Dark Prince (Author's cut special edition)

by Christine Feehan

  She reached up to loosen his hair, to fill her hands with it, to revel in her ability to smooth her fingertips over his heavy muscles. She could feel him tremble under her caressing hands, feel the wildness in him striving to break free. It touched something wild in her. She wanted to feel him in her arms, trembling for her, his hard muscles against her soft skin, his body surging into hers. She sent him the erotic pictures dancing in her head as she tasted his skin with her soft mouth.

  His hands were everywhere, and so were hers. His mouth blazed fire, and so did hers. His heart pounded, and hers matched it. Their blood surged like molten lava. His fingers found her moist and open to him. Mikhail dragged her to the floor, lifting her hips so he could join them. Blood roared in his ears, his every emotion swirling together in a violent storm of need. The harder and deeper he thrust, the more soft and welcoming she became. Her body was hot and tight, taking his, accepting his storm.

  Hunger raged dangerously. He craved the sweet taste of her, wanted the ecstasy of the ritual exchange. If he fed . . . He groaned at the temptation. He would never be able to stop without needing to replenish her. He could not do that. She had to consciously make the decision to become fully a part of his world. It was too big a risk. If she did not survive, he would follow her into the unknown. He knew exactly what the ancients meant when they said one lifemate could not survive the passing of the other. He would not want to live in the world without her. There would be no Mikhail without Raven.

  His body, his needs, his battered emotions, were taking over again, pushing him to the very edge of control. He had never known such a depth of feeling, such a total, encompassing love for another. She was everything. His air. His breath. His heart. Mikhail’s mouth found hers in long, drugging kisses, moved to her throat, her breast, found his mark. One taste. Only one.

  Raven moved in his arms, turned her head to give him better access, her hands entwined in his hair. “I’d better marry you, Mikhail. You need me desperately.” He lifted his head and looked at her face, so beautiful with his lovemaking, so accepting of him and his needs. Her heart wrapped his in love, her mind soothed his, fed his, teased his, matched the wildness in him. His hands framed her face, his black eyes staring into her blue-violet ones, drowning in his feelings for her. Then he was smiling.

  “Mikhail,” she protested as he very gently eased out of her.

  He turned her over, dragging her hips back toward his. When he entered her, his hands pinning her small waist, he felt exultant. She was safe! Joy surged through him, and he gave himself up to the sheer pleasure of her body. He moved; she moved. She was incredibly tight, fiery hot, velvet soft. The combination was explosive.

  The wolves had said he no longer knew joy, but Raven had brought it back to him. His body sang with it, shone with it. Twice he felt her body ripple, pulse, and still he went on, wanting their bodies to be one for all eternity. The dark shadow across his soul was lifting. This small, beautiful woman had given him that. He built the pace of their rhythm, reveling in the way her body followed the lead of his. He felt her body clench, grip, heard her cry out over and over, soft little mewling sounds in her throat that sent him over the edge. His own body burst into flames, carried them both into the sky so that Raven called his name as her anchor.

  Mikhail’s hands were gentle as he helped her to lie down. He caressed her silky hair, bent to kiss her tenderly. “You have no idea what you did for me tonight. Thank you, Raven.”

  Her eyes were closed, lashes lying like two dark crescents against her soft skin. She smiled. “Someone has to show you what love is, Mikhail. Not possession or ownership, but real unconditional love.” Her hand rose, and even with her eyes closed, her fingertips unerringly found the lines around his mouth. “You need to remember how to play, to laugh. You need to learn to like yourself more.”

  The hard edges of his mouth softened, curved. “You sound like the priest.”

  “I hope you confessed that you took advantage of me,” she teased.

  Mikhail’s breath caught in his throat. Guilt washed over him. He had taken advantage. Maybe not the first time, when he was so out of control after such isolation. It had been necessary to make the exchange to save her life. But the second time had been pure selfishness. He had wanted the sexual rush, the total completion of the ritual. And he had uttered the ritual words. They were bound. He knew it, felt the rightness of it, felt the healing in his soul only a true lifemate could effect.

