Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator

head in silent denial, but she recognized the killer in him.
    “You know what I am, Marguarita. I cannot be anything other than what I am.”
    She blinked. Swallowed. Moistened her lips.
    It is a good thing I am not your woman.
    He ran his hand down the dark silken fall of her hair and was surprised at the gentleness with which he touched her—and the strange softening inside of him. “You know that is not true.”
    She took a breath, and he once again smelled fear, but this time, it was tinged with something else—interest perhaps. She was not completely immune to him and it disturbed her.
    I am a servant pledged in your service, señor.
    “There is more than servant and master between us as much as you wish to deny it. But for now, that will do. I do not want you to fear my taking your blood. I will be more careful of your fragility.”
    She blinked several times and would have stepped away but he glided closer, without seeming to move, blocking her escape. Her eyes mesmerized him, going from that sparkling champagne to a dark warm chocolate. The difference was striking to him. “I believe you were about to drink your tea and eat your meal.”
    She glanced at the food on the counter and shook her head. He got the immediate impression of cold. He waved his hand and steam rose from the cup as well as the plate. Her smile was tentative and almost shy, but he found the contrast of her decidedly pink lips and white teeth beautiful. Her eyes were fully brown now, the color rich and melting. Now he could see intriguing flecks of gold. The gold could have been the stars in the midnight sky of her eyes earlier, sparkling like diamonds before he could discern the true color.
    She picked up the teacup and plate and he stepped back, giving her just enough room that she would have to brush his body as she made her way to the table. She was careful, her hand trembling just a bit as she set the stoneware down. He knew he would always see every nuance, the smallest detail, stay focused and aware of her every movement, right down to the flutter of her eyelashes.
    She sat down and watched him for a moment, still nervous, as if she were trapped in a cage with a great jungle cat. He prowled closer, unable to resist a rumbling growl, knowing her eyes would go wide, and then she would smile at him. It came, that slow, melting smile that seemed to ripple through his body, gentle at first, and then gathering force until she was all heat and fire rushing straight to his groin.
    She took a sip of tea. Stop doing that. You do it to scare me.
    For the first time, the impression of laughter was strong, filling his mind. It wasn’t just tentative amusement. He had been the one to deliberately tease her and she’d responded. He found great satisfaction in knowing she was aware he’d been teasing her. It was one of a million concepts he’d never understood before, but he wanted her smile and he had to do something to get past her fear.
    “You are not really that afraid of me right now,” he declared, and continued to stalk through the room.
    The kitchen was spacious enough that he had plenty of room, but he had rarely—if ever—spent any real time inside an enclosure other than a mountain, and the walls felt inhibiting to him. He couldn’t scent the air. He couldn’t continually gather information.
    What is it that has you on edge? The shadowed flock?
    He stopped moving abruptly. He found it interesting that she had known the birds were tainted by evil and that they’d crossed her mind just after he’d been thinking of them in conjunction with the shadows permeating his own mind and body.
    “I am unused to being indoors. Does it bother you to have me moving around?”
    She took a bite of her egg, watching him carefully. Eventually she shook her head. You look very powerful and you tend to dominate the room. I think I’m getting a little more used to you and the fluid way you move, like a hunter.
    “I am a hunter.” He wanted to get accustomed to her ways. There was grace in her hand gestures. In the tilt of her head and the way she sat. He liked the quiet rustle of her skirts and the way her thick hair cascaded like a silken waterfall down her back to her narrow waist. Her hair fascinated him. It seemed so alive, always moving, shimmering, the colors deepening the longer he was in her company.
    Are we going to be attacked? The birds were looking for you, weren’t they?
    He read fear for the others. He could see she refused