Dark 18 - Dark Possession

by Christine Feehan

  Manolito inhaled the night air, dragging it deep into his lungs. He felt the wolf inside leap forward, processing data every bit as fast as a Carpathian could. MaryAnn had infected him with her wolf's blood, and as the wolf inside had grown stronger, he had expected his Carpathian traits to either overcome it, or succumb to it, but so far, neither had happened. The wolf simply had taken up residence and remained quiet and alert. They seemed to coexist, but what would happen to him or the wolf, if he called it forth?

  He turned his face up to the night sky. He loved the night, the beauty and mystery of it. He loved all things Carpathian. Was this what it had felt like for MaryAnn, to know who she was, to be confident and happy in her own skin? He had ripped that out from under her. He had expected her to accept his gift of life, of love, without ever really weighing the cost to her. For him, being Carpathian was everything. She had loved her life, was comfortable and happy in it. He had taken that as well, all without thought.

  Manolito? Zacarias touched his mind, the connection strong in spite of the distance. What are you doing?

  He felt the uneasiness of his brothers and knew he had inadvertently touched them, as they always did with one another before a great battle. A touch to say good-bye just in case things didn't go the right way.

  I am all right, Zacarias. I have made choices I regret. Given the chance, take care with your choices so you do not have regrets. I have learned that my way is right, yet so are other ways.

  There was a small silence. Zacarias had always been able to see too much. What you do is dangerous.

  Manolito gave a casual roll of the shoulders, shrugging off the comment even though his brother couldn't see him. What we have done our entire existence has been dangerous. Please get the information to Mikhail that we face possible destruction from all sides. That is the least we can do when we aided the Malinovs in creating the plan to bring down the leader of our people.

  Nicolas has already begun the journey. I do not want you to continue on this path you have chosen. I cannot read anything but danger.

  Live well, brother. Manolito sent his warmth and affection, but pulled away before Zacarias could get an inkling of what he planned.

  "It is you and me, wolf," he said quietly. "And the night."

  He felt the wolf stir and stretch. The creature was separate from him, two strong, dominant personalities sharing the same body. It wasn't an illusion. The wolf traits, the need to keep his female protected and close, those things were as strong or stronger in the wolf and doubled his own need to act on them. They shared feelings and sensations. They could—communicate.

  Are you ready to do this?

  As ready as you. She is my mate as much as yours. There was no hesitation on the part of the wolf. He didn't yet understand the Carpathian bond and what it would mean should Manolito die. MaryAnn would either follow him at once, or, if her wolf could keep her alive, it would be a slow, living death for her.

  He shook his head, refusing the possibility. If he didn't convert her, she was right, they would have a difficult life, maybe the same slow, living death either way. Better to face the fire and burn quick and clean.

  He called. The wolf answered. He reached. The wolf leapt. The change swept over him. Different. He forced himself to feel everything, to examine it all. The ripple of life beneath his skin. The itch of fur. The burst of teeth as his muzzle elongated to accommodate the sharp fangs. He was being drawn back, pulled inside, spiraling down and shrinking, the sensation claustrophobic. His guardian passed him, flooding him with assurance as the wolf sprang forward and took over his body.

  Strength and power poured into him and through him, feeding the wolf. His mind expanded as the collective memories of generation after generation flooded his mind. Nothing like the werewolves in the movies. The full moon made them weak, unable to come out and protect their host body. Unable to answer the call of the wild when their charges were in danger. They headed up the organizations to save forests and animals. They worked tirelessly to combat the ignorance on wildlife, plants and the habitats, even the earth itself.

  They were power and intelligence wrapped in sleek fur. Amber eyes and a dark pelt of black fur, the wolf looked into the glassy water to give Manolito a sense of who and what he was. There was no terrible movie monster, but a wolf worried as much for his mate as Manolito was for MaryAnn.

