Dark Magic (Dark Series - book 4)

by Christine Feehan

  Savannah closed her eyes against the torment of his masculine beauty, the tenderness etched in his sensual features. His tongue moved over her lips, then slipped inside to bathe a cut in her mouth. It felt so good.

  He lingered over her neck, her throat, his tongue taking great care over torn flesh. The teeth marks on her shoulder where he had held her pinned beneath him required a slow, lazy swirl of his tongue, long, stroking caresses to remove the pain and replace it with a torturous heat.

  Gregori’s body responded to every inch of her satin skin, the taste and feel of her, the sight and smell of her, but this time would be all hers. There would be no chance of hurting her; he was determined to replace every bruise, every scratch, every bad memory with healing pleasure.

  Enough, Gregori.

  Her merged mind found his hungry and aroused, matching hers, without the fear clouding hers. Her breath was coming in short gasps somewhere between pleasure and terror.

  “Every bruise,

  mon petit amour,

  no matter how small.” Deliberately he whispered the words, his breath warm against the roundness of her breast. He took his time, enjoying his work, tracing the soft fullness, his tongue rasping tenderly over her nipples, soothing the ugly marks marring the perfection of her skin. Each caress lingered, stroked, teased, and healed. He would never get enough of her, never get over the feel and perfection of her. He would never get over the fact that she had refused to condemn him, that she had tried to protect him from the terrible crime he had committed against her. It seemed impossible that she could care enough, that anyone, least of all Savannah, after what he had inflicted upon her, would care enough to do what she had done. Follow him to the depths of hell and drag him back to her.

  He groaned at the thought of it, aching inside, weeping silently that he had committed such a horrendous act against his woman, the only woman courageous enough to follow him and drag his soul from hell into her light.

  Savannah’s fingers tangled in his thick mane, weaving a kind of magic all their own.

  Stop tormenting yourself, Gregori. You knew the risk, and yet you still gave me my freedom. Those five years of freedom were precious to me. I thank you for them.

  Gregori closed his eyes. She was turning him inside out, melting his coldness, his frigid existence, with the beauty of her nature. She was all that he was not. Compassion, forgiveness, light, and goodness, now wed to a demon with no knowledge of the things that made her what she was. If it was love for her that was growing in him, it was a powerful, dangerous emotion.

  You fear me now.

  His torment was in his mind.

  She moved slightly so that he could attend the underside of her breast. He felt her shiver in response to the gentle lapping of his tongue, the heat rushing through her body, the pressure building slowly.

  I always feared you, Gregori, feared your power over me, feared what you represented, the loss of my freedom. I feared so powerful a being and how you made me feel. Even if this had not happened, I would still fear you.

  His mouth moved lower still, over her narrow rib cage, and the small span of her waist. He lingered over four long scratches across her stomach, his body aching, but he so enjoyed his work, it didn’t matter.

  Now you fear to join with me.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she stilled beneath him, but the soothing chant went on, and the heavy scent of herbs combined with his gentle touch prevailed. She relaxed beneath him.

  I don’t want to be hard on your ego

  —

  men are so fragile

  —

  but sex is definitely overrated. We can refrain from that aspect of things.

  He felt a tinge of amusement at her thoughts. He knew he was bringing a raging fire to her blood, that waves of heat were beating at her. He could easily smell her scent calling to him with her readiness. But she wasn’t going to fall into his trap. He had been too big for her small frame, and far too rough. His mouth trailed fire across her stomach to the silken triangle at the junction of her legs. She jumped, her fingers twisting in his hair. “No, Gregori, I mean it.”

  Her voice was husky, and her small hands were trembling again, the feel against his scalp turning his heart over. His palms moved in gentle caresses over her thighs, and his tongue found the crease of one hip.

  I know of only one way to heal you.

  He stroked the center of her heat with infinite tenderness.

