Carpathian 18 - Dark Possesion

underground or secretly stamping them out by arranging killings would slowly dwindle their ranks as well. Eventually someone would have to step into the seat of power to clean up the mess."
    MaryAnn drew back, her breath coming in a ragged gasp. "You didn't do those things, did you?" The masculine scent of him was in her lungs, surrounding her with every breath she drew. Maybe it was the sound barrier he'd erected, but she couldn't stop the thrill his essence into her body, or the way her muscles clenched and her blood sang just being near him.
    She wanted to react with the objectivity of a counselor. It was second nature to her, but something else, something wild, was building so that she watched the rise and fall of his chest, the tiny shift in his expression the crinkle of the lines around his eyes, the shape of his molded mouth and wanted—no, needed —to offer comfort without words.
    "No, of course we didn't. We knew what we were doing was wrong. When the grief subsided and we could see reason, we knew it wasn't Vlad's fault any more than it was ours that she was dead. We stopped talking about it and threw ourselves into the hunt for the undead. We became fiends, so much so that all of us lost our emotions much faster than we should have. We made a pact to protect each other, to share what we could of our memories of affection and honor, and we have done so. When our prince put out the call to go to other lands, we answered. The Malinovs did the same. We were sent here, to South America, and they were sent to Asia."
    She leaned in close to inhale more of him, all the while lending him soothing warmth and trying to suppress the rising tide of need. What was so different about him? His confession of wrongdoing? Had that made her more sympathetic to him? Or the fact that he still mourned that lost little "sister"?
    She had been angry with him for thrusting her into his life without her consent, for removing her choices, and for not understanding the enormity of what he had done, but she couldn't help the strength of her emotion for him in trying to understand. For trusting her with his greatest shame. And she knew that was what he had gifted her with.
    When he reached out to push a strand of hair from her face, his fingers brushing across her sensitive skin, she shivered.
    "The Malinov brothers came to us before we left and wanted to talk." His voice roughened, and the sound scraped over raw nerve endings, a seduction she hadn't thought possible. He bent his head, pushing her hair from her shoulder, and his tongue touched her pulse. "They wanted us to renounce the prince."
    Tiny flames danced along her neck and throat, edging down toward her breasts. Her nipples peaked beneath the thin top, and her body felt soft and pliable and so achy she burrowed closer to him. "But you didn't." She was positive. She knew he respected Vlad Dubrinsky in spite of the terrible tragedy.
    "No, we did not. We could not." His voice held absolute conviction. "And at that time, neither did the Malinovs. They swore allegiance to him."
    And she loved him for that. For knowing right from wrong. For having such strong loyalties even when he loved the Malinov brothers so much. They had been his family, yet he had known, all of his brothers had known, that to turn on the prince was to turn on their people.

    "No, of course you wouldn't." She ran her hand up and down his arm, feeling the definition of his muscles beneath her palm. So hard. She closed her eyes, briefly wanting to feel him skin-to-skin. She wanted to seduce him, to take him into her body and fill the emptiness she felt inside of him.
    His eyes came alive with such stormy turbulence that her heart jumped. The dark black irises glowed amber
    —almost gold, taking her breath away. That wildness in her, that place she never wanted to acknowledge, leapt forward in recognition, and she leaned close before she could think, before she could stop herself, brushing his mouth with hers, breathing for him, taking the adrenaline into her own body. Taking his need.
    Taking his desires. Taking him.
    He kissed her back, his tongue sliding into the silken heat of her mouth. Every nerve ending leapt to life.
    Whatever anger he still held toward his prince, toward himself or even toward the Malinovs slid away, leaving his blood pounding for her.
    His arms went around her, and he pulled her even closer, body to body, his mouth on hers, his pulse thundering in her ears. They were merged, mind to