Carpathian 17 - Dark Curse

the caressing pads of his fingers.
    Her back was crisscrossed with white ridges and lines. The pattern continued all the way down her buttocks to the backs of her legs. Most were shallow and faint, but scar tissue had formed over a few of them. He knew, from the fire in his back and legs, that he bore the same marks, although within another hour, they would disappear from his body as if they\'d never been.
    His eyes burned and he closed them for a moment, despising himself for not knowing this, not taking the time to know every inch of his life mate\'s body, know every bit of her past in order to secure the happiness of her future. He had vowed to cherish her, to place her happiness above all things and, even without the life mate bond, honor should have dictated that he do so. He had been consumed with his own importance, his own desires and his belief that he was always right and others owed him their allegiance.
    Nicolas bent forward and pressed his lips to the middle of a particularly deep scar. Forgive me, päläfertiilm. There is no excuse I can offer to you, nor will I. Words will not repair the damage I have done to you, only actions .
    His tongue swirled over the white slashes, and then traced each deep ridge. In his mind, merged so deeply with hers, he chanted the healing words of his people, words filled with power. As he did so, he waved one hand so that aromatic candles filled the chamber with soothing, curative scents. Across the mineral pool, herbs floated, releasing their fragrance to add to the therapeutic environment.
    Nicolas swept one hand through his hair, feeling the chopped edges, his stomach knotting in protest of his shorn head. Dismissing the disturbing sensation of helpless anger, he bent closer to Lara\'s back and began the slow task of tracing each individual scar with his tongue. He doubted if, after all this time, the marks would disappear completely, but certainly they would fade until it would be difficult to see them. He wanted that for her.
    He wasn\'t foolish enough to think that if he could make them disappear from her body, the trauma would be gone from her mind-they both would live with the damage done to her, but... I will not make mistakes.
    Amusement slipped into the velvet of his voice. Not the same mistakes anyway ...
    Page 88

    Christine Feehan: Dark Curse
    A muffled sob escaped. She trembled from head to toe.
    Lara. He whispered her name like a soft entreaty. Do not fear me. I know I was wrong .
    Not you. Me. I was wrong. The aunts have always said where there is life, there is hope. It was cowardly to retreat. I didn\'t think what you would do or what would happen to you. I honestly didn\'t know you would follow me and try to bring me back. Another sob shook her.
    He pressed kisses along two thin streaks, his tongue following the path of the whip marks to ease those lines from her body. If you had not, I would never have learned what it was like to be helpless. I would have said I understood, but how could I have had true understanding? I might have been compassionate and felt sympathy, but I would never truly understand. No, päläfertiilm, it had to be this way so I could become a true life mate to my other half.
    Lara wanted to believe his low, mesmerizing voice, but she hadn\'t recovered her courage. She was terrified of a future with this man. Right now he was moving his mouth and hands over her body, stirring her into a torturous physical ache when she was so frightened she didn\'t know what to do or who to turn to. He held power over her, whether it was what she wanted or not. He seemed to understand, his voice was a seduction of promise, his hands and mouth a hypnotic blend of seduction and soothing warmth.
    She lay facedown with her eyes closed, absorbing the feel of his hands smoothing over her skin. It was incredibly sensuous to have him lapping at her body with his tongue with long, slow caresses that made her body shiver. He wasn\'t trying to be sensual, it was just natural in his touch, an intimate stroke of his tongue, or maybe it was the pull between life mates. She knew he wasn\'t trying to arouse her body, she was firmly in his mind and could feel his intentions to heal her, to take away reminders of abuse.
    His hands shaped her hips, the pads of his fingers traveling over the curve of her buttocks, his tongue following the thin white stripes. Now she could feel his hair, the illusion of his shorn head gone, so that the long length of it fell