Dark Prince (Dark Series - book 1)

by Christine Feehan

  His eyes moved possessively over her face, but his pace didn’t slow, and he didn’t answer her. It was humiliating that he didn’t appear to notice her struggles.

  Raven allowed her head to fall back against his shoulder with a slight sigh. “Did you kidnap me or rescue me?”

  Strong white teeth gleamed at her, a predator’s smile, a man’s amusement. “Perhaps a little of both.”

  “Where are you taking me?” She pressed a hand to her I forehead, not wanting a battle, physical or mental.

  “To my home. We have a date. I am Mikhail Dubrinsky.”

  Raven rubbed at her temple. “Tonight might not be so good for me. I’m feeling...” She broke off, catching a I glimpse of a moving shadow pacing them. Her heart nearly stopped. She looked around, sighted a second, then a third. Her hand clutched his shoulder. “Put me down, Dubrinsky.”

  “Mikhail,” he corrected, not even slowing down. A smile softened the edges of his mouth. “You see the wolves?” She felt the indifferent shrug of his broad shoulders. “Be calm, little one; they will not harm us. This is their home, as it is mine. We have an understanding and are at peace with one another.”

  Somehow she believed him. “Are you going to hurt me?” She asked the question softly, needing to know.

  His dark eyes touched her face again, thoughtful, holding a thousand secrets, unmistakably possessive. “I am not a man who would hurt a woman in the way you are imagining. But I am certain our relationship will not always be a comfortable one. You like to defy me.” He answered as honestly as he was I able.

  His eyes made her feel as if she belonged to him, as if he had a right to her. “You were wrong to hurt Jacob, you know. You could have killed him.”

  “Do not defend him, little one. I allowed him to live to please you, but it would be no trouble to finish the task.”

  Pleasurable. No man had the right to put his hand on Mikhail’s woman and hurt her as that human had done. The inability of the male to see that he was causing Raven pain did not absolve his sin.

  “You don’t mean that. Jacob is harmless. He was attracted to me,” she tried to explain gently.

  “You will not speak his name to me. He touched you, put his hand on you.” He stopped abruptly, there in the heart of I the deep forest, as wild and untamed as the pack of wolves surrounding them. He was not even breathing heavily, though he had covered miles carrying her in his arms. His black eyes were merciless as they stared down into hers. “He caused you much pain.”

  Her breath caught in her throat as he lowered his dark head to hers. His mouth hovered inches from hers, so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “Do not disobey me in this, Raven. This man touched you, hurt you, and I see no reason for his existence.”

  Her eyes searched his hard, implacable features. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” She did not want to feel the warmth spreading through her at his words. Jacob had hurt her; the pain was so intense, it had stolen her breath and somehow, when no one else knew, Mikhail had known.

  “Deadly serious.” He began moving again with his long, ground-eating strides.

  Raven was silent, trying to work out the puzzle. She knew evil, had chased it, soaked in it, the obscene, depraved mind of a serial killer. This man spoke casually of killing, yet she could not feel evil in him. She sensed that she was in danger, grave danger from Mikhail Dubrinsky. A man with unlimited power, arrogant in his strength, a man who believed he had a right to her.

  “Mikhail?” Her slender frame was beginning to tremble. “I want to go back.”

  The dark eyes drifted over her face again, noting the shadows, the fear lingering in her blue gaze. Her heart was pounding, her slight body trembling in his arms. “Go back to what? Death? Isolation? You have nothing with those people and everything with me. Going back is not your answer. Sooner or later you will not be able to take their demands. They continually take pieces of your soul. You are much safer in my care.”

  She pushed at the wall of his chest, found her hands trapped against the heat of his skin. He merely tightened his hold, amusement spreading warmth to the coldness of his eyes. “You cannot fight me, little one.”

  “I want to go back, Mikhail.” She worked to keep her voice under control. She wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. He knew her. He knew what she felt, the price she paid for her gift. The pull between them was so strong, she could hardly think straight.

  The house loomed up, dark, threatening, a rambling hulk of stone. Her fingers twisted in his shirt. Mikhail knew she was unaware of that nervous, telltale gesture. “You are safe with me, Raven. I would not allow anyone or anything to harm you.”

  She swallowed nervously as he pushed open the heavy iron gates and mounted the steps. “Just you.”

  He allowed his chin to brush the top of her silky hair, feeling the jolt in the core of his body. “Welcome to my home.” He said the words softly, wrapping her up in them as if they were firelight or sunshine. Very slowly, reluctantly, he allowed her feet to touch the threshold.

  Mikhail reached past her to open the door, then stepped back. “Do you enter my home of your own free will?” He asked it formally, his eyes burning on her face, over it, dwelling on her soft mouth before returning to her large blue eyes.

  She was frightened, he could read it easily, a captive wild thing wanting to trust him yet unable to, run to the ground, cornered, but still willing to fight with her last breath. She needed him almost as much as he needed her. She touched the door frame with a fingertip. “If I say no, will you take me back to the inn?”

