Dark Magic (Dark Series - book 4)

by Christine Feehan

  “The storm is passing over us. Do you want to go to the bayou this night?” he asked softly, separating her hair deftly and beginning to weave it into a thick braid.

  She loved the feel of his hands in her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp, tugging so gently on the thick length of braid. She reached up to place a palm over her bare shoulder, the exact spot where his lips had touched her. “I would love to go to the bayou with you.”

  He smiled at her, his silver eyes molten mercury. “We can observe wildlife for a change. No vampires.”

  “No weird society types,” she added.

  “No mortals in need of rescuing,” Gregori said with intense satisfaction. “Get dressed.”

  “You’re always taking my clothes off, then telling me to get dressed again,” Savannah complained with her infuriating smile, that little sexy one that drove him mad.

  He turned her around to face him, caught the front of her shirt, and drew the gaping edges together to cover her tempting body. “You cannot expect me to dress you myself, do you?” he asked, leaning down to brush her lips with his. She actually felt her heart jump in response. Or maybe it was his heart. It was nearly impossible to tell the difference anymore.

  It took Savannah mere moments to be ready. Hand in hand, they walked into the courtyard. The rain was now no more than mist, but the water was still inches deep on the tiles. Gregori brought her hand to his mouth. “I will never look at this place in quite the same way,

  ma petite?

  ” he said softly. His voice whispered over her skin, black velvet that slipped over her body and seeped into her mind. His voice was purity itself, so beautiful that no one could resist it, least of all her. Savannah found herself blushing, the wild color creeping up her face.

  His laughter was soft and husky. His body was already beginning to shape-shift as he launched himself skyward. Savannah watched with pride as his body compacted and iridescent feathers covered the raptor’s shape. He was beautiful, with sharp eyes, razor-like beak, talons, a powerful body. She didn’t have the expertise to change in mid-air, but she held the image he gave her in her mind and felt the peculiar wrenching of bones and muscles heralding the change.

  Sensations were completely different. Like the night she had run free as the wolf, Savannah now had the senses of a bird of prey. Her vision was sharp and clear, her eyes enormously wide. She spread her wings experimentally, then flapped them in the light drizzle. They were much bigger than she had anticipated. It delighted her, and she flapped them harder so she could create a wind, causing waves in the water standing in the patio.

  Are you having fun?

  Gregori’s voice held a hint of laughter.

  This is so cool, lifemate,

  she answered. Her rapidly beating wings lifted her into the air. The light mist was already passing overhead. The air was warm and heavy with the promise of moisture, but she soared high, reveling in her ability to do so.

  Gregori’s larger, stronger body dropped over hers, close and protective, guiding her in the direction of the bayou. As high up as they were, the sharp eyes of the raptor could spot the smallest of movements below. Details were vivid and clear. Even colors were different. Infrared vision, heat sensors—Savannah wasn’t certain what it was exactly, but the way she perceived the world was a different and unique experience.

  She dipped beneath Gregori and soared away from him, turning sideways and circling high above him. In her mind she could hear him swearing. As always he sounded arrogant, elegant, Old World, completely in command. Laughing, she caught a thermal and rode it up over the river. The male dropped down to cover her with his huge wings, fencing her in.

  Spoilsport!

  she accused him, her touch in his mind a whisper of lightness, of invitation to join in her fun.

  You are in a great deal of trouble, ma

  femme. He knew the threat was empty when he made it; he would give her the world. But why did she have to be such a little daredevil all the time?

  Anyone choosing to live with you would have to have a sense of adventure, don’t you think?

  Her soft laughter played over his skin like music, like the gentle breeze blowing from the mountains in their homeland.

  Even within the bird’s body, he stirred to life, need and hunger rising to become a part of him. Relentless. Demanding. Savage in its intensity. It was more than simple lust. More than hunger. More than need. It was all of it merged together with a tenderness he had never conceived he could feel. When she was at her most outrageous, her most defiant, that was when his heart melted.

