Dark Magic

He lifted strands of ebony hair to his mouth, inhaling her fragrance. “You have no reason to be sorry for anything, ma petite.”

Her clenched fist lay over his heart, the three diamonds in her palm. “You think I can’t read your body? Feel the heaviness in your mind as you try to shield me? I can’t change who I am, not even for you. I know I’m failing you, causing you discomfort.”

A slow smile curved his mouth. Discomfort.Now, there was a word for it. His hand crushed her hair, ran it through his fingers. “I have never asked you to change, nor would I want you to. You seem to forget that I know you better than anyone. I can handle you.”

She turned her head so that he could see the silver stars flashing in her blue eyes, a smoldering warning. “You are so arrogant, Gregori, it makes me want to throw things. Do you hear yourself? Handleme? Ha!

I try to say I’m sorry for failing you, and you act the lord of the manor. Being born centuries ago when women were chattel does not give you an excuse.”

“Carpathian women have never been considered chattel,” he corrected softly. “Ours is a dwindling race. Our children rarely survive, and there are so few women for lifemates, most of our men are lost to their i

“Gregori.” Sava

His mouth found the silky fragrance of her hair, and his hands ran down the length of her back, finding pleasure in the way her tiny waist tucked into her slender hips. “What kind of understanding?” he murmured almost absently, his mind clearly on other, more provocative things.

The trace of amusement in his voice irritated her, as if he were merely humoring her. Sava

He bent his head to taste the vulnerable line of her neck, to feel her pulse in the warm, moist cavern of his mouth. His blood surged and pounded. Little jackhammers began to beat at his skull. “I am listening to every word you say, ma petite,” he murmured, lost in her softness, in the scent of her. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, every cell in his body. “I could repeat each word verbatim, if you desire.”

Soon the fire would start, and there would be no choice for either of them. His blood would call to hers with such an urgency that she couldn’t ignore the summons. His mind would slip easily in and out of hers, the psychic link so strong it would bind them close even over great distances. She would need it as much he.

Gregori inhaled her into his very body, her scent so feminine, so seductive. She stirred such depths of feelings after such a barren existence, it terrified him. He was used to an emotionless life. She could bring him good, but his potential for evil was enormous. He was a law unto himself. Even the laws of his people, the very laws he defended, had never applied to him.

He could read her feelings quite easily. Sava

“You’re not listening.” Sava

He lifted his head, pale eyes roaming possessively over her beautiful features. “Yes, I am. Is it working?” His voice—a low, teasing caress—disarmed her where denial would not have. His hand was spa

She was smiling at his words in spite of every effort not to. “No, it isn’t working at all,” she lied. She couldn’t look at him without wanting him. Her pulse was racing beneath the pad of his thumb. Her skin was hot satin, inviting his touch, inviting further exploration. There was conflict in her mind, fear uppermost, but there was also desire. Gregori focused on that, fed that spark of need with his own.

He touched his mouth to the corner of hers, brushed a velvet-soft whisper across her lips, and felt her heart jump wildly in response. “Are you certain? I have learned much over the centuries. There is an art to making love.” It was blatant sorcery now, all-out seduction.

He was doing something magical to her mouth. Applying hardly a touch, yet with such a mixture of tenderness and possession, her heart turned over. Her fingers tangled in his thick mane of jet-black hair. Long lashes swept her cheeks; then she lifted blue eyes dancing with laughter. “An art? Is that what you call it? I think I could come up with a better name.”

He lifted his head, pale eyes glinting silver, warming to liquid mercury. “And you know so much? Your first time was a travesty, an abomination. That was not me, Sava

She tilted her chin, hating the sorrow in him, the guilt. Wanting his mind on other matters, she deliberately challenged his statement. “You don’t know so much about me. There was a man once. He was crazy about me.” She tried to look worldly. “Absolutely crazy for me.”

His answering laughter was warm against her neck, her throat. His lips touched the skin over her pulse and skimmed lightly up to her ear. “Are you, by any chance, referring to that foppish boy with the orange hair and spiked collar? Dragon something?”

Sava

Gregori nuzzled her neck, inhaling her fragrance, his hand sliding over her shoulder, moving gently over her satin skin to take possession of her breast. “He wore boots and rode a Harley.” His breath came out in a rush as his palm cupped the soft weight, his thumb brushing her nipple into a hard peak.

The feel of his large hand—so strong, so warm and possessive on her—sent heat curling through her body. Desire rose sharply. He was seducing her with tenderness. Sava

“Making love,” he corrected, his voice husky, caressing, betraying the ease with which his mind moved like a shadow through hers. “And to answer your question, I live in you, can touch you whenever I wish. I knew about all of them. Every damn one.” He growled the words, and her breath caught in her throat. “He was the only one you thought of kissing.” His mouth touched hers. Gently. Lightly. Returned for more. Coaxing, teasing, until she opened to him. He stole her breath, her reason, whirling her into a world of feeling. Bright colors and white-hot heat, the room falling away until there was only his broad shoulders, strong arms, hard body, and perfect, perfect mouth.

When he lifted his head, Sava