  Why did she want to be with him when she knew he was so dangerous? He wasn’t “pushing” her; she had too much talent of her own not to know. He looked so alone, so proud, yet his eyes burned over her with hungry need. He didn’t answer her, didn’t try to persuade her, simply stood in silence, waiting.

  Raven sighed softly, knowing she was defeated. She had never known another human being she could just sit and talk with, even touch, without the bombardment of thoughts and emotions. That in itself was a type of seduction.

  She started across the threshold. Mikhail caught her arm. “Your own free will; say it.”

  “My own free will.” She stepped into his home, her lashes sweeping down. Raven missed the look of savage joy that lit his dark, chiseled features.

  Chapter Two

  The heavy door swung closed behind Raven with a thud of finality. She shivered, rubbed her arms nervously. Mikhail whirled a cape around her, enveloping her in warmth, in his woodsy, masculine scent. He strode across the marble floor to throw open the doors to the library. Within minutes he had a fire roaring. He indicated a chair near the flames. It was high-backed, deep cushioned, an antique, yet curiously not worn.

  Raven studied the room with awe. It was large, with a beautiful hardwood floor, each parquet piece a part of a larger mosaic. On three sides there were floor-to-ceiling shelves, completely filled with books, most leather bound, many very old. The chairs were comfortable, the small table, in between the chairs, an antique in perfect condition. The chessboard was marble, the pieces uniquely carved.

  “Drink this.”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when he appeared beside her with a crystal glass. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  He smiled the smile that made her heart beat faster. His acute sense of smell had already processed that particular bit of information about her. “It is not alcohol; it is an herb mixture for your headache.”

  Alarm slammed into her. She was crazy for being here. It was like trying to relax with a wild tiger in the same room. He could do anything to her and no one would come to help. If he drugged her... Decisively, she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “Raven.” His voice was low, caressing, hypnotic. “Obey me.”

  She found her fingers curling around the glass. She fought the order, and pain sliced through her head so that she cried out.

  Mikhail was at her side, looming over her, his hand closing
over hers around the fragile glass. “Why do you defy me over so trivial a thing?”

  There were tears burning in her throat. “Why would you force me?”

  His hand found her throat, circled it, lifted her chin. “Because you are in pain and I wish to ease it.”

  Her eyes widened in astonishment. Could it be so simple? She was in pain and he wanted to ease it? Was he really that protective, or did he enjoy imposing his will? “It’s my choice. That’s what free will is all about.”

  “I can see pain in your eyes, feel it in your body. Knowing I can help you, is it logical for me to allow you to continue to hurt yourself just so you can prove something?” There was genuine puzzlement in his voice. “Raven, if I was going to harm you, I would not need to drug you. Allow me to help you.” His thumb was moving over her skin, feather-light, sensuous, tracing the pulse in her neck, the delicate line of her jaw, the fullness of her lower lip.

  She closed her eyes and let him put the glass to her mouth, tilt the bittersweet contents down her throat. She felt as if she was placing her life in his hands. There was far too much possession in his touch.

  “Relax, little one,” he said softly. “Tell me about yourself. How is it that you can hear my thoughts?” His strong fingers found her temples, began a soothing rhythm.

  “I’ve always been able to do it. When I was little, I just assumed everybody else could do the same thing. But it was terrible to know other people’s innermost thoughts, their secrets. I heard and felt things every minute of the day.” Raven never talked about her life, her childhood, to anyone, least of all a complete stranger. Yet Mikhail didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like a part of her. A piece missing from her soul. It seemed important to tell him. “My father thought I was a freak, a demon child, and even my mother was a little afraid of me. I learned never to touch people, not to be in crowds. It was better to be alone, in places of solitude. It was the only way I could stay sane.”

  Gleaming teeth bared above her head, a predator’s menace. He wanted to be alone with her father for a few minutes, to show him what a demon really was. It interested him, yet alarmed him that her words could bring about such rage in him. To know she was alone so long ago, had endured pain and loneliness when he was in the world, angered him. Why hadn’t he gone looking for her? Why hadn’t her father loved and cherished her as he should have?

  His hands were working magic, slipping to the nape of her neck, his fingers strong, hypnotic. “A few years ago a man was murdering families, small children. I was staying with a friend from high school and when I returned after work, I found them all dead. When I went into the house I could feel his evil, knew his thoughts. It made me sick, the terrible things running around in my head, but I was able to track him and finally led the police to him.”

  His hands moved down the length of her thick braid, found the tie and loosened the heavy mass of silk, tunneling his fingers to release the woven strands, still damp from her shower hours before. “How many times did you do this thing?” She was leaving things out. The details of horror and pain, the faces of those she helped as they watched her work, shocked, fascinated, yet repulsed by her ability. He saw those details, sharing her mind, reading her memories to learn her true nature.