  What I think is, you had better do things the way I want you to do them. Shape-shifting is no simple thing. Everybody else does it,

  she objected, darting out from beneath him.

  The male raptor dove at her, coming in fast and as straight as an arrow, plummeting toward her out of the night sky. Savannah, inside the female’s body, gave a little shriek of fright, her heart pounding at the unexpectedness of the attack. It came out a strange caw, startling her so that for a moment she forgot what she was doing and nearly shape-shifted back into her own body.

  Savannah!

  His voice was a soft command, hypnotic, impossible to ignore or defy. He held the vision of the bird in her mind, completely merging his mind with hers so that they were one. The male bird of prey once more flew in to cover the female’s smaller body, guiding her over the city and canal to the dark bayou.

  It was your fault for scaring me,

  she proclaimed.

  Beneath them moss-covered cypress trees stood in the water. Dense reeds rose out of the marsh. The bayou was teeming with life, with sounds of insects and birds and frogs. Turtles shared the fallen, rotting logs with young alligators, and snakes slithered or wound themselves, sated and drowsy, along branches. The male bird prodded the female, and they soared above the beauty of the night for a time, watching the ever-changing scene below them.

  Gregori sent a call into the night, seeking the one who would fulfill Savannah’s wish. She wanted a guide, one who had been born and raised in the area and who could answer all her questions. A boat moved up through the waters in answer to his summons. He had been particularly strong in his command, urging the man to answer immediately.

  Land on the rock below, Savannah, and shape-shift as you do so. I will hold the image with you.

  For a moment she was afraid. The rock was not particularly large, and the marsh was treacherous.

  Trust in me, ma

  petite.

  I would never allow anything to happen to you,

  Gregori reassured her gently. She could feel the comfort of his strong arms surrounding her, even in the form of a bird.

  The extent of Gregori’s powers always astonished Savannah. He certainly was legendary. All Carpathians spoke of him in whispers. She had believed he was powerful, but she had not conceived of the things of which he was capable. She felt unexpected pride in him and an astonishment that he would want someone so inexperienced in Carpathian ways, in the essentials of their training, as she was.

  I will teach you all you need to know,

  chйrie,

  and I will enjoy the teaching,

  he whispered softly in her head. She could feel the fire instantly moving through her blood at the whisper of his voice.

  The small bird’s talons aimed down and sought purchase on the boulder even while her slender form shimmered in the humid air. As hers solidified, the male bird of prey found a small patch of stable ground nearby to land on. He glided in smoothly on two feet, his muscular frame dwarfing Savannah’s. They could hear the steady drone of the boat’s engine as it chugged toward them. Laughing, Savannah jumped from her precarious perch on the boulder into the safety of Gregori’s arms.

  He caught her, crushing her against his chest, sheer elation, exhilaration, rushing through his veins. To feel again was beyond his comprehension, to feel like this, to have such joy in him, was totally unbelievable. He whispered to her in
the ancient language, words of love and commitment that he could not find a way to express in any other language. She was more than she could ever know to him; she was his life, the very air he breathed.

  You worry about the most ridiculous things,

  he said gruffly, burying his face for just a moment against her neck, inhaling her scent.

  “Do I?” she asked aloud, her eyes dancing at him. “You’re the one always concerned I’m going to do something wild.”

  “You do wild things,” he answered complacently. “I never know what you are going to do next. It is a good thing I reside in your mind,

  ma petite,

  or I would have to be locked up in the nearest asylum.”

  Her lips brushed his chin, feathered along his jaw, then nibbled enticingly at the edge of his mouth. “I think you should be locked up. You’re positively lethal to women.”

  “Not to women, only to you.” Gregori stopped her teasing mouth with his own, taking possession despite the fact that the boat was almost alongside them. He was helpless in the web of her spell. She was magic, beauty, fascination.

  Her laughter was bubbling up again, her fists curling in his shirt. “We have company, lifemate. I presume you sent for him.”