  “Mikhail? I was teasing you.” The long lashes fluttered, lifted so her eyes could confirm what her fingertips tracing his frown told her.

  His teeth caught her finger, his tongue stroking over her skin. His mouth was hot, erotic, his eyes burning down at her.

  Answering heat leapt into her eyes. Raven laughed softly. “You have it all, don’t you? Charm, you’re so sexy you should be locked up, and you have a smile men would kill for. Or women, however you want to look at it.”

  He bent to kiss her, one hand closing over her breast possessively. “You need to mention what a great lover I am. Men need to hear these things.”

  “Really?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “I don’t dare. You’re already as arrogant as I can stand.”

  “You are crazy about me. I know. I read minds.” He suddenly grinned mischievously, like a little boy.

  “Next time you make love to me, do you think we might go for convention and find a bed?” She sat up gingerly.

  Mikhail’s arm curved around her in support. “Did I hurt you?”

  She laughed softly. “Are you kidding? Though I wouldn’t mind a long soak in a hot tub.”

  He rubbed the top of her head with his chin. “I think we can arrange that, little one.” He should have realized the wood floor would not be the most comfortable of spots. “You tend to drive every sane thought from my head.” It was an apology as he lifted her into his arms. His long strides took them through the house to the master bathroom.

  Raven’s eyes warmed, melted, her smile so loving his breath caught in his throat. “You do tend to get a little primitive, Mikhail.”

  He growled at her, lowered his head to hers slowly, fastened his mouth to hers. There was such a mixture of tenderness and hunger, she ached for him. Very gently he set her on her feet, her small face framed in his hand. “I will never get enough of you, Raven, never. But you need to soak in the tub, and I need to feed.”

  “Eat.” She bent to fill the tub with hot, steamy water. “In English you use the word eat. I’m not the greatest cook, but I could put something together for you.”

  His white teeth gleamed like a predator’s as he lit candles for her. “You are not here as my slave, little one. At least not in the domestic sense.” His eyes watched without blinking as she knotted her hair on top of her head. It was unnerving, yet Raven’s body tingled under the heat of his gaze. He held out a hand to help her into the large tub. The moment his strong fingers closed around hers, Raven had the peculiar sensation of being captured.

  Raven cleared her throat, then lowered her body gingerly into the steaming water. “So, do you believe in being faithful?” She tried to sound casual.

  A dark shadow crossed his craggy features. “A true Carpathian of my race does not feel the shallow, childish, pale version of human love. If you were to be with another man, I would know, feel you, your thoughts, your emotions.” He traced his fingertip along her delicate cheekbone. “You would not want to face the demon in me, little one. I am capable of tremendous violence. I will not share you.”

  “You would never hurt me, Mikhail, no matter what the cause of your anger,” Raven said softly, with complete conviction.

  “You will always be safe with me,” be agreed, “but I cannot say the same for anyone who would threaten to take you from me. All of my people are telepathic. A strong emotion such as sexual passion is impossible to conceal.”

  “Do you mean to say those of you who marry . . .”

  “Take a lifemate,” he corrected.

  �
��They never are unfaithful to one another?” she asked incredulously.

  “Not a true lifemate. There have been instances—” Mikhail’s fist clenched tightly. Poor sweet Noelle, so obsessed with wanting Rand. “The few that do betray their chosen mate do not feel as they should, otherwise it would be impossible. That is why it is so important to know absolutely in one’s mind, heart, soul, and body. As I know it is so with you.” The ritual words could not bind two who were not already one. Lifemating united two halves of the same whole, but he could not find a way to express such a thing in terms she would understand.

  “But, Mikhail, I’m not one of your people.” She was beginning to realize there were differences besides customs that she needed to be aware of, to take into consideration.

  He crushed herbs into a bowl, dumped the mixture into her bathwater. It would help with her soreness. “You would know if I touched another woman.”

  “But you could make me forget,” she mused aloud, a small frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. He could feel her heart begin to race, the sudden doubt in her mind.

