The action of bending forward brought her buttocks in direct contact with Byron’s body. He pressed against her, hard and thick and very male. Antonietta could have cried in frustration. Her skin crawled with need. Her body felt tight and alien to her. She straightened immediately to break the contact, pushing away from him to begin the walk down to the history room. She was aware of her own body. The swaying of her hips, the ache in her breasts. It was insanity that she lacked control.
“Antonietta, when I touch your mind, you are confused and distraught. I would help you, if you allow me access.” Byron was going to push past that barrier if she didn’t enlighten him soon. He couldn’t take her being so upset. They had already exchanged blood twice. The Carpathian blood was definitely enhancing her senses, changing her, but he had no idea with her differences, what other changes the blood might cause.
“I prefer to work out my own problems,” she said. “I’m sorry if I sound abrupt; everything feels like it’s crashing down on me.”
“In a partnership,
cara
, one shares troubles.”
“I’m not used to a partnership yet.” Antonietta softened her voice, not wanting to hurt him. “I’m trying, Byron. I really am. I’ve never had these feelings, and I’ve never felt so intense about everything. It’s unsettling.” And I have never been so aware of a man before.
Byron caught that very feminine thought. She still didn’t accept the power and force of the bond between them. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She was both intimidated and a bit frightened: two emotions Antonietta Scarletti was unfamiliar with. He followed her in silence to the history room.
The door slid aside, and the light automatically leapt to life, displaying the rows and rows, floor to ceiling, of pictures and words and symbols carved into the wall, much like the Egyptian hieroglyphics.
Antonietta pressed her palm over one of the etchings. “Can you imagine the time it took to do this? And it will be here for all time unless the palazzo is destroyed. Someday, perhaps a hundred years from now, another Scarletti will stand in this room and see what went before them.”
Byron began reading, totally absorbed in the unfolding drama before him. Bride after bride was selected from the small village of Jaguar people. There were a few gaps, and as the generations lost touch with what the original Scarlettis intended, the brides from the village became fewer, until the bloodline was once again diluted. Many of the brides were unhappy with their husbands and the jealousies and intrigues that prevailed in the palazzo through the centuries. Some loved their husbands very much. Many had gifts of healing and telepathy. The latter stories seemed to indicate telepathy was common among the Scarlettis. “This is fascinating, Antonietta.”
“I used to come here often when I was younger. I could read the wall and most of the diaries myself, even though I couldn’t see, and it made me feel independent. Of course I can read Braille, but most business documents are not put into Braille for me, so I rely on Justine to read them to me.”
And Justine had betrayed her. How could she ever trust her with such important and private information again? Byron rested his hand over Antonietta’s. Linking them. Merging his mind with hers to feel the heart-wrenching sorrow. She no longer trusted her judgment. No longer trusted the sixth sense she used in her relationships with people. Justine had done more damage than he had first believed.
“And now you cannot rely on her.”
On anyone. The words shimmered unbidden in her mind. She wiped them away quickly. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself, Byron. I learned a long time ago to pick up the pieces and move on. I just feel like I’m in quicksand, and every step I take, everywhere I turn, I’m being pulled down. I want solid ground.”
He pulled her palm to his heart. “Right here, Antonietta. I am right here.”
She tugged to get her hand free. “How much do I know of you? You want complete trust. You want me to change my entire life for you.”
Byron kept possession of her hand. The jaguar in her was close. Wary. Wanting to run. The woman in her was feeling exactly the same way. Hunted. Under siege. She had no idea how much he intended to change her life, but she sensed he was dangerous to her. That was the jaguar’s instincts, and they were strong in her.
“I want to be in your life, yes. I am not going to deny it. Allow yourself to completely merge with me. Your answers are there, in my mind.”
She pulled her hand away, her heart beating fast. His words were always a temptation. His voice was sinful and filled her with a lust she couldn’t seem to control. One she didn’t want. “The passageway is suffocating me.” Her voice was breathless, husky. She wasn’t going to merge with him and let him see the images dancing in her head. It would be humiliating.
She turned abruptly and started back to her room. Byron stepped out of the history room, allowing the door to slide closed. He kept pace easily with Antonietta, his body close to hers, wanting to ease her distress but uncertain just how to do so.
The wide-open rooms were cold after the suffocating heat in the tunnels. Antonietta gave a sigh of relief, shivered, and crossed her arms to hide the way her nipples hardened into pebbles, rubbing against the lace of her bra every time she moved. She said nothing when the fire leapt to life, certain Byron had misinterpreted her gesture, mistaking her for being cold.
“Did you have the Handel score copied, Antonietta?” Byron inquired as he seated himself in his favorite armchair. Celt was curled up in her bedroom. He could see the dog through the open door. The borzoi hadn’t stirred, not with Byron guarding his charge.
Antonietta stretched her arms over her head. Her body felt heavy and sensitive. She could smell Byron’s masculine scent and for some reason it called to her. She was too aware of him only feet from her. The interlude in the solarium had been brief and ferocious. And not enough. She paced across the floor, a restless, edgy mood driving her. Her breasts felt full and ached for attention. Her skin itched for relief. “I did, just to make certain it was never lost. The copy would be worth something for the score alone; it is entirely his original work, nothing borrowed from other composers, but it still would never be worth what notations in his own hand would be.”