  “You and your ideas,” he growled, gliding across the spongy surface to the boat.

  The captain of the vessel didn’t appear to notice that Gregori’s feet never quite touched the swamp. His eyes were on Savannah in genuine awe. “You’re the magician, Savannah Dubrinsky. I’ve been to three of your shows. I flew all the way to New York City to see you last year, Denver a few months ago, and San Francisco this month. I can’t believe it’s really you.”

  “What a compliment.” Savannah flashed her famous smile, the one that brought those curious silver stars to the centers of her eyes. “You traveled all that way just to see me? I’m flattered.”

  “How do you do that? Disappear like you do into mist? I got as close to the stage as I could, and I still couldn’t figure it out,” he said, leaning forward, extending his hand. “I’m Beau LaRue. I was born and raised right here in the bayou. It’s a privilege to meet you, Ms. Dubrinsky.”

  Savannah slipped her hand into the captain’s, a brief touch only as Gregori put her feet firmly on the boat’s floor. He was already pulling her back into his arms as he did so, successfully removing her from the captain’s grip. “I am Gregori,” he said in his soft, gentle way, the voice that enthralled, that captivated. The one that purred with menace. “I am Savannah’s husband.”

  Beau LaRue had met only one other man as dangerous as this in his lifetime. By coincidence it had also been at night in the bayou. Power and danger clung to Gregori like a second skin. His unusual pale eyes were mesmerizing, his voice hypnotic. Beau smiled. He had spent most of his life in these waters, had encountered everything from alligators to smugglers. Life was always good in the bayou, unpredictable and exhilarating.

  “You picked an interesting night for your tour,” he said happily. The actual storm had passed, but the mood of the water was dangerous tonight. On the banks around them, the alligators, usually so calm and quiet, sunning them selves in the light of day, were bellowing in challenge or sliding silently into the waters to hunt prey.

  Gregori’s white teeth flashed in answer. He was part of the night, the creatures known to him, the restless, untamed land matching his hungry soul. Beau watched him, observing the utter stillness marking the dangerous predator, the merciless eyes moving constantly, missing nothing. The powerful, well-muscled body was deceptively relaxed but ready for anything. The face, harshly sensual, beautifully cruel, was etched with hardship and knowledge, risk and peril. Gregori stayed in the shadows, but the silver menace of his gaze glowed with a strange iridescent light in the dark of the night Beau took the opportunity to study Savannah. She was everything up close that she had been on the stage, even more. Ethereal, mysterious, sexy. The very stuff of men’s fantasies. Her face was flawless, lit up with joy, her eyes clear, like beautiful blue star sapphires. Her laughter was musical and infectious. She was small and innocent beside the predator in his boat. She would touch Gregori’s arm, point to something on the embankment, her body brushing his lightly, and each time it happened, those pale eyes would warm to molten mercury and caress her face intimately, hungrily.

  Beau began to answer her questions, explaining all about his youth, his father trapping for food and fur, how he and his brother collected moss from the trees for his mother and sisters to dry and stuff in their mattresses. He found himself telling her all kinds of childhood memories, things he didn’t know he’d even remembered. She hung on his every word, making him feel as though he was the only man on the planet—until Gregori stirred, a mere suggestion of rippling muscle but enough to remind Beau that she was well protected.

  He took them to all his favorite spots, to the most beautiful, exotic places he knew. Gregori asked questions then, about herbs and natural healing arts on the bayou.

  Beau found the voice impossible to resist, like velvet, a black-magic power he could listen to forever.

  “I heard a few men in a restaurant talking about a bayou legend,” Savannah said suddenly. She leaned on the side of the boat, presenting him with an intriguing view of her tight jeans. They clung lovingly to every curve.

  Gregori moved, a flowing of his body, gliding silently, and his large frame was blanketing Savannah’s, blocking out the captain’s enticing view. Gregori leaned into her, his arms coming down on either side of the railing to imprison her against him.

