Dark Prince (Dark Series - book 1)

by Christine Feehan

  You didn’t buy me jeans.

  She couldn’t resist teasing him.

  Women do not belong in men’s clothing.

  He was unruffled.

  Raven stepped into the shower, released the thick braid so she could shampoo her hair.

  You don’t like the way I look in a pair of jeans?

  His laughter held deep, genuine amusement.

  That is a loaded question .

  Where are you?

  Without realizing it, Raven was communicating a sultry invitation. She touched his mark over her breast with light fingertips. The contact caused her blood to heat, the mark to throb.

  Your body needs rest, little one. I have not exactly been the gentlest of lovers, have I?

  There was self-mockery in his tone, guilt in his mind.

  She laughed softly.

  I don’t have very much to judge you by, do I? There hasn’t been a parade of men in my life.

  Her soft laughter wrapped him in loving arms.

  If you like, I could always find someone to compare you with.

  She offered it sweetly.

  She felt the brush of strong fingers on her throat, curling around the fragile column. How did he do that?

  I’m so scared, macho man. Someone needs to drag you kicking and screaming into this century.

  The fingers brushed her face, caressed her lower lip.

  You love me the way I am.

  Love. The smile faded from her soft mouth at the word. She didn’t want to love him. He already had far too much power over her.

  You can’t hold me here, Mikhail.

  Obsession might be the right word, not love.

  Little rabbit. There are no chains on the doors, and the telephone is in working order. And you do love me; you cannot help yourself. I am perfect for you. Hurry up; you need to eat.

  You’re a pain in the neck.

  As she brushed out her hair, she realized how much easier their telepathic communication was. Practice? Her temples didn’t ache from the effort. She tilted her head for a moment, listened to the sounds of the house. Mikhail was pouring liquid into a glass; she could hear it clearly.

  Raven dressed slowly, thoughtfully. Her telepathic abilities were increasing; her senses were more acute. Was it simply Mikhail’s company, or was it something in the herb concoctions he was always pouring down her throat? There was so much she wanted to learn from him. He had great psychic talent.

  The skirt swung around her ankles with a sexy little swish, and the blouse clung to her curves. She had to admit that the outfit made her feel feminine, as did his choice of sheer lace panties and matching bra.

  Are you going to sit there and moon about me all night?

  Night! It had better not be night again, Mikhail. I’m turning into some kind of a mole. And don’t flatter yourself; I was not mooning over you.

  It took great effort to lie blatantly; she was proud of herself.

  And you think I believe your nonsense?

  He was laughing again, and Raven found she couldn’t help giving in to her own sense of humor.

  She found her way though the house, marveling at the artwork, the sculpture. Outside, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains. Raven gave a little resigned sigh. Mikhail had set a small antique, beautifully carved table on the porch outside the kitchen. He turned his head as she approached, a smile warming his eyes, chasing away the shadows. Heat pooled in her abdomen, ran liquid through her body.

  Mikhail bent his dark head to hers, his mouth brushing hers tenderly. “Good evening.” He touched her hair, skimmed his fingers down the side of her face in a long caress. She allowed him to seat her at the table, marveling at his gallant, old-world courtesy. He placed a glass of juice in front of her. “Before I go to work, I thought we could collect your things from the inn.” His long fingers selected a blueberry muffin and transferred it to the antique plate. It was exquisite, but Raven was so shocked at his words, she could only stare at him for a moment, her blue eyes enormous.

  “What do you mean, collect my things?” It hadn’t occurred to her that he might expect them to live in the same house together. His house.

  His smile was slow, wicked, sexy. “I could keep providing you with new things.”

  Raven’s hand trembled. She put it in her lap, out of sight. “I’m not moving in with you, Mikhail.” The idea was scary. She was a very private person, needing large amounts of time alone. He was the most overwhelming being she had ever encountered. How would she ever be able to sort things out with him so near all the time?

  His eyebrow shot up. “No? You accepted our ways; we went through the required ritual. In my eyes, the eyes of my people, you are my lifemate, my woman. My wife. Is it the way of the American women to live apart from their husbands?”

  There was that infuriating trace of mocking male amusement in his voice, the note that always made her want to throw something at him. She had an idea he was laughing at her secretly, amused by her caution.

  “We aren’t married,” she said decisively. It was difficult to ignore the way her heart leapt with joy at his words.

  Tendrils of fog were drifting into the forest, winding around thick tree trunks, spreading out to hover a few feet from the ground. The effect was eerie, but beautiful.

  “In the eyes of my people, in the eyes of God, we are.” There was an implacable resolve, a my-word-is-law in his voice that set her teeth on edge.

  “What about in my eyes, Mikhail? My beliefs? Do they count for nothing?” she demanded belligerently.

  “I see the answer in your eyes, feel it in your body. You struggle needlessly, Raven. You know you are mine...”

