Dark Carousel

by Christine Feehan

  "I have taken a vow to cherish you and place your happiness above my own. It is an irrevocable vow. Once said, the words cannot be undone."

  Wait. Wait. Wait. Her heart began to hammer too hard. Too loud. Too fast. He had said a lot of things to her in his language. It had been sexy. But it also had been uttered in a deep, firm, committing voice. What had he said? You are my lifemate. I claim you as my lifemate. I belong to you. She had loved when he'd said it. She had no idea what a lifemate was, but it had sounded hot and sexy when he'd given her that title. A woman above all others to him. That was how she took it because she'd wanted to believe she was special to him. And she'd wanted desperately to belong to him.

  She didn't do one-night stands. She didn't hook up. Intimacy meant something to her, as did giving the gift of her body to someone. She made no judgments on others, but she wasn't wired that way, even when she'd wished that she were. What else had he said? He just stood there, watching her like the predator again. Waiting for her to figure it out.

  "Say it. In English. Whatever you said last night," she ordered softly. She wouldn't be afraid or intimidated by him no matter how big or dangerous he appeared.

  "I offer my life to you. I give you my protection. I give you my allegiance. I give you my heart. I give you my soul. I give you my body."

  The blue eyes never wavered. "And I did give you all of those things. I meant every word. For me, there is no taking it back. For you, there is no way to take it back, either. We're bound together."

  She wanted to shake her head, to deny what he said, but she was an intelligent woman--most of the time--when her hormones weren't ruling her, and right then she felt the pull of him, the threads binding them together. She might walk away physically, but she knew she would suffer for a lifetime if she did. No one else would ever satisfy her. She would think of him day and night and need him. Crave him.

  "There was more." Because she needed to know.

  His gaze remained absolutely steady. "I take into my keeping the same that is yours."

  He made the statement in that voice, the one that melted her. The one she couldn't resist. But this time she understood. He wasn't touching her, frying her brain. She understood. Her heart stuttered. He'd done that. Somehow in the night between his touch, his possession and his vows, he'd managed to take into his keeping her body, heart and soul. She kept her gaze on his.

  "Your life will be cherished by me for all my time. Your life will be placed above my own for all time. You are my lifemate. You are bound to me for all eternity. You are always in my care."

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. He took a step toward her and she stepped back, lifting one hand to ward him off. "No. Stop. I have to think."

  He shook his head and walked toward her. "There is nothing to think about. This decision was made last night and again this evening." He sounded implacable. Fierce. Unafraid. Certain.

  How could he be so sure when she was freaking out? She had been certain until that moment he had pushed at her mind, trying to force her to obey him. It was a small push, but she'd caught it. She had the same reaction when anyone tried to manipulate her. Her actions the night before and again this evening had been out of character for her. He hadn't exactly denied compulsion, although she hadn't felt it being used on her and she would have . . . wouldn't she?

  He just kept coming until he had her back against the half wall, the hand she'd put out to ward him off smashed right against his chest. He captured that hand and held it tight against him, right over his heart.

  "Do you feel that, Charlotte? Do you hear that? My heart beating? Do you feel the rhythm of your heart?" He put his other hand over her heart, fingers stroking caresses over the curve of her breast.

  "It isn't fair," she whispered.

  "What isn't fair?"

  "Owning me with a touch." Her whisper was barely audible and her gaze slid from his blue eyes down to his hand covering hers on his chest.

  "You still do not understand, sielamet." He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "You own me. Body and soul. I would never harm you. Not under any circumstances. Whatever you feel for me, I feel even more for you. You make my body come alive. You gave me everything. When a man has had nothing at all, when he's lived long in a dark, gray void and a woman brings with her the warmth of sunlight and laughter when he's been cold, joy and happiness when he has none, he will do anything for her. Anything at all to make her happy. You are that woman for me."