  You are doing it again.

  His words brushed softly in her mind even as his warm breath teased the tendrils of hair at her neck.

  Savannah leaned back into him, fitting her bottom into the cradle of his hips. She was happy, free of the oppressive weight of the hunt, of death and violence. There were only the two of them.

  Three,

  he reminded her, his teeth scraping her sensitive pulse. He could feel the answering surge of her blood, the molten lava spreading in his.

  My mother thinks my father is a cave man. I’m beginning to think you could give him a run for his money. Disrespectful little thing.

  “Which legend? There are so many,” Beau said.

  “About an old alligator that lies in wait to eat hunting dogs and little children,” Savannah said.

  Gregori tugged at her long braid so that she tilted her head back. His mouth brushed the line of her throat.

  I could be a hungry alligator,

  he offered softly.

  “The old man,” Beau said. “Everybody loves that story. It’s been handed down for a hundred years or more, and the critter grows with each telling.” He paused for a moment, maneuvering his craft along a snag in the canal. Cypress trees bent low, looking like macabre stick figures dressed in long strands of hanging moss. Occasionally splashes could be heard as a snake plopped into the water.

  “It’s said that old man alligator has lived forever. He’s huge now, growing fat with his kills and more wily and cunning than anything else in the bayou. He claims his territory, and the other gators give him wide berth. They say he kills any alligator stupid enough to wander into his territory, young or old alike, male or female. Trappers have disappeared in that area from time to time and old man alligator gets the blame.”

  Beau allowed the boat to stop, so that they bobbed gently in the water. “It’s funny you should ask about that particular tale. The man who gave me the tickets for your concert was very interested in that alligator. We used to come out here at night together, gathering herbs and bark, and we poked around looking for the monster. We never did find it, though.”

  “Who gave you tickets to Savannah’s show?” Gregori asked softly, already knowing the answer.

  “A man named Selvaggio, Julian Selvaggio. His family has been in New Orleans almost from the first founding. I met him years ago. We’re good friends”—he grinned engagingly—”despite the fact that he’s Italian.”


  Gregori’s eyebrows shot up. Julian was born and raised in the Carpathian Mountains. He was no more Italian than Gregori was French. Julian had spent considerable time in Italy, just as Gregori had in France, but both were Carpathian through and through.

  “I know Julian,” Gregori volunteered, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. Water lapped at the boat, making a peculiar slapping sound. The rocking was more soothing and peaceful than disturbing.

  Beau looked smug. “I thought you might You both have a connection to Savannah, you both ask the same questions about natural medicine, and you both look as intimidating as hell.”

  “I am nicer than he is,” Gregori said, straight-faced.

  Savannah’s head brushed his chest Her laughter was sweet music in the stifling heat of the swamp. “So you never found the alligator. Is it true he eats large dogs?”

  “Well, the fact is, a great number of hounds have been lost in the bayou along a particular trail. It’s in the old man’s supposed territory. A couple of hunters say they saw him lying in wait to bushwhack the dogs. They couldn’t nail him, though. No one can. He’s been around so long, he knows all the ways of the bayou. One small warning and he’s gone.” The captain rubbed his forehead as if it was pounding.

  “You are talking as if you believe he is real,” Gregori pointed out gently. “Yet you say you and Julian did not find him. Julian is a hunter without equal. If there was such a creature, he would find it.” He was reading the captain’s mind, baiting him. Beside him, Savannah stirred as if to contradict his statement, but Gregori silenced her with an upraised palm.

  “Julian knew he was there. He felt him.”

  “But you saw him.” Gregori pushed the man a little harder, suddenly interested in this beast that could survive when so many others had not.

  Beau glanced around the canal, uncomfortable in the dark of night. He was superstitious, and he had seen things, unexplainable things, and he didn’t like to speak of them without light of the sun. “Maybe. Maybe I have seen the old man,” he admitted, his voice low. “But out here, if you admit such a thing, the newcomers think you’re loco.”