  “Four. I went after four killers. The last time I fell apart. He was so sick, so evil. I felt as if I was unclean, as if I could never get him out of my head. I came here hoping to find peace. I decided I would never do anything like that again.”

  Mikhail, above her head, closed his eyes for a moment to calm his mind. That she could feel unclean. He could look into her heart and soul, see her every secret, know she was light and compassion, courage and gentleness. The things she had seen in her young life should never have been. He waited until his voice was calm and soothing. “And you get these headaches if you use telepathic communication?” At her solemn nod, he continued, “Yet when you heard me, unguarded, in pain, you reached out to me, knowing the price you would pay.”

  How could she explain? He was like a wounded animal, radiating so much pain that she had found tears streaming unchecked down her face. His loneliness was hers. His isolation, hers. And she had sensed his resolve to end his pain, his existence. She could not let that happen, no matter what the cost to herself.

  Mikhail let out his breath slowly, astonished and shocked by her nature, so giving. She was hesitant to put into words why she had reached out to him, but he knew it was her nature to give. He also knew the call had been so strong because that something in him that reached for her had found whatever it needed. He inhaled her scent, taking her into his body, enjoying the sight and smell of her in his home, the feel of her silky hair in his hands, her soft skin under his fingertips. The flames from the fire put blue lights in her hair. Need slammed into him, hard and urgent and, as painful as the ache was, he reveled in the fact that he could feel it.

  Mikhail seated himself across the small table from her, his eyes drifting lazily, possessively over her alluring curves. “Why do you dress in men’s clothes?” he asked.

  She laughed, soft and melodious, and her eyes lit with mischief. “Because I knew it would annoy you.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. Real, genuine, incredible laughter. There was happiness in him and the stirrings of affection. He couldn’t remember what those feelings were like, but the emotions were sharp and clear and a sweet ache in his body.

  “Is it necessary to annoy me?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him, realizing that her headache was completely gone. “So easy,” Raven teased.

  He leaned closer. “Disrespectful woman. So dangerous, you mean.”

  “Mmm, maybe that, too.” She slid her hand through her hair, pushed it away from her face. The action was an innocent habit, incredibly sexy, drawing his gaze to the perfection of her face, the fullness of her breasts, the smooth line of her throat.

  “So just how good a chess player are you?” she challenged impudently.

  An hour later Mikhail leaned back in his chair to watch her face as she studied the board. She was frowning in concentration, trying to puzzle out his unfamiliar strategy. She could sense that he was leading her into a trap, but she couldn’t find it. Raven leaned her chin on the heel of her hand, relaxed, in no hurry. She was patient and thorough and twice had gotten him into trouble simply because he was too sure of himself.

  Suddenly her eyes widened, a slow smile curving her soft mouth. “You are a cunning devil, aren’t you, Mikhail? But I think your cleverness may have gotten you into a bit of trouble.”

  He watched her with hooded eyes. His teeth gleamed white in the firelight. “Did I happen to mention, Miss Whitney, that the last person impertinent enough to beat me at chess was thrown in the dungeon and tortured for thirty years?”

  “I believe that would have made you about two at the time,” she teased, her eyes glued to the chessboard.

  He sucked in his breath sharply. He had been comfortable in her presence, felt totally accepted. She obviously believed he was mortal, with superior telepathic powers. Mikhail lazily reached across the board to make his move, saw the dawning comprehension in her eyes. “I believe what we have is checkmate,” he said silkily.

  “I should have known a man who walks in the forest surrounded by wolves would be devious.” She smiled up at him. “Great game, Mikhail. I really enjoyed it.” Raven sank back into the cushions of the chair. “Can you talk to animals?” she asked curiously.

  He liked her in his home, liked the way the fire burned blue in her hair and the way the shadows clung so lovingly to her face. He had memorized every inch of it, knew that if he closed his eyes, the picture would still be there, the high, delicate cheekbones, her small nose and lush mouth. “Yes.” He answered truthfully, not wanting lies between them.

  “Would you have killed Jacob?”

  Her lashes were beautiful and held his attention. “Be careful of what you ask little one,” he cautioned.

  She curled her legs beneath un
der her, regarded him steadily. “You know, Mikhail, you are so used to using your power, you don’t even stop to think if it’s right or wrong.”

  “He had no right to touch you. He was causing you pain.”

  “But he didn’t know he was. And you had no right to touch me, but you did anyway,” she pointed out reasonably.

  His eyes glittered coldly. “I have every right. You belong to me.” He said it calmly, his voice soft, with a hint of warning. “More importantly, Raven, I did not cause you pain.”

  Raven’s breath caught in her throat. Her tongue moistened her lips with a small, delicate gesture. “Mikhail”—her voice was hesitant, as she chose her words carefully—”I belong to myself. I’m a person, not something you can own. In any case. I live in the United States. I’m going back there soon and intend to be on the next train to Budapest.”