  Packs were scattered across the world. Small. Tight. Hidden. They rarely came together unless the need was great, but they survived, buried deep in the community of humans, working, living and loving among them. Their greatest danger was the rogues, wolves who refused to be part of any pack, wolves who, like the Malinov brothers, felt they had a right to rule.

  His wolf had searched the collective memories of all wolves and had never found an incidence of a Carpathian mating with a wolf, but neither blood had harmed the other. Manolito opened his memories to the wolf, allowing him to see what the conversion would do, sharing his fears for MaryAnn's safety. He was beginning to think of the wolf as another brother, a partner and friend. They knew each other, stood with each other, and his wolf would always, always protect MaryAnn, just as Manolito would always protect MaryAnn's wolf.

  Manolito emerged into the night without a single loss. If anything, he had gained—in knowledge, confidence, and his ability to make a rational decision. It would eventually harm them to live without MaryAnn going through the conversion. She had known that instinctively, as well as reasoning it out. He had to accept the risk for both their sakes. If he didn't do it this night, he might not find the courage again.

  He waved the door to the cavern open, knowing she would hear the rocks grinding together as he once more sealed them in. Striding down the narrow tunnel, he wasn't surprised when she came, tears running down her face, hurling herself at him, instead of waiting on the bed as he'd ordered. He kept the smile from his face, but his heart lightened at her reaction.

  "What have you done? You're crazy, you know that?" Cream washed through the perfection of her coffee-colored skin as she flung herself at him. She was furious, yet still crying as she swung at him, letting the adrenaline rule her.

  He caught her fists and jerked her against him, wrapping her up tight before she could hurt herself or him. "Easy, csitri. Do not hurt yourself."

  She kicked back at him with her foot, angry all over again now that he was safe. "Hurt you, you mean. I can't believe you did that. What if you needed me and I couldn't get to you?"

  "I had to make certain you were safe," he said, perfectly reasonable. His arm was around her waist, the other under her breasts, both pinning her arms to her sides to keep her from taking another swing at him. "My wolf is very interested in yours. He is worried that something will happen to her when you change, but I believe we are of equal strength. I think your little female is strong enough to go through conversion with you."

  She wasn't quite ready to let go of being afraid and angry with him. He drew her up off her feet and moved backward, taking her with him, her body tight against his. His cock was already hot and engorged, pressed snugly between her buttocks.

  "If you think I'm going to let you touch me…"

  He bent his head to find the hollow of her neck. Warm. Soft. Inviting. His tongue found her pulse and teased with small flicks. His teeth scraped gently back and forth, flooding her channel with liquid heat. Her womb contracted, set up a throbbing ache. She flexed the muscles in her arm until he cautiously allowed one to escape. She wrapped it around his head and arched back into him, grateful he was alive and unhurt.

  "You scared me."

  "I'm sorry, sivamet. I had no wish to frighten you, only to keep you safe."

  His hand came up to cup her breast very tenderly, his fingers tugging at her nipple, sending whispers of sensation floating through her body. There was something extremely sexy about being held like this, his arm locking her tightly to him, his body pressed into hers. He always made her feel sensual and beautiful and very wanted.

  Voraciou
s hunger glittered in his eyes as he bent his head to kiss her. His mouth ravaged hers, but his hands were gentle as they traveled down to the soft expanse of her belly. He rubbed small circles there, holding her chin, keeping access to her mouth. She shivered in anticipation.

  "Lie down on the bed." His arms dropped away.

  MaryAnn turned to face him, studying the stark arousal on his face, the thick erection standing against the hard muscles of his stomach. He nodded toward the bed, and she crawled onto it, deliberately sensuous, hearing his swift intake of breath as she moved her body with the grace of a wolf, slow and sexy, her breasts swaying and her bottom round and tight. She turned over and stretched out, not hurrying at all, letting him see every inch of her.

  She knew he liked her skin, and with the flickering lights playing over it, the soft coffee color was shown off to an advantage. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He knelt over her on the bed, his hand sliding up the length of her leg to her thigh. His hands were warm and rough. Arousal tightened her womb, and she could feel ripples of need deep in her most intimate feminine channel. He was barely touching her, only with his dark gaze, so filled with lust, so aroused, she thought she might have an orgasm just from the light brush of his fingers and the look on his face.

