Carpathian 17 - Dark Curse

lacerations. Still holding her, he reached one shaky hand to touch his shorn head. His hair was gone, leaving only patches.
    His heart leapt and then he took a breath and let it out. \"Lara, fél ku kuuluaak sÃ-vam belso . Beloved, you must come back fully to this world.\"
    Her gaze continued to drift over his face, blue-green eyes swimming with tears, melting that stone-cold spot deep inside him he had never quite managed to make function.
    I am not beloved.
    He captured her hand with gentle fingers and brought her knuckles to his mouth. \"You gave me back my soul, paläfertiilm , and now you have restored my heart.\" He placed her palm over his heart. \"It beats again, and it is beating for you.\"
    He was covered in fresh whip marks that were already fading, but he had to see for himself what Lara\'s body retained of those childhood years. She wasn\'t fully Carpathian and he doubted if her injuries had healed the way his already were doing. She had had years of abuse. Why hadn\'t he already discovered that?
    Nicolas turned her hand over to examine her wrist. The multitude of scars piled one on top of the other. Slices and punctures and gouges formed a bracelet. The fresh tears had come from her own teeth trying to open her vein to escape the darkness in him. His gut knotted at the sight. It had been the scar tissue from the continual childhood abuse that had saved her life, but like a wolf willing to chew off its leg when caught in a trap, she had been more than prepared to do the same.
    The sight of those marks shamed him as nothing else could have. He had relived only a small portion of her life and it had left him shaken and sick inside. She had endured years of it. He pressed her wrist to his mouth.
    Her entire body jerked and she whimpered softly, closing her eyes, several tears tracking down her face.
    Trust me, o jelä sielamak. Light of my soul. \"Trust me, Lara.\" He kept his voice low, mesmerizing without being hypnotic. He breathed warm air over the rough band of scars and then lowered his mouth to her wrist.
    His tongue stroked a healing caress over the rigid skin. His lips brushed back and forth in a small, soothing motion. He whispered a healing chant, rhythmic and beautiful to the ear, the words ancient and flowing in his melodic voice.
    She stopped resisting, but he felt her holding herself very still as if waiting for betrayal. His heart wept for her, for that small child who had been made to feel so helpless, and for the grown woman whose life mate had carelessly made her feel exactly the same way.
    He turned her other wrist over and performed the same ritual, a slow bathing of her skin with the healing agent in his saliva, all the while watching her face, her eyes, for a sign of withdrawal. There was no movement one way or the other. She became completely still, too frightened to even blink up at him, a wild animal trapped.
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    Christine Feehan: Dark Curse
    \"I am not going to hurt you,\" he assured, keeping his voice soft, intent on drawing her wholly back to the surface. She hovered there, ready to flee back into a place of childhood horror rather than be imprisoned as an adult. \"Stay with me, Lara. Let me show you how a Carpathian man cherishes his woman.\"
    He pushed aside the long rope of bright hair to examine the marks at her neck. His was there, two small puncture wounds and a small strawberry. He pressed his mouth there, sweeping his tongue across the mark of possession to heal it completely. Where before it had been important to him for the world to know she was his, now it was important to him that she be free of any reminder of her childhood. She shuddered, her body stiff, but again, her spirit seemed to hover there, just waiting.
    Do not be alarmed, Lara, I need to examine your back. He chose to use the more intimate form of communication, mind to mind, so that his motives would be absolutely clear to her. I have to take a look at your back and legs .
    The urge to see for himself was a need, had grown into a monstrous compulsion he couldn\'t fight. His body was covered in thin white stripes already healing, which meant, he was certain, that she carried scars all over her body, constant reminders of being helpless and humiliated. His hands were gentle as he laid her facedown on the soft blankets he\'d fashioned for her. It took moments of thought to have her skin gleaming beneath the flickering candlelight. She was so tense she was shaking, but again she lay quiet under