, and it was the only thing he had to offer her. She had stripped him of even that with her careless accusation.
    He had wanted to throttle her, yet at the same time, the need to kiss her, to dominate her body with his, had risen up like a terrible demon possessing his mind. She should have been grateful for his honor. Without it, she would have found herself naked and writhing under him. She owed him deference and respect. She was so young and inexperienced in all things. She should rely on his wisdom and trust him. He had done nothing but try to protect her, but she persisted in acting like so many of the women, demanding foolish and dangerous things without thinking them through.
    His chest felt heavy, a strange sensation when he should have been weightless. His wrist burned and ached.
    Fear skittered up his spine and found its way into his consciousness. His spirit reacted, reaching for his body, abruptly taking possession. Nicolas came aware instantly.
    He heard the sound of ragged, thready breathing and smelled-death. He shifted his body, and felt Lara, ice cold, lying beside him. Turning his head, he saw her face, eyes wide and unseeing, staring at the ceiling. A wave of his hand dissolved the shackles, allowing him to roll over and come up on his knees beside her, reaching for her limp arm, his heart nearly stopping, then beginning to slam hard and fast in his chest. Her wrist was torn open, obviously a deliberate attempt to end her life. Her own teeth had ripped the ragged tears, opening her vein so that blood ran down the side of the bed.
    Veriak ot en Karpatiiak. Köd alte hän. By the blood of the prince. Darkness curse it. What has she done?
    Swearing, he brought her wrist to his mouth, using his tongue and healing saliva to seal the vein and sweep close the wound. Lara! Come to me . It was a demand. And he was furious that she would do such a thing.
    What was she thinking? Didn\'t she know what would happen? Lara ! Desperation was setting in. She\'d been like a wolf caught in a trap, willing to chew off her foot, or end her life rather than be captured and held prisoner. He had lain beside her, angry, righteous, and all the time, she had been quietly ending her life.
    He gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently as he shed his physical body to enter hers. She needed blood.
    Fast. Her body labored, her mind had already shut itself down to keep from brain damage. Had she been human and mage without Carpathian, she would already be dead.
    He found her spirit, flinching from his light-from him. Come to me, o jelä sielamak. Light of my soul, stay with me .
    His arrogance had driven her to this. He hadn\'t seen her as a person, so much as his . His savior, his possession, his to do his bidding. He\'d been so sure of himself, so certain of his rightness. Nicolas De La Cruz, informing his brothers how they should handle their life mates, so certain he knew best for everyone around him, after all, he was