  She stood up quickly, pushed the chair out of her way. “I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you, Mikhail! You can’t just decree what will be in my life and expect me to fall in with your plans.” Raven ran down the three steps to the path winding into the forest. “I need some air. You’re driving me crazy.”

  Mikhail laughed softly. “Are you so afraid of yourself?”

  “Go to the devil, Mikhail!” Raven set her foot on the path and began walking quickly before he could charm his way around her. And he could; she knew it. It was his eyes, the shape of his mouth, the little grin he gave her when he was deliberately provoking her.

  The fog was very dense, the air wet and heavy with it. With her acute sense of hearing, she could hear every rustling in the bushes, every swaying of the branches, the beat of wings in the sky.

  Mikhail paced himself behind her. “Perhaps I am the devil, little one. I am certain that has crossed your mind.”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. “Stop following me!”

  “Am I not a gentleman, obligated to see his lady home?”

  “Stop laughing! If you laugh at me one more time I swear I won’t be responsible for what I do.” Raven became aware of the slinking figures then, the burning eyes following her. Her heart nearly stopped, then began to pound. “Fine!” She whirled around and glared at him. “This is great! Just great, Mikhail. Call in the wolves to eat me alive. I find the idea so

  you.

  So logical.”

  He bared his white gleaming teeth at her like a hungry-predator and laughed softly, teasingly. “It is not the wolves that would find you delicious.”

  Raven picked up a broken branch and flung it at him. “Stop laughing, you hyena! This is not funny. Your arrogance is enough to make me want to throw up.” It took every ounce of self-control she had not to laugh. The beast; he was far too charming for his own good.

  “Your American colloquialisms are very colorful, little one.”

  She threw another branch, then followed it up with a small rock. “Someone needs to teach you the lesson of a lifetime.”

  She looked like a beautiful little spitfire, all sparks and flame. Mikhail drew in his breath slowly, carefully. She was his, all fire and fury, all independence and courage, all heated passion. She melted his heart with it, entered his soul
with her soft laughter. He felt it in her mind, although she was being extremely careful not to allow him to see it. “And you think you are the one to do this thing?” he teased.

  Another rock came flying at his chest. He caught it easily. “Do you think I’m afraid of your wolves?” she demanded. “The only big bad wolf around here is you. Call all your wolves. Go ahead!” She pretended to glare into the secret, dark interior of the forest. “Come and get me. What did he tell you?”

  Mikhail pried her fingers loose from the branch she held like a club, allowed it to fall. He curved an arm around her slender waist, brought her small, soft body up against his much larger, rock-hard frame. “I told them you tasted like warm honey.” He whispered the words with his black velvet sorcerer’s voice. Turning her in his arms, he cupped her small, beautiful face in his hands. “Where is all that marvelous respect a man as powerful as myself deserves?”

  His thumb stroked across her full lower lip, a sensuous caress. Raven closed her eyes against the inevitable. She wanted to cry. Her feelings for him were so strong, her throat was aching and burning. Mikhail brushed her eyes with his lips, tasted a tear, sought refuge in the sweetness of her mouth. “Why would you cry for me, Raven?” He murmured the words against her throat. “Is it that you still want to run from me? Am I really so terrible? I would never allow any living creature, man or beast, to harm you, not if it was in my power to prevent it. I thought our hearts and minds were in the same place. Am I wrong? Is it that you no longer want me?”

  His words tore at her heart. “It isn’t that, Mikhail, never that,” she denied quickly, afraid she had hurt him. “You defeat my every good intention.” She caressed his face with her fingertips, reverence in her touch. “You are the most fascinating man I’ve ever known. I feel as if I belong here with you, as though I know you completely. It’s impossible in the short time we’ve been together. I know if I could put some distance between us, I could think more clearly. Everything happened so fast. It’s as though I’m obsessed with you. I don’t want to make a mistake that will cause both of us pain.”

  His hand cupped her cheek. “It would cause me great pain if you were to desert me, to leave me alone again after I have found you.”

  “I just want some time, Mikhail, to think things through. It’s frightening, the way I am about you. I think about you every minute; I want to touch you, just to know I can, to feel you beneath my fingers. It’s as if you crawled into my head and my heart, even my body, and I can’t get you out.” She said it like a confession, her head bent, ashamed.

  Mikhail took her hand, tugged at her to get her walking with him. “This is the way of my people, the way we feel about a mate. It is not always comfortable, is it? We are passionate by nature, highly sexual, and very possessive. The things that you are feeling, I feel, too.”

  Her fingers tightened around his, and she sent him a small, tentative smile. “Am I right in thinking you’re deliberately keeping me here?”

  Mikhail shrugged his broad shoulders. “Yes and no. I do not want to force you against your will, but as to my wanting you to stay, I believe us to be lifemates, bound more irrevocably than by your marriage ceremony. I would be extremely uncomfortable without you here, both in body and mind. I do not know how I would react to your contact with another man and, quite frankly, I fear it.”

  “We really are from two different worlds, aren’t we?” she asked sadly.