  Manolito covered her body with his own, kissing her over and over, taking his time, being as gentle and as patient as he could. His touch was tender as he aroused her body. He wanted her to know love. To feel love. To know that he would always stand with her and for her and he would worship her body with his. She would know, at the end of their time together, she would know she had been thoroughly loved.

  He parted her thighs with his knee and lifted her to him, waited until her eyes met his, and then he joined them in one long surge that set lightning streaking through his body. Her muscles pulsed around him, tight and slick and oh so velvet soft.

  He told her he loved her with his body, leaning down over and over to kiss her as he rode her, as he brought her to a gentle climax. His heart pounded at the enormity of what he was doing—of what they were doing. His own release sent another orgasm rippling through her. He kissed her again and sat up, pulling her into his lap.

  "Are you certain?"

  She nodded, her eyes trusting. His heart turned over. He drew her into his arms, his mouth finding hers, kissing her again and again, over and over as if he'd never get enough. She gasped as his fingers nicked her nipples and sent an overload of sensation to the junction of her legs, so that her body shuddered with more pleasure. As if he had waited for that signal, he bent his head lower, long hair sliding sensuously over her skin, pooling in her lap as he found her breast. Teeth tugged, scraped; his tongue laved and danced. He took his time, suckling for a moment, one hand sliding between her legs to catch her reaction, the hot tightness, the gathering moisture.

  He kissed his way back up to the swelling curve of her breast and licked at the pulse point there. Once. Twice. His hand slid over her cleft, rubbed, fingers pushing deep. He felt the ripple of her silken walls closing around him, clamping down with heated arousal. He sank his teeth deep. MaryAnn jerked in his arms, threw her head back, her hips bucking against him, her body riding his hand as he drank. The pleasure/pain of it rocked her and, through her—him.

  This was the Carpathian way. The need of a lifemate. Nothing sated hunger, sexual or physical, as a lifemate could. Her taste was unique to her and an aphrodisiac to him. It was the very essence of their life, a blood bond that could not be broken. He reached for his wolf, sharing it with him, wanting him to understand, wanting MaryAnn's wolf to share that same bond.

  He fed MaryAnn's arousal, wanted her to feel only pleasure, to heighten the experience of their ultimate merging. Her life was tied to his for all time, and the blood binding their union was as addicting as her body. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her bare skin sliding against his. Every nerve ending was enhanced, so that the smallest sensation washed over him in waves of pleasure. He moved in her mind, sharing how she felt—the soft satin, the hot silk, the spicy taste.

  He lifted his head, watched the two twin trickles make a path down the sloping curve to the valley and below toward her belly. He passed his tongue over the pinpricks, closing them, and followed the twin trails over her breast, down the valley to her stomach. His hair slid across her thighs as he circled her waist, urging her to lie back as he licked every remnant of her life's essence from her skin. He could feel the muscles bunching under his palm, tightening just the way her sheath tightened around his fingers.

  He caught her to him and rolled, putting her on top of him. "Straddle me. Ride me." He was already bursting with need again.

  "You can't possibly," she said softly, but she slithered down his body to find his pulsing erection with the heat of her mouth. "I guess you can."

  His hands caught at her shoulders. He couldn't let her distract him, and her mouth—her magic mouth—just might do that. "Straddle me, MaryAnn." He gripped her thigh, tugged until she reluctantly gave him one delicious, very erotic swipe with her tongue and then obeyed him, crawling up his body until she straddled him.

  She threw her hair back over her shoulder and rose above him, while his hand circled the base of his shaft so she could slowly seat herself. Her breasts swayed invitingly, lovingly, oh so temptingly, and he caught his breath, wondering at the sheer magic of her. And then she lowered herself, one exquisite inch at a time. It was torture, a painful pleasure as she took him into her sheath, so hot she was like a ring of white-hot fire, so soft she felt like living silk, so tight his breath strangled in his throat. He wasn't certain he would survive this night.

