Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS

by Christine Feehan

  “What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” She hissed the words very quietly, afraid if Paul heard he would rush in with a gun.

  You called me to you. Deliberately Rafael used the more intimate method of telepathic communication, determined to strengthen their bond. I heard your call. Felt your tears. Why are you so sad this night?

  He was too real and solid in the confines of her small bedroom. His masculine scent clung to the corners, his voice brushed over her skin, at her insides like black velvet. It wasn’t just his words, it was literally the sound of his voice. A seduction, an intimacy stolen in the night. He washed over her and into her so that she was at a loss. No one had ever made her feel so aware of her body, so feminine, or so blatantly sexual.

  She blinked to keep him in focus. He seemed substantial to the touch, yet in the dark room, his shadowy figure blurred as if he was a part of the night itself. Not real. Colby had the good sense to be afraid. It was so dreamlike she dug her nails into her palm to ensure she was awake. “How did you get in here?” The moment she spoke aloud, she wished she hadn’t. Her voice was husky, sexy, not entirely hers. An invitation. Her heart thundered out a fast rhythm. The heat of his body crowding so close to hers warmed her skin despite the coolness of the wind. She should have been furious, going for the gun herself; instead, she was mesmerized by him, by his overpowering sexuality.

  His hand curled around the nape of her neck. Possessively. As if he had the right to her. Her body went pliant, soft in reaction. In her entire life, she had never responded so sexually to anyone. She ached for him until it seemed to be a craving she couldn’t control. Colby sat there helplessly, trapped in the depths of his black eyes. She was falling forward, his captive, forever his prisoner. In that moment she was willing to be his prisoner. His dark head bent very slowly, relentlessly to hers. She could see the impossible length of his lashes, his sinfully sexy lips, the bluish shadow on his jaw. Her body was heavy and aching and demanding things she knew very little about. He was so out of her league. A man like Rafael would consume her, use her up, make her his so completely there could never be another. She should have screamed for Paul and his gun.

  Instead she closed her eyes and allowed his mouth to take possession of hers. Beneath her the bed lurched and rocked as if the ground beneath it had moved. She was swept onto a tidal wave of pure feeling, into a sensual world beyond her comprehension. Her body no longer belonged to her, but to him. Colors whirled and danced and the room spun. And she was alive. It wasn’t simply her body burning for his, but her mind, craving, reaching out for his, her soul crying out to his. She felt a curious shifting deep inside, a merging, two ragged halves sealing perfectly. She felt his arms tighten like two steel bands, a wildness growing in him. She realized he was not only gaining possession of her, but control as well. She was losing herself, wanting to merge deeply with him, wanting to be whatever he needed, do whatever he wanted.

  Rafael lost himself in her sweetness. She was heat and honey, melting into him, twining around his heart until he knew he would never be complete without her. His mouth moved to the corner of hers, along her chin to her vulnerable throat. She was aching for him, burning as he was. Her pulse beckoned to him. She thought him an erotic dream and he fed the haze in her mind, fed the illusion of a dream to her, even while his body pulsed with need and excitement. He allowed his hunger to deepen as he forced her body back against the mattress. She struggled for just a moment, a thought of resistance. He took it ruthlessly from her mind, kissing her until she was pliant. His mouth was merciless on hers, demanding kisses, taking her response rather than asking for it. He stretched her arms above her head and pinned her wrists together to hold her captive beneath him.

  Colby Jansen possessed a mind with a complex guard, one he needed to bridge in order to claim her for his own. He had succeeded in being voluntarily invited into her home. He had succeeded in finding the path to her mind. Now he was going to take what he needed to unlock the door keeping her from him. Nothing would stop him. Not the boy sleeping so restlessly in the next room. Not even Colby herself, half shaken by her unfamiliar needs and desires.

  Colby was wrapped in his body so tightly she was unsure where she left off and he started. His mouth burned a trail of fire along her throat to her neck. She felt the nip of his strong teeth, the swirling caress of his tongue. A rush of liquid heat beckoned him and she was helpless to stop it. She turned her head, wanting his mouth, wanting him to kiss her again, but he held her easily, his black eyes drifting possessively over her face. The dark needs there made her shiver. There was such a sexual hunger, a merciless passion in his heavy-lidded eyes. Heart thudding wildly, she thought to fight him. Before she could move, he bent his head with deliberate slowness to her slender neck again. At once she felt a fiery pain, a white-hot blaze streaking through her bloodstream so that she moaned, so that her body rippled with pleasure, with a need so intense she wanted to cry.

  Rafael tightened his hold on her, locking her to him while he took the essence of her life into him for all time, for his keeping. He wanted her, wanted to take her body, possess her