  She cried out, her hips jerking, trying to squirm away from the swirling vortex of flames he was creating. Her muscles clenched. Tremors started in her stomach. Pressure built. There was such need building, heat raging at her innermost core.

  Gregori!

  It was a helpless plea—of wanting, of fear, of confusion.

  The psychic connection between them was so strong, it was easy for him to read her every conflicting emotion, her burning need. His soothing chant never faltered, and he was careful to keep his own raging body under control along with his wild, passionate thoughts. For her sake he merged, created pleasure without fear, a healing to replace the brutal taking of her innocence.

  On some level Savannah knew he was in her head, directing her emotions away from fear, heightening her pleasure until she thought she might die with the intensity of it. His touch was so gentle, easing her terrible soreness until the pressure building inside her became nearly unbearable.

  Let go, ma

  petite.

  I am here to catch you.

  The voice was a spell compelling her compliance. She wanted to obey, to give herself into his care. She wanted him to extinguish the waves of flames beating at her.

  Her soft keening, the little whimper escaping her throat, nearly tore him up. Her release was shattering, shocking her as her body seemed to fragment and dissolve, as the earth moved and colors burst all around her, through her, in her.

  Gregori held her while her body rippled with pleasure, while aftershocks shook her. He dragged her close, pulled her into the shelter of his body, desperately needing to be close to her. He was bathed in sweat, his muscles taut and rigid with his own hunger for release. If the cycle of mating heat was anything like the desire clawing at him, he and Savannah were in for either a difficult time or a glorious one.

  She could feel the urgency of his need beating at him, tearing at his very soul. “I’m sorry, Gregori.” Savannah’s voice was soft, filled with guilt, a mere thread of sound, her face buried against his silk-covered ribs.

  He lifted strands of ebony hair to his mouth, inhaling her fragrance. “You have no reason to be sorry for anything,

  ma petite.

  ”

  Her clenched fist lay over his heart, the three diamonds in her palm. “You think I can’t read your body? Feel the heaviness in your mind as you try to shield me? I can’t change who I am, not even for you. I know I’m failing you, causing you discomfort.”

  A slow smile curved his mouth.

  Discomfort.

  Now, there was a word for it. His hand crushed her hair, ran it through his fingers. “I have never asked you to change, nor would I want you to. You seem to forget that I know you better than anyone. I can handle you.”

  She turned her head so that he could see the silver stars flashing in her blue eyes, a smoldering warning. “You are so arrogant, Gregori, it makes me want to throw things. Do you hear yourself?

  Handle

  me? Ha!

  I try to say I’m sorry for failing you, and you act the lord of the manor. Being born centuries ago when women were chattel does not give you an excuse.”

  “Carpathian women have never been considered chattel,” he corrected softly. “Ours is a dwindling race. Our children rarely survive, and there are so few women for lifemates, most of our men are lost to their inner darkness after centuries alone. Our women are our most precious treasure, guarded and protected.”

  “Gregori.” Savannah kept her fist clenched, clutching the diamonds of her tears inside as if they
were a symbol. “Let’s try to come to some kind of understanding so we can maybe live together in peace.” Her body was still rocking with aftershocks, and his looks alone kept warmth curling through her. She had the most surprising desire to touch his dark eyebrows with her fingertip.

  His mouth found the silky fragrance of her hair, and his hands ran down the length of her back, finding pleasure in the way her tiny waist tucked into her slender hips. “What kind of understanding?” he murmured almost absently, his mind clearly on other, more provocative things.

  The trace of amusement in his voice irritated her, as if he were merely humoring her. Savannah pushed at the solid wall of his chest to put a few inches between them. His large frame didn’t budge, and she was locked in by his arm. She pushed at him again. “Forget it.”

  He bent his head to taste the vulnerable line of her neck, to feel her pulse in the warm, moist cavern of his mouth. His blood surged and pounded. Little jackhammers began to beat at his skull. “I am listening to every word you say,

  ma petite,

  ” he murmured, lost in her softness, in the scent of her. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, every cell in his body. “I could repeat each word verbatim, if you desire.”

