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His power surrounded us, permeated us, bound us together in a ma
This is not the way of a cold fish, malý váleèník, the thought echoed in my head.
I sucked his lower lip into my mouth, nibbled on it for a bit, then slowly pulled my mouth from his.
What does malý váleèník mean exactly?
I could feel the smile in his thoughts. Little warrior.
Warrior, hmm? I could live with that. What worried me was the ease with which he settled into my mind. Slowly, gently, I shut him out, replacing my mental guards. I was shaken, more shaken than I wanted to admit even to myself at just how tempting it was to throw down my guards altogether, but as I stared down into Christian's midnight eyes, I reminded myself that even if he was immortal, he was still a man. I couldn't risk trusting him with that sort of power over me.
I pushed myself off his lap and stumbled back to my chair, reaching with a lamentably shaky hand for the water glass.
"So"—I cleared my throat to try to lower the level of huskiness his kiss had generated—"what do you know about this medium Guarda White? One of the SIP people mentioned her. I'm curious as to how you know about her."
Christian touched a finger to his lush lower lip. "You will not concede defeat?"
I picked up my fork and speared a chunk of chive-roasted potato. "I wasn't aware we were engaged in battle."
He smiled and inclined his head. "Touché. It was not a battle, merely"—his gaze dropped to my lips. Instinctively I licked them. They felt sensitive and tender, as if they were swollen—"an experiment with a most interesting outcome. I begin to think I have been overly hasty in my conclusions."
My entire body went up in flames at the longing in his eyes. I tried desperately to gather the shreds of my control around me. "Please, Christian…"
He ignored my whispered plea, taking my hand in his, his thumb stroking circles on the back of my hand. "Why do you struggle so? Why do you fight to wrap shields of indifference around yourself when I can feel within you all the ardor you stir within me? Why do you deny the passion that fills you at my touch?"
I pulled my hand from his slowly and tucked it away in my lap. Unreasonably, I felt close to tears, but didn't know if was for him I wanted to weep, or me. "I'm sorry, Christian," I told the remains of my chicken. "I just can't allow any man to have that sort of power over me."
Christian was silent for a time, a long enough time that I finally had to look up at him. His eyes, always an indicator of what he was feeling, glistened brightly in the glow of the candle on the table. His voice was low, pitched only for my ears, and skimmed along me like a pair of lover's hands. "It will be my distinct pleasure to show you that not all men use power to inflict punishment." I said nothing. There was just nothing to say.
The theater rented by the Association of Research Mediums and Psychics Investigation Trust (known by the dubious acronym ARMPIT) for their cattle call of psychic talent was a small, intimate space located in the basement of an old building that looked to date back to the late eighteenth century.
"According to this," I read out of the pamphlet that had been shoved into my hands as we entered the theater, "Guarda White and someone called Eduardo Tassalerro, head of Milan Psychics, Limited, are forming a sort of brain tank of psychics 'in order to further knowledge of spirits, and spectral activity in Britain today.' Hmm. I wonder what they think they can do that we in UPRA can't do."
"UPRA?"
"It's the organization I work for. The sister organization in England is the SIP, both of which are more than fully capable of furthering knowledge about spirits and such."
"Perhaps the brain tank has another purpose?"
I slid a glance at Christian. It wasn't what he said so much as how he said it—with a sense of controlled excitement that even in my guarded state I could feel. I wondered idly if some of his mind was leaking into mine.
That was all I needed, a man so handsome he made my bones melt and my blood boil with just a look slipping in and out of my mind whenever he wanted. I glanced at Christian again. His head was tipped as he read the pamphlet, his long hair once again tied back. He was wearing a suit tonight, midnight blue with some sort of shadowy pattern woven into the cloth. The cream shirt and dark tie were common enough, but the vest he wore was a work of art. It was a deep sapphire satin that rippled and moved with each breath he took, embroidered with tiny, detailed silver stitching that traced out great birds of prey, eagles and falcons in full flight, heads thrown back and claws extended. It was beautiful and chilling at the same time, and I wanted badly to tell him how much I admired it on him, particularly how it hugged the contours of his chest, but his ego was inflated enough. The man certainly didn't need to be told he was just about the sexiest thing on the face of the earth.
Christian smiled lazily at the pamphlet. I dragged my gaze back to my own, chewing on my lip and wondering if it was just a coincidence. What was I thinking; of course it was! My guards were solid. I'd had almost thirty years to perfect them.
Which didn't explain the fact that Christian's smile grew.
I wrestled my mind away from the fascinating topic of the man whose leg was pressed nonchalantly against mine, and back to the theater. Carlos was up in the front row with two women I recognized from SIP, one of whom was the director. The theater was about half-full, most of the people wearing badges with local ghost-hunting groups' names emblazoned on them. A few people had laptops set up and were typing fast and furious; others wore that peculiar geeky look that dedicated paranormalists often had. I fretted with a bobble and wondered if I looked just as geeky as they did.
"Good evening, esteemed colleagues, dedicated researchers, ladies and gentlemen." The woman standing in front of the curtains had a clipped, faintly Germanic accent that matched her short silver-touched blond hair and no-nonsense build. She looked every inch a hausfrau, but the aura of power she exuded was anything but normal. "I am Guarda White, the president of the Association of Research Mediums and Psychics Investigation Trust. I welcome you to this our sixth of eight trials to be held in the London area. For those of you who are new to the trials, we will take volunteers from the audience who wish to participate in a group Summoning, often referred to in lay terms as a séance. Those members who we feel show a particular gift for the paranormal will be invited to join the trust. My associate, Eduardo Tassalerro of Milan Psychics, Limited, noted physical medium, will join us at the table. Will we require ten more volunteers. If you wish to be considered, please raise your hand and one of the attendants will take down your name and particulars."
The curtain behind Guarda opened to display a large round table surrounded with twelve chairs. The lights on the stage were subdued, limited to a single spotlight. I wondered why anyone would want to perform on the stage for a group they knew nothing about when they could join any one of a number of legitimate research groups. I turned to whisper my question to Christian, only to find him with his arm in the air.
"What do you think you're doing? You're a vampire; you can't Summon ghosts!"
"True, but you can."
"Me?" I looked around us and saw with horror that a young woman in a tight miniskirt was beetling straight for Christian. I had the worst urge to put my hand on his leg, just to let her know he was taken…