Midnight 01 - Luisa's Desire

contain a gasp. In all her years she'd never seen anyone perform such magic, neither upyr nor human. This, it seemed, was the power of a terrible naljorpa. She should have been frightened but her skin was tingling strongly with excitement. She could learn from this man. She could finally achieve her goal.
     
    Pinned to the wall by the lama's mysterious force, she watched him help the other monk to his feet. Her victim left the hall with no more than a reluctant glance in her direction. Amazing, she thought. No one but she should have been able to direct him in any way.
     
    The lama continued his approach. Her body tensed, half with wariness and half with anticipation. Oh, she could happily have tied this one to her bed. He was staring directly at her, into her. The effect was eerie but oddly sensual, as if his gaze were touching places she had not known she had. His eyes themselves were lovely, the fold beneath slightly broader than the delicate one above. They did not slant so much as narrow at the ends.
     
    When he stopped a foot away from her, she received another shock. In the light from the butter lamps' floating wicks she saw that his eyes were gentian blue. The back of her neck prickled. This man, this Tibetan sorcerer, had European blood.
     
    His gaze dropped to the package she clutched before her breast.
     
    "You should kneel when you offer that," he said.
     
    She blinked at him. "You speak English."
     
    His expression did not change. "As do you."
     
    He must have assumed from her appearance that she would, a natural assumption and one that should not have unnerved her after all she'd seen him do. Nonetheless, she was unnerved. Though she was more gifted at putting thoughts into people's heads than taking them out, she was not accustomed to finding anyone such a blank.
     
    If the lama was unnerved, he did not show it. He was close to her, the tiny spikes of his lashes shadowing his angled cheeks. Luisa was tall but he was taller, tall for any race, even hers. A warm soft scent rose from his robes, incense and yak butter and something sweeter: the scent that was his essence. She wanted to drag it into her lungs but knew she could not afford to, not now and maybe never. Already her attraction to him was stronger than she liked.
     
    "You drank that man's blood," he said, "and you clouded his mind. If you are not a demon, what manner of creature are you?"
     
    "I could ask you the same."
     
    His lips twitched with what might have been a smile. Then, as if this lapse were somehow shameful, he sobered and stepped back. Luisa sensed she was losing ground.
     
    "Forgive me," she said, doing her best to hide her consternation. "I did not mean to hurt that man. His attack surprised me. And I am not familiar with your customs." Dropping to her knees, she bowed her head and held her guest gift up before her. "Please, holy lama, accept this humble token of my esteem."
     
    Someone giggled, a boy from the sound of it, quickly hushed.
     
    "I am not Geshe Rinpoche," said the man with an edge of stiffness, "nor a holy lama. I am, however, honored to be the precious one's student. I will bring him to you when the service ends. If your request is sincere, I am sure he will honor it."
     
    She was not certain, but his final statement seemed to hold a hint of drollness. The possibility did not reassure her. Nor was she happy when he led her down a corridor to a little room. A set of iron chains hung from the raw stone wall. Luisa took one look and wanted to run away. Instead, she let her escort guide her to them. What sort of monastery kept such devices so close to hand? The room wasn't even a dungeon! It had an ornate tea table and an extra cushion for a guest.
     
    "You do not need to do this," she said, fighting panic as he closed the manacles around her sleeves. "I am not a threat."
     
    The glance he shot her was sardonic. She had to admit he had cause to doubt her. But did he know iron was the only metal she could not break? Or had she simply imagined he had seen straight to her core? Either way, she could not fight. She needed these people's help. She could not afford to hurt them.
     
    But then he bent and chained her ankles like her wrists. His soft bristled hair brushed the front of her thigh, an inadvertent intimacy she was sure. Despite the sensual distraction, her panic rose.
     
    "I do not like being restrained," she said. She meant it to be a warning, but her voice shook, betraying her sincerity more