  Soon the fire would start, and there would be no choice for either of them. His blood would call to hers with such an urgency that she couldn’t ignore the summons. His mind would slip easily in and out of hers, the psychic link so strong it would bind them close even over great distances. She would need it as much he.

  Gregori inhaled her into his very body, her scent so feminine, so seductive. She stirred such depths of feelings after such a barren existence, it terrified him. He was used to an emotionless life. She could bring him good, but his potential for evil was enormous. He was a law unto himself. Even the laws of his people, the very laws he defended, had never applied to him.

  He could read her feelings quite easily. Savannah had an open, direct nature. She was drawn to him, even prepared to protect him from himself if necessary. But she had no intention of ever allowing him to make love to her again. It cut like a knife that he had been the one to hurt her, to make her fear their natural union.

  “You’re not listening.” Savannah squirmed, trying to get out from under him. “You’re trying to seduce me.” She said it indignantly.

  He lifted his head, pale eyes roaming possessively over her beautiful features. “Yes, I am. Is it working?” His voice—a low, teasing caress—disarmed her where denial would not have. His hand was spanning her throat, his thumb brushing tenderly along her neck, sending flames licking along her skin.

  She was smiling at his words in spite of every effort not to. “No, it isn’t working at all,” she lied. She couldn’t look at him without wanting him. Her pulse was racing beneath the pad of his thumb. Her skin was hot satin, inviting his touch, inviting further exploration. There was conflict in her mind, fear uppermost, but there was also desire. Gregori focused on that, fed that spark of need with his own.

  He touched his mouth to the corner of hers, brushed a velvet-soft whisper across her lips, and felt her heart jump wildly in response. “Are you certain? I have learned much over the centuries. There is an art to making love.” It was blatant sorcery now, all-out seduction.

  He was doing something magical to her mouth. Applying hardly a touch, yet with such a mixture of tenderness and possession, her heart turned over. Her fingers tangled in his thick mane of jet-black hair. Long lashes swept her cheeks; then she lifted blue eyes dancing with laughter. “An art? Is that what you call it? I think I could come up with a better name.”

  He lifted his head, pale eyes glinting silver, warming to liquid mercury. “And you know so much? Your first time was a travesty, an abomination. That was not me, Savannah; it was the beast within. That definitely was not making love. You cannot count that as a lovemaking experience.” His voice reflected his deep sorrow even as his eyes were sexy, hungry, intense with a heat that sent flames coursing through her.

  She tilted her chin, hating the sorrow in him, the guilt. Wanting his mind on other matters, she deliberately challenged his statement. “You don’t know so much about me. There was a man once. He was crazy about me.” She tried to look worldly. “Absolutely crazy for me.”

  His answering laughter was warm against her neck, her throat. His lips touched the skin over her pulse and skimmed lightly up to her ear. “Are you, by any chance, referring to that foppish boy with the orange hair and spiked collar? Dragon something?”

  Savannah gasped and pulled away to glare at him. “How could you possibly know about him? I dated him last year.”

  Gregori nuzzled her neck, inhaling her fragrance, his hand sliding over her shoulder, moving gently over her satin skin to take possession of her breast. “He wore boots and rode a Harley.” His breath came out in a rush as his palm cupped the soft weight, his thumb brushing her nipple into a hard peak.

  The feel of his large hand—so strong, so warm and possessive on her—sent heat curling through her body. Desire rose sharply. He was seducing her with tenderness. Savannah didn’t want it to happen. Her body felt better, but the soreness was there to remind her where this could all lead. Fear was an ugly, living thing she couldn’t shake. Her hand caught at his wrist. “How did you find out about Dragon?” she asked, desperate to distract him, to distract herself. How could he make her body burn for his when she was so afraid of him, of having sex with him?