  He brought her hand to the warmth of his mouth. “There is such a thing as compromise, little one. We can move between the two worlds or create our own.”

  Her blue eyes slid over him, a faint smile touching her mouth. “That sounds so good, Mikhail, so twentieth century, but somehow I think it’s more likely I would be the one compromising.”

  With his strange old-world courtesy, Mikhail held up a branch for her to pass beneath. The path was a large oval leading back to his home. “Perhaps you are right”—male amusement again—”but then, it has always been my nature to control and protect. I have no doubt you are more than a match for me.”

  “Then why are we back at your house instead of at the inn?” she asked, one hand on her hip and a smile dancing in her blue eyes.

  “What would you do there so late at night anyway?” His voice was pure velvet, more enticing than ever. “Stay with me tonight. You can read while I work, and I will teach you how to build better shields to protect yourself from the unwanted emotions of those around you.”

  “How about for my hearing? Your little medicinal concoctions have increased my hearing to the point of absurdity.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you have any idea what else is going to happen to me?”

  His teeth grazed the back of her neck, his fingers brushed across her breast possessively. “I have all kinds of ideas, little one.”

  “I’ll just bet you do. I think you’re a sex maniac, Mikhail.” Raven slipped out of his grasp. “I think you put something in that concoction to make me a sex maniac, too.” She seated herself at the table, calmly picked up her glass of juice, and looked up at him steadily. “Did you?”

  “Drink that slowly,” he ordered absently. “Where do you come up with your ideas? I have been so careful with you. Have you felt me giving you suggestions?”

  She found herself reluctant to drink. “You’re always making me sleep.” Raven took a cautious sniff of the juice. Pure apple, nothing else. She hadn’t had a thing to eat or drink in nearly twenty-four hours, so why was she reluctant?

  “You needed to sleep,” he said without remorse. Mikhail watched her with his brooding, hawklike eyes. “Is something wrong with your juice?”

  “No, no, of course not.” Raven put the glass to her lips, felt her stomach clench in protest. She replaced the glass on the table, the contents untouched.

  Mikhail sighed softly. “You know you must take nourishment.” He leaned close. “How simple it would be if you allowed me to help you, but you have said I should not. Does this make sense?”

  Her gaze slid from his; her fingers nervously fiddled with the glass. “Maybe I’m just coming down with the flu. I’ve been feeling funny for a few days, dizzy and weak.” She pushed the glass away.

  Mikhail pushed it back. “You need it, little one.” He touched her slender arm. “You already are too small. I do not think losing weight is a good idea. Take a sip.”

  She speared a hand through her hair, wanting to please him, knowing he was right. Her stomach insisted on rebelling. “I don’t think I can, Mikhail.” She raised a troubled gaze to his. “I’m really not trying to be difficult; I think I’m sick.”

  His face, dark and sensual, had a slightly ruthless set to it. He loomed over her, his fingers curling around the glass of juice.

  You will drink.

  His voice was pitched low and intense, brooking no argument, making it impossible to disobey. “The juice will stay down; your body will accept it.” He spoke gently aloud, his arms protective as he circled her shoulders.

  Raven blinked up at him, then looked at the empty glass on the table. She shook her head slowly. “I can’t believe you’re capable of doing that. I don’t remember drinking it and I’m not sick now.” She turned her face from him, staring out into the dark mystery of the forest. The fog caught the light from the moon, glistened and gleamed.

  “Raven.” His hand caressed the nape of her neck.

  She leaned into him. “You don’t even know how really special you are, do you? The things you can do are beyond anything I’ve ever seen. You scare me, you really do.”

  Mikhail leaned his weight against the post, genuine puzzlement on his face. “It is my duty and my right to take care of you. If you need the healing of sleep, then I must provide it. If your body needs to drink, then why should I not aid you? Why should this frighten you?”

  “You really don’t understand, do you?” Raven fixed her gaze on a particularly intriguing wisp of fog. “You are a leader here. Obviously your skills are far superior to mine. I don’t think I could ever fi
t into your life. I’m a loner, not the first lady.”

  “I have great responsibilities, yes. My people count on me to keep our businesses running smoothly, to hunt down the assassins murdering our people. They even think I should single-handedly find out why we lose so many of our children in their first year of life. There is nothing special about me, Raven, except that I have a will of iron and I am willing to shoulder these burdens. But I have nothing for myself; I never have had. You give me a reason to go on. You are my heart, my soul, the very air I breathe. Without you, I have nothing but darkness, emptiness. Just because I have power, because I am strong, that does not mean I cannot feel utterly alone. It is cold and ugly to exist alone.”

  Raven pressed a hand to her stomach. Mikhail looked so remote, so alone. She hated the way he stood silent, straight and proud, waiting for her to rip his heart out. She had to comfort him and he knew it. He read her mind; he knew she couldn’t bear that loneliness in his eyes. She crossed the distance separating them. Raven didn’t say anything. What could she say? She simply laid her head over his heart and slipped her arms around his waist.