Carpathian 18 - Dark Possesion

inspect every single inch of her body to make certain she was all right. And he wasn't going to let her out of his sight again—at least not for a long, long time.
    He swung around and pulled her to him, kissing her hard, his tongue sliding into her mouth to tangle and dance and reclaim her all over again.
    MaryAnn recognized the hint of desperation wrapped in the hunger. She pulled back, smoothing his hair.
    "What is it?"
    Her voice. The way she effortlessly slipped inside his head, surrounding him with warmth and comfort, enveloping him in love—he felt it now, where it hadn't been before. He didn't know what he'd done to earn it, but he was grateful.
    He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes briefly, inhaling her scent. "They could not kill my physical body in the spirit world, so they tried to kill my soul."
    She felt the involuntary shudder that went through him. "How, Manolito? Tell me how."
    He knew she didn't have a clue that her tone held a hidden compulsion. She wanted to take the pain of those memories away. Her fingers stroked and caressed his hair, slid down to his shoulders and arms, and then back up. Every touch was meant to share, to soothe. His MaryAnn. There was no one else like her. He caught her chin and bent his head to fasten his mouth to hers. She leaned into him, her soft body pliant, fitting him perfectly.
    "Tell me," she whispered.
    He took a breath, fighting the images in his head. He couldn't go there again, couldn't let himself see her being brutalized. She gasped and he knew she saw, too.
    "It's all right, Manolito. It didn't happen. Maxim tried to trick you."
    "He didn't know about the wolf," Manolito said. "Your wolf." He tugged at her curls. "Your wolf saved us all the way around."
    She smiled up at him. "Of course it did. My wolf is totally cool."
    "Your wolf is hot," he corrected and turned her around.
    The room was oval shaped and deep, wide and spacious. Thousands of colored crystals covered the walls.
    The lights from the torches picked up the many colors, scattering rainbow prisms dancing all around the room. The bed was enormous, a big four-poster of carved exotic wood, with wrought iron embellishing it.
    She stepped close to it, running her hands over one of the posts. The moment she touched it, she knew he had made it.
    "This is real."
    He nodded. "I like working with my hands. My brothers call it my vice." He led her around to the head of the bed, where she could examine the board there. Two small tables stood on either side, but it was the headboard that intrigued her. There were symbols, hieroglyphics, carved into the wood and several small iron rings embedded across it.
    "What does this say?"
    "It is in an ancient language."
    "And?" she prompted.
    "To bring only pleasure to ainaak sivamet jutta ."
    "You'll have to translate that as well."
    "Forever to my heart connected. My love. Wife. Lifemate. You !"
    "You made this bed for me?"
    "It was made for the other half of my soul. Yes. For you. I poured everything I felt for you into this. Every dream. Every fantasy. I tried to think of every way I could pleasure you and make certain I was ready for that. I studied every century's new ideas on sensual pleasure, every culture's ideas, and learned as much as I could."
    The idea was almost frightening. "I'm not exactly all that experienced, Manolito."

    "A mind merge is a wonderful thing," he pointed out. "So are you happy with the accommodations? We have privacy, warmth, and I can assure you, the mattress is the top of the line."
    She had no doubt about that. Manolito didn't do anything halfway. "Okay, it's five-star all right. But where's the service?" she teased.
    He smiled, his sinfully sexy smirk that seemed to burn slow and mean through her entire body. "I have plans to provide service all night. Did I mention I love your shirt?" His hands went to the leather straps circling her neck. The golden leather fell so that the soft jersey drape dipped even lower. It had skimmed the swell of her breasts, but now her nipples peeked out at him. "Oh, yeah, I like this top," he reiterated and bent his head to flick each nipple with his tongue.
    She shivered as his hair slid over her skin, a fall of midnight silk she couldn't help invading with her fingers.
    "Take your shirt off, Manolito."
    He stepped back, bringing her hands to the buttons. "You take it off for me." His black eyes seemed to scorch her skin.
    MaryAnn slid the buttons aside one at a time, and with each one,