  “Making love,” he corrected, his voice husky, caressing, betraying the ease with which his mind moved like a shadow through hers. “And to answer your question, I live in you, can touch you whenever I wish. I knew about all of them. Every damn one.” He growled the words, and her breath caught in her throat. “He was the only one you thought of kissing.” His mouth touched hers. Gently. Lightly. Returned for more. Coaxing, teasing, until she opened to him. He stole her breath, her reason, whirling her into a world of feeling. Bright colors and white-hot heat, the room falling away until there was only his broad shoulders, strong arms, hard body, and perfect, perfect mouth.

  When he lifted his head, Savannah nearly pulled him back to her. He watched her face, her eyes cloudy with desire, her lips so beautiful, bereft of his. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Savannah? There is such beauty in your soul, I can see it shining in your eyes.”

  She touched his face, her palm molding his strong jaw. Why couldn’t she resist his hungry eyes? “I think you’re casting a spell over me. I can’t remember what we were talking about.”

  Gregori smiled. “Kissing.” His teeth nibbled gently at her chin. “Specifically, your wanting to kiss that orange-bearded imbecile.”

  “I wanted to kiss every one of them,” she lied indignantly.

  “No, you did not. You were hoping that silly fop would wipe my taste from your mouth for all eternity.” His hand stroked back the fall of hair around her face. He feathered kisses along the delicate line of her jaw. “It would not have worked, you know. As I recall, he seemed to have a problem getting close to you.”

  Her eyes smoldered dangerously. “Did you have anything to do with his allergies?” She

  had

  wanted someone, anyone, to wipe Gregori’s taste from her mouth, her soul.

  He raised his voice an octave. “Oh, Savannah, I just have to taste your lips,” he mimicked. Then he went into a sneezing fit. “You haven’t ridden until you’ve ridden on a Harley, baby.” He sneezed, coughed, and gagged in perfect imitation.

  Savannah punched his arm, forgetting for a moment her bruised fist. When it hurt, she yelped and glared accusingly at him. “It was you doing all that to him! The poor man—you damaged his ego for life. Each time he touched me, he had a sneezing fit.”

  Gregori raised an eyebrow, completely unrepentant. “Technically, he did not lay a hand on you. He sneezed before he could get that close.”

  She laid her head back on the pillow, her ebony hair curling around his arm, then her arm, weaving them toge
ther. His lips found her throat, then moved lower and found the spot over her breast that burned with need, with invitation. Savannah caught his head firmly in her hands and lifted him determinedly away from her before her treacherous body succumbed completely to his magic. “And the dog episode?”

  He tried for innocence, but his laughter was echoing in her mind. “What do you mean?”

  “You know very well what I mean,” she insisted. “When Dragon walked me home.”

  “Ah, yes, I seem to recall now. The big bad wolf decked out in chains and spikes, afraid of a little dog.”

  “Little? A hundred-and-twenty-pound Rottweiler mix? Foaming at the mouth. Roaring. Charging him!”

  “He ran like a rabbit.” Gregori’s soft, caressing voice echoed his satisfaction. He had taken great pleasure in running that particular jackass off. How dare the man try to lay a hand on Savannah?

  “No wonder I couldn’t touch the dog’s mind and call him off. You rotten scoundrel.”

  “After Dragon left you, I chased him for two blocks, and he went up a tree. I kept him there for several hours, just to make a point. He looked like a rooster with his orange comb.”

  She laughed in spite of her desire not to. “He never came near me again.”

  “Of course not. It was unacceptable,” he said complacently, with complete satisfaction, the warmth of his breath heating her blood. His mouth touched, skimmed, moved across her nipple, branding her with heat, with flame, before finding the underside of her breast. Savannah closed her eyes against a need so intense that she shook with it. How could she want something that hurt so terribly?

  No pain, ma

  petite,

  only pleasure.

  His tongue created an aching void in her.