  When he said things like that she couldn't resist him. She didn't want to resist him. He let her know she wasn't alone in her madness. He was in as deep as she was--if she could believe him, and she did. There had been no sweet courtship, no getting to know each other. She didn't know a single thing about him, other than what she'd learned from the occasional magazine article. Still, her instant acceptance and out-of-character reaction to him alarmed her. Even his instant reaction to her, as if he'd known her forever.

  "I don't trust this," she admitted. "Why do you?"

  "I have told you why. For me, I knew instantly. It is the way of my people and has been for centuries. I know it isn't the same for you, but I also know you feel the connection between us. You've been in my mind. You would know if I was lying to you."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Would I?" Her gaze strayed to the carousel horses wrapped so securely. He was offering her a safe haven for Lourdes, a beautiful home not only for her niece and her, but also for Genevieve and even Grace if she would accept it. He was offering himself to her. And a job. The job she most wanted in the world.

  "You would know, Charlotte," he said softly.

  The way his voice got inside of her always melted her. Always. He didn't need to try to control her mind; his voice controlled her body. Maybe her brain, too, because she found it hard to think clearly around him.

  "I want this, Tariq, what we have growing between us, I really do. I appreciate every single thing you're offering me. I especially appreciate that you intervened last night with Fridrick. I was really scared, and it was clear he knew where Lourdes was, even though I thought we'd hidden her carefully this time. You and your friends saved her as well."

  "But?"

  He tipped his head to one side and his eyes, so vibrant and pure blue, studied her with that unblinking focus he seemed to have. It reminded her of a pure predator's. A delicious shiver went down her spine, and it occurred to her that the twinge of fear added to the temptation that was Tariq Asenguard. He stood there, looking gorgeous and sophisticated, a wealthy businessman reputed to be extremely intelligent and shrewd. He could be gentle. His touch brought paradise. And then he could look absolutely dangerous, as he did right at the moment.

  He was waiting for something. Alert. Watchful. She knew if she made the wrong move he would attack, but how or why she wasn't certain. She only knew that the threat was there, lingering in the air. The shiver turned into something else, fear welling up to become panic. She found she couldn't breathe, couldn't drag enough air into her lungs. She also knew the attack would be in some form she would never be able to resist.

  "Stop it." The command was a whiplash. "I would never hurt you. It would be impossible for me to do such a thing. Unthinkable. I won't let you go, but you aren't a prisoner. I would choose to use persuasion, and I can be very persuasive when something is important to me. You, Charlotte, are the most important person in my world."

  She moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, stalling for time. She wanted him, wanted everything he was offering. What she didn't trust was the terrible need inside of her, the hunger for him. It was overwhelming. He was overwhelming. He made her feel things she'd never imagined in her wildest dreams.

  "I'm not someone who works well with dominant males." It was her way of telling him she wasn't in the least submissive. He commanded. He ordered. When he wanted something he got it; there was no doubt in her mind. No matter what Tariq said, he was pure alpha male.

  "I am not going to tell you I
don't have a dominant personality, because I do. That said, I don't want a submissive woman. I want an intelligent woman thinking for herself. I want a strong woman to help me figure out what to do with the enormous problems I have facing me. Do I make decisions fast? Yes. Absolutely. I want my woman to be able to do the same. You're that woman. Will it always be easy? We have five children to look out for. Five. Two are already teens. All of them are traumatized. We have Fridrick and his bosses with their army coming after Emeline, Genevieve and you. We also have the threat of the three men following you from Paris. I don't need a submissive woman, Charlotte; I need a warrior. A woman walking beside me. Fighting beside me. Standing in front of those children with me. A woman unafraid to listen to whatever Emeline or Liv needs to say, to hear them and not curl into a protective ball when the monstrous truth of what happened to them comes out. I know that woman is you."

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing she was going to jump off the cliff. "I hope you're real, Tariq, because once I give you everything you're asking for, I won't ever be able to get it back." Her heart. Her soul. She was already in so far over her head so fast she feared she was already lost. That last little part of her, the one he knew she held back, but was demanding, that would cost her everything if she lost.