  Manolito lifted his hands, and MaryAnn leaned forward to tangle her fingers with his. The movement put pressure on her most sensitive spot, and she nearly fragmented right there, but his hands dropped to her hips and locked her down tight on him, preventing movement. His gaze held hers. Hot. Aroused. Glittering. The intensity sent another wash of heat rolling through her. Commanding.

  She knew what he wanted. The idea should have filled her with fear, or dread, or even disgust, but instead, it excited her, excited her wolf. She could feel her teeth, sharp now, pressing her for a taste of him. Manolito. The other half of her soul. He slid one palm under her hair until his fingers could curl around the nape of her neck and pull her down to his chest. Seated on him, her body throbbing with pleasure, she licked at the spot just above his heart.

  The rush of his blood through his veins called to her. His male scent. The musky scent of the wolf and the heady fragrance of sex in the air—all combined to make her head spin. Her tongue darted out again, flicked over his skin. His cock gave an answering jerk. Her muscles tightened around him. She waited, listening to the steady beat so close to her ear. Rapid. Excited. Anticipating.

  Her teeth sank deep, and the taste of him, the incredible gift of life, flowed into her. His harsh breathing deepened. His cock thickened, stretching, invading, sending fiery waves through her body. Her muscles spasmed, and he groaned, adding to her heightened pleasure. He tasted—like power. Hot and sweet and filled with sex. Who would have thought he could taste so good?

  His body began to move in hers. Long, slow strokes, almost lazy. Steel encased in velvet riding between her legs, thick and long and driving her slowly insane. He was everywhere. In her. On her. Flooding her mouth, her body, enveloping her in a cocoon of love. His hands urged her hips up so that she concentrated on the fiery sensations as he nearly retreated completely. Then he forced her back down, holding her to the lazy pace so she could take enough for a true exchange.

  The ride was the most sensual she'd ever had. His hands slid over her bottom, massaged, made small circles, stroked the long, velvety line between her buttocks, and then he'd urge her up again, in that slow, lazy rhythm. She moaned and swept her tongue across his chest to close the small wound. Her muscles were pulsing around his shaft and her breath came in gasping sobs. She looked down into his eyes.

  He was staring back at he
r. Manolito De La Cruz. His eyes were the blackest of night in color, with streaks of amber, like small lightning bolts. And she could drown in the amount of love she found there. He didn't try to hide it, wasn't in the least shy about letting her see.

  He held her hips and did a long, slow circle as he brought her down, so that the breath was driven from her body and the tight knot of nerves screamed at the intense sensation. Her stomach rippled with the fiery burst and her womb spasmed.

  "Of course I love you. How could you not know?"

  Her throat ached and tears burned behind her eyes. "I never thought I'd find you. I never thought I'd feel a love like this of my own."

  "I will make certain you feel it with every breath you take," he said. Tightening his fingers on her hips, he drove his hips upward, filling her so full she cried out his name, her nails digging into his shoulders.

  She thrust back against him, driving down, her body shuddering as mind-numbing pleasure exploded through her, as she felt his brutal release, the sudden swelling, the hot release so deep inside triggering wave after wave until she fell forward into his arms, exhausted, lying on him, locked to him, unable to move.

  He held her to him, his lips in her hair, staring up at the crystal ceiling. "I have lived for centuries, MaryAnn, and never once did I believe it would happen to me. I don't think any of us really believe it will happen."

  There wasn't enough air in her lungs to speak, so she pressed kisses to his throat, and then laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of his heart.

  "I've looked into my heart and soul, and honestly, I think a man of our species is meant to claim his lifemate regardless of whether or not she is in love with him. I have destroyed so many vampires, and I think, given the choice of becoming wholly evil, murdering and preying on the innocent, or staking my claim and allowing my lifemate time to grow to love me—I believe it is the only recourse open to us."