“Could Marita have the combination to Don Giovanni’s safe?”
“No, he would never give it to either her or Franco. I know
Nonno
. He is not a trusting man, especially since Franco sold information to the Demonesini family.” The fire crackled. Byron shifted, his clothes rustling. Antonietta wanted to scream. “Do you think the attack on
Nonno
and me the other night had something to do with Handel’s composition?”
“I would think it likely. It would be too much coincidence for it to be otherwise. Those men were searching for something, and they spent a great deal of time in Don Giovanni’s rooms.”
Byron’s voice was killing her. Stroking her skin like velvet. Like a thousand tongues. She didn’t think she could stand it much longer. She tried to force her body under control. She was going to have to send him home and get distance between them. Miles would help. Oceans maybe. “The opera is not common knowledge, even among family members. Franco could have told Marita, but I’ve never heard of him even asking about it. Someone must have seen it when I was so insistent on playing it.” With restless abandon, she pulled the pins from her hair so that it tumbled down her back, a wild display mirroring her bizarre emotions. “It’s hot in here, we shouldn’t have a fire.”
“Come here, Antonietta.” Byron said it softly, but she heard the command in his voice. It set her teeth on edge.
“Why? I say it’s hot, and you want me to come to you.” She paced away from him, wanting to tear at her own skin.
“You are uncomfortable.”
Antonietta had a mad desire to kneel between Byron’s legs and work his trousers from his body. Her mouth would show him uncomfortable. She imagined how he would feel growing full and hard and thic
k. At her mercy. She would show him none, not when he was making her feel so out of control and frustrated. She kept the distance of the room between them, wary of what she didn’t understand.
“Come here to me.” He repeated the command, his voice coming between his teeth. Soft. Imperious. Frightening in that she wanted to obey him.
She stood her ground, refused to move. Refused to give in to whatever was happening. “What is it? What’s wrong with me?” The junction between her legs burned and ached for fulfillment.
Byron touched her mind again, a shadow hiding while her mind raged and swirled with erotic images, with a terrible, insatiable hunger. “I suspect it is a combination of things, Antonietta. I do not understand why I cannot help you relieve your suffering.”
“Just tell me what it is.”
Byron sighed. “Carpathians must mate frequently. I have noticed you are very sensitive. I suspect between the Carpathian species and the Jaguar gene you must carry, you are feeling… er… heat.”
“Heat?” She whirled around. “I am not an animal in heat. That doesn’t make me feel better, thank you very much.”
“Is the idea of mating with me so terrible?”
“Don’t twist my words. I didn’t say that. If you want to help, distract me.” She twisted her fingers together in sudden daring. “I want to see, Byron. I want to see through your eyes. You said you could do it, and I want to try.”
“Are you certain that is what you want? It will not be easy.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t care. I want to try it.”
“It will be disorienting at first. You’ll have to get past your senses and hold on to mine. Your own body will fight you. The images will be in your mind. You will see things the way I see them.”
“I don’t care, as long as I see.” There was determination in her voice.
“You will have to merge your mind fully with mine. What I see and feel, you will also. If you are uncomfortable, pull away from my mind. You will have the control to do that. Have you noticed that your power and sensitivity to the environment around you is growing?”
“Why is that?”
“You are my lifemate. As our lives merge, so do our bodies. I made my claim on you, the ritual binding, and we are tied in heart and soul.” His smile was in his voice. “In this modern age, I suppose that sounds melodramatic and old-fashioned.”
“Not to me.” She hesitated, suddenly afraid. “What do I do?”
He went to her, recognizing she was close to tears. The intensity of her sexual need was overwhelming. Continually having to adjust the volume of hearing and coping with the separation without understanding why was daunting. He stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and held her to him.
Antonietta shivered. “You really can do this?”
He felt the small tremor that ran through her body. “I will be with you. Remember, you cannot see through your own eyes. You have to merge completely and see through mine. I can use Celt or any person I have a particular bond with to see, even from a distance. We have a strong bond. There is nothing to worry about. I can hold the merge, and you will be able to see.”
“I’m not certain I understand, but I want to try.” She sounded scared but determined. Her hands gripped his. “Tell me what to do.”
“Let yourself reach for me. You know the path. It is the same as making love, merging minds completely. Just let it happen.”
Antonietta forced air through her lungs to calm herself. She was terrified it would work. Terrified it wouldn’t. Very slowly she reached up and removed her dark glasses. Her fingertips touched her eyes. She felt him. Byron. Moving in her mind. Looking into places she didn’t want anyone to see. She jerked away from him.
“It is all right,
bella
, I am not looking for incriminating evidence. You are in my head as well. It goes both ways with mutual respect. Try again, and this time relax.”
Antonietta dug her fingers into the back of his hand and let go with her mind. Allowed her barriers down to merge. It was a peculiar feeling, not unpleasant, a blending of two personalities. She waited. Held her breath. Colors shimmered and danced. Raw. Vibrant. Too much so. She cried out and put a hand over her eyes. The colors didn’t go away.
“Just accept them and let them go.”
She tried. Her stomach roiled. She could make out something blurry in the distance. Byron was focusing on something. She strained backward, pressing against him. But she forced her eyes to stay open. She wasn’t certain it was necessary to do so, she could tell the vision came from him, not her, but she wanted to feel as if she were truly seeing. The edges began to clear. Her stomach lurched again. Everything tilted and spun.
“This isn’t right. I don’t think I’m doing it right. Everything is moving and spinning so fast.”
“Hold on tight to my hands. Anchor yourself. It is not your eyes, Antonietta. They are mine. You do not need your fingertips to tell your brain what you are seeing.”
Something dark danced on the walls. She ducked to avoid it.
“A shadow, the firelight reflected on the wall. You can put your hand through a shadow. Concentrate. I am going to narrow our vision to see one thing. Celt is lying peacefully beside your bed. I want you to see him.”
Antonietta fought a very real case of vertigo. She turned her head, and objects burst at her much like rockets. She cried out. “It isn’t working.” She pressed her hand hard against her churning stomach. “I’m going to be sick.”
“No you are not. We can stop if you want.” His hands held hers tightly.
“Just look at Celt. Only Celt.” She was a Scarletti. Her family never backed away from a challenge. “I can do it.”
She focused on the distant, blurry object. The borzoi lifted his head, and everything dipped and spun. She refused to look away. The image began to clear. Celt. Sprawled next to her bed. He was enormous, black, a noble head. She had no way of judging distances. Antonietta flung out her hand, thinking him close enough to touch.
“He is across the room.”
“He’s beautiful. I want to see your face. Show me your face.”
He used the small mirror in the vanity, staring at his own face. Her hands went to test for herself, moving over his face, mapping familiar territory. He was far too handsome, his eyes mesmerizing, his mouth sinfully kissable, his jaw strong. She loved his hair, even pulled back the way it was and secured at the nape of his neck.
They examined a variety of objects in her room from her four-poster bed to her stained glass windows. “I do not want you to get tired. I want you to see yourself.”
Antonietta shook her head. Byron was behind her, his body pressed very close to hers. She could barely breathe with wanting him. His mind was fully merged within hers, and the sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She didn’t know how much longer she would be able to keep her hands off him. Especially after seeing his face. And the idea of seeing herself visually was disturbing. Although she had to admit to curiosity.
“Do you know what a mirror is?” Byron persisted. “Do you recall from the days of your childhood? You can see your own reflection. I want you to look at yourself.”
Her mouth went dry. “I’d rather not.”
The visual belonged to Byron. Antonietta experienced her sexual reactions from touch, but he had all of his senses. He wanted her to feel what he felt simply by looking at her body. “Look at yourself, Antonietta. Do not fear who you are.”
“I’m afraid. Whatever I see will be with me for the rest of my life.”
“Trust me. Trust in the way I see you.”
She reluctantly lifted her head and stared into the full-length mirror. A stranger stared back at her. Her hair was wild, cascading around her, shiny and black. Flickering lights from the fire put a glossy sheen in it. Her eyes were huge and black. She could see tiny white scars near the corners of her eyes when she stared long and hard. Her mouth was wide and generous, curving upward at the c
orners. Her skin seemed flawless, glowing even. She had a woman’s voluptuous body.
Antonietta reached a shaking hand toward her reflected image. Then reached up and felt her own face in wonder.
She ran her fingertips over her face in an attempt to recognize her own features. She reached out again toward the mirror, touched the smooth, hard glass. She felt her own hair. “No one is that beautiful. I don’t look like that. That can’t be me.”
“That is how you look to me.” His voice was soft in her ear.
As deeply merged as they were, she felt his sexual excitement. The need to see her like this. He was aroused at the thought of her naked in front of the mirror. There was a heady power in the ability to make him want her so much. She was unbearably aroused already; to bring him to the same fever pitch was enthralling.
“Take off your blouse, Antonietta. See yourself the way I see you.” He was temptation itself. The devil with his arms around her. She could see him in the mirror, his black hair shining in the firelight, his features hard and angular. His eyes burned over her reflection, stamped with possession and promise.
Antonietta caught the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head and for a moment, the image in front of her wavered. She felt Byron’s breath leave his body. Her full breasts were encased in lace. It was an odd thing to be looking at herself, seeing and feeling through the eyes of a man. He was violently aroused. She could feel the thick length of him pressed hard into her buttocks.
“Take off your bra.”
She wanted to take it off. She wanted him to want her this way. She wanted to see him aroused, his features harsh with need and implacable resolve. Her hands went to the front clasp, her palms brushing her nipples. Lightning danced through her bloodstream at that small touch. Lace fell away. Her breasts jutted out, high and firm and tempting. Byron’s hands came up under hers, pulled her hands to her aching flesh.
Dark Symphony (Dark Series - book 10) Page 22