  "I've already given it to you, sielamet. Everything I am or will ever be. I meant every word I said to you. I gave you--me. I want the same from you. Come all the way into my world. Be my woman."

  He whispered the words, yet she heard each one clearly. His voice wrapped her in strong arms. She felt protected and cherished with just his voice. He wasn't touching her and yet she felt his arms surrounding her. She would always have him. That man. The one standing in front of her, looking at her with those incredible gemlike eyes. Seeing only her.

  She took a breath, knowing the truth. She was already lost. It didn't matter if she gave him that last little piece of her; she already was tied to him in a way she couldn't explain, and she knew leaving him would be nearly impossible. "I already am your woman," she whispered.

  "Are you scared?"

  She nodded, not looking away from that deep blue gaze. She couldn't. He still hadn't blinked. Still looked predatory. Dangerous. She was willingly giving herself to a man who would always have that edge to him.

  "Don't be. You're safe with me."

  She believed him. But . . . "Am I safe from you?"

  He stared at her for an eternity, holding her captive with just his eyes and his charisma. A slow smile curved his mouth and crept into his eyes, lighting them more, turning the blue a vibrant sapphire. "No, sielamet. I want to eat you alive. The taste of you is forever on my tongue. The feel of you surrounding my cock, tight and hot, your skin, softer than anything I've ever felt, that wild hair, your mouth, all of you is branded into my mind, my bones, wrapped around my heart. You are not safe from me and you never will be, but you'll like the way you aren't safe. I can promise you that much."

  He sounded wicked. Tempting. Sexy. Her sex clenched. Went damp. Heat rushed through her veins. She couldn't stop the slow, answering smile curving her own mouth. "Okay then. Show me what I'll be working on and tell me what you plan on paying me. I just want you to know that sleeping with the boss is never a good idea. I'll have to think long and hard about which I want most. I truly love carousel horses, so you might lose out if they're what I think they are."

  "If that's going to be a problem, Charlotte, I can write it into our contract that the job comes with certain other duties."

  She burst out laughing. "Don't you dare. Just open the packaging for me. I'm really drawn to that one." She pointed to a wooden horse encased in Bubble Wrap and a crate. She longed to touch it, to feel the wood beneath her fingers so she could learn about everyone who had ever touched the horse. Once she got that pull, that intense draw, she knew the object was very old and had a lot to tell her. Wood was her favorite medium. It seemed to absorb so much more than man-made substances.

  Tariq smiled again, taking her breath. With his easy, fluid steps he seemed to glide through the various wrapped bundles lying on the floor until he got to the one she was compelled to touch. She stood close. Holding her breath. Anticipating. Not daring to hope but hoping anyway.

  Tariq was careful with the packaging, removing it one strip of wood at a time to reveal more of the Bubble Wrap. She watched him closely. His hands barely seemed to touch the wood, and he loosened the nails just by pulling. She knew he was strong, but he made dismantling the crates look easy. She was fairly certain she could open the others without help.

  "Tariq."

  Both turned at the sound of his name being spoken, but Charlotte realized she wasn't in the least startled. She'd heard and smelled the man leaning his upper body and head into the room with one foot still on the basement stair. She recognized him from the previous night. He was tall, like Tariq, with long dark hair and cold-as-ice, black-as-night eyes. He was handsome, but in a rough, bad boy way, although, like Tariq, he wore a suit. Where Tariq looked as if he stepped off the cover of GQ magazine, his partner, Maksim Volkov, looked as if he'd grace the cover of a biker magazine.

  "Need you for a moment. Won't take long."

  Tariq frowned at him, but straightened, leaving the very corner of the horse peeking out at Charlotte. She tried not to stare at the faded wood, but it was seductive, beckoning to her, a thousand voices whispering just because she was in such close proximity.

  "I'll be right back," Tariq assured. "Wait for me. If there's a curse on that thing, I'd rather it fall on me than on you."

  "So sweet of you," she murmured, and stepped even closer to the carousel horse. Tariq was sweet, but if there truly was a curse, she would know the moment she touched the wood.

  "I mean it, sielamet, you are not to touch that thing until I have had time to examine it." He used his voice that brooked no argument, the one that said he was in charge and everyone jumped to obey him.

  She nodded, a little distracted, and when Tariq went up the stairs with Maksim, she stepped closer to the antique horse. The whispers grew louder when she extended her palm and placed it carefully just above the wood peeking out of the wrap. Immediately she heard the sound of children laughing. Voices murmuring softly. Drawing her into that tunnel of time she lived to enter. To see worlds lost. People already gone. Glimpses into the past. Various languages. French. Hungarian. Italian. Romanian. A language she didn't understand but had heard recently, the one Tariq spoke.

  Excitement was a dark drug in her veins. This could really be it, the find of a lifetime. A genuine horse carved hundreds of years ago for the express purpose of training young men to thrust spears, swords or arrows through rings with precision. She would be able to establish an exact timeline. She'd know when the horse had changed hands, where it had been, which families had owned it and the country they were in when they had it.

  Ricard Beaudet had spent his entire career, even most of his life, searching for this very item. She stepped close enough to bump the Bubble Wrap with her knee, her hand trembling as she slowly lowered it until the wood whispered against her hand. Beckoning. Calling to her. Accepting her. Ready to give up every secret. There was no resisting that call. She laid her palm gently on the exposed wood, her fingers unerringly finding the grooves of the carving.

  Around her the walls of the basement shimmered and then disappeared. Everything went dark, but she wasn't alone--the voices were there, calling out to one another in various languages. Happy. Laughing. Sobbing. Anguish. Children. Adults. They were there with her in that dark place. She shivered in the cold, feeling as she always did when she first made contact with an ancient object. It was icy cold until she managed to connect with a time and a place. She was looking far back, trying to ignore the mesmerizing, seductive lure of the voices.

  She hunted through time for the wood-carver. The closer she got to him, the more she could feel it. The more the cold receded and she felt warmth. Heat. The voices grew. Men laughing. Talking together. O
ne man with his back to her worked with the block of wood, his knife moving in soft, gentle strokes, his hands caressing the wood with care and love.

  The men spoke in Tariq's ancient language. She couldn't understand what they were saying, but she heard the teasing notes of laughter in their voices. They were giving the carver a hard time. She found them interesting. All were of the same race. Tall, wide shoulders, long black hair, stunning men with muscular physiques that would set them apart easily. Two of them practiced sword fighting, going at each other repeatedly, but they seemed evenly matched, so much so that they were involved in the conversation with the others gathered around the wood-carver.

  "Which part of 'Don't touch that until I check it out' didn't you understand?" Tariq snarled the question from behind her.

  Charlotte jumped, still in the past, a little disoriented. The wood-carver turned his head and looked directly at her. He had the same wide shoulders as the others. The same long black hair. The same powerful muscles rippling over his tall frame. But his eyes were vivid blue. Intense blue. Eyes she'd looked into when he'd made her come apart in his arms.

  She gasped and jerked her hand away, feeling the sting of a splinter biting at her finger as she did so. It couldn't be Tariq. Maybe an ancestor. That was why he collected carousel horses. He knew someone in his family had carved these horses. She put her finger to her mouth to soothe the tiny wound, staring at the carver.

  He stared back at her, his face totally exposed under the light of a full moon. He was . . . gorgeous. There was no mistaking him. He looked no more than thirty or thirty-five, just exactly like Tariq. Exactly like Tariq because it was Tariq. It wasn't possible. It didn't make sense. But she knew absolutely that the man staring at her was the same man snarling at her, revealing the true predator he actually was.

  9

  Oh. My. God." Charlotte whispered each word. Shocked. Knowing. Trying to tell herself it was impossible. She couldn't look away from the man from another time crouched in front of the block of wood, staring at her with his beautiful blue eyes, watching her intently, utterly focused on her as if even then he could actually sense her presence, see her.