  He crouched beside the tub, cupping her face with gentle fingers. “I am incapable of betraying you, Raven. I might force your compliance for the sake of your safety or your protection, for your life and health, but not to get away with betrayal.”

  She touched the tip of her tongue to her full lower lip. “Don’t force me to do anything unless you ask the way you did when I was feeling sick.”

  Mikhail hid a smile. She always tried to sound so tough, his small package of dynamite, with more courage than good sense. “Csitri—little one.” He breathed the Carpathian endearment against her ear. “I live only for your happiness. Now, I have to go out for a little while.”

  “You can’t go looking for the murderers by yourself. I mean it, Mikhail, it’s too dangerous. If that’s what you’re doing—”

  He kissed her, his laughter genuine. “Business, Raven. Take a long soak, look over the house, my books, anything you want.” He grinned at her boyishly. “I have a stack of work beside the computer if you want to try your hand at looking at bids for me.”

  “Exactly how I planned to spend my evening.”

  “One last thing,” Mikhail was gone almost before she could blink, and returned nearly as fast. He took her left hand in his. “Your people will recognize this as a clear sign that you are taken.”

  She hid her smile. He was so territorial, like a wild animal staking his claim. Like the wolves roaming so freely in his forest. She touched the ring with a reverent finger. It was antique, gold, a fiery ruby surrounded by diamonds. “Mikhail, this is beautiful. Where did you find such a thing?”

  “It has been in my family for generations. If you prefer something else . . . something more modern—” It looked as if it belonged on her finger.

  “It’s perfect, and you know it.” She touched it reverently. “I love it. Go, but hurry back. I’ll find out all your secrets while you’re gone.”

  Mikhail was hungry, needed to feed. He bent to brush her forehead with his mouth, his heart aching. “Just for one day, little one, I would like to have a normal, happy conversation with you. Court you as I should.”

  She tilted her head to look at him, her blue eyes dark with emotion. “You court me just fine. Go eat now and leave me be.”

  Mikhail touched her hair just once before he left.

  Eight

  Mikhail moved among the townspeople, breathing in the night. The stars seemed brighter, the moon a gleaming silver light. Colors were sharp and clear, smells drifting on the breeze. Wisps of fog trailed here and there in the street. He felt like singing. He had found her after so long and she made the earth move and his blood heat. She brought laughter back into his life and taught him what love was.

  The hour was growing late, the couples drifting toward their homes. Mikhail chose a trio of young men. He was hungry and needed strength. The night would be long. He had every intention of confirming or eliminating Mrs. Romanov as one of the assassins. The women needed a midwife, and a sorrowing, bereaved one was better than one who might betray them at the first opportunity.

  He drew the trio to him with a single silent command, marveling, as he had so many times, at how easy it was to control his prey. He joined their conversation, laughing with them, confiding a couple of great hunting places. In their early twenties, they were thinking more about women than going out into the wilderness. It always amazed him how disrespectful human men were toward their women. Perhaps they could not understand what their lives would be like without them.

  He led them to the safety of the darkened trees and drank his fill, making certain not to take too much from any of them. He had been careful to select a group of men who had not yet been drinking. He didn’t want the taint of alcohol in his veins. He finished as he did everything, carefully, completely. That was why he was the oldest and most formidable. He paid attention to the smallest of details. He walked with them for a few more minutes, ensuring that they were all fine, before leaving them with a casual wave and a feeling of friendship.

  Mikhail turned away from them, the smile fading from his lips. The night concealed the hunter in him, the dark, terrible purpose in his eyes, the cruel edge to his sensuous mouth. His muscles rippled with raw power, flexed and contracted with his enormous strength. He moved around the corner and simply disappeared. His speed was incredible, without compare.

  His mind reached out for Raven’s, craving the contact. What are you doing all alone in that spooky old house?

  Her soft laughter filled his utter coldness with warmth. Waiting for my big bad wolf to come home.

  Do you have your clothes on?

  This time her response sent fingers playing over his skin, touching him intimately, heating his body. Warmth, laughter. He hated being away from her, hated the distance separating them.

  Of course I have my clothes on! What if more unexpected visitors arrive? I can’t very well greet them naked, can I?

  She was teasing, but the thought of anyone approaching his home with her alone and unprotected made a sliver of fear slice through him. It was an unfamiliar emotion, and he almost couldn’t identify it.

  Mikhail? Are you all right? Do you need me? I’ll come to you.

  Stay there. Listen for the wolves. If they sing to you, call me right away. Do not wait.

  There was that brief hesitation that meant she was annoyed with his tone. I don’t want you to worry about me, Mikhail. You have enough people who make demands on you.

  Perhaps that is so, little one, but you are the only one I truly give a damn about. And drink another glass of juice. You will find some in the refrigerator.

  He broke contact, smiling at their brief exchange. She would have argued over the order for nourishment if he had waited long enough. He rather liked to irritate her sometimes. He liked the way her blue eyes deepened into sapphire, and how she got that little edge in her carefully controlled voice.

  Mikhail? Her voice startled him, low and warm and filled with feminine amusement. Try making suggestions next time, or just plain asking. You go do whatever it is you’re doing, and I’ll search your extensive library for a book on manners.

  He nearly forgot he was crouched at the base of a tree only a few hundred feet from the shack belonging to Hans and Heidi Romanov. Mikhail managed to suppress his urge to laugh. You will not find one.

  Why am I not surprised? This time Raven broke contact.

  For a brief moment he allowed himself the luxury of wrapping himself in her warmth, her laughter, her love. Why God had chosen this time, when Mikhail was in his darkest hour, to send him such a gift, he had no idea. What he had to do was inevitable; the continuation of his species demanded it. The brutal ugliness of it filled him with revulsion. He would have to return to her with death on his hands, the deaths of more than one human. He could not walk away from it, could not hand the job over to someone else. His regret was not in taking the life of Noelle’s murderers so much as in having
to ask Raven to live with his deed. It would not be the first time he’d taken a life. Of course, he’d been active in several wars, and certainly there was a time when human vampire slayers had almost been a fanatic religious cult. He had been very busy, but he hadn’t had Raven’s beautiful blue eyes to look into then.

  With a sigh, he shape-shifted. The small rodent scurried easily through the leaves on the ground to cross the open space to the shack. The beat of wings came to his ears, and the rodent froze. Mikhail hissed a warning, and the owl gliding in for the attack veered off. The rodent gained the safety of the wooden stairs, flicked its tail, and began to search for a crack or hole in the wall to gain entry.

  Mikhail had already picked up two familiar scents. Hans was entertaining. The rodent squeezed through a chink between two rotting boards and found its way into a bedroom. Silently the creature raced across the floor to the doorway. Mikhail allowed the odors of the household to be processed by the rodent’s body. He moved carefully in little stops and starts until he managed to gain a position in a darkened corner of the room.

  Heidi Romanov sat in a wooden chair directly across from him, weeping softly, a rosary clutched in her hand.

  Hans faced three men, a map spread between them on a table.

  “You’re wrong, Hans. You were wrong about Noelle,” Mrs. Romanov sobbed. “You’ve gone crazy and you’ve brought in these killers. My God, you have murdered an innocent girl, a new mother. Your soul is lost.”

  “Shut up, old woman,” Hans shouted rudely, his face a mask of fanaticism. He blazed with it, a crusader fighting a holy war. “I know what I saw.” He crossed himself, his eyes darting left and right as a curious shadow like that of a winged creature seemed to pass over the shack.

  For a moment everyone in the room went quiet. Mikhail could taste their fear, hear the sudden frantic pounding of their hearts. Inside the house, Hans had hung wreaths of garlic at every window and over the doors. He stood up slowly, licking suddenly dry lips, grabbing at the cross hanging around his neck and moving to a window to assure himself the wreath was in place. “What about that? That shadow just now? You all still think I made a mistake because we found her in a bed and not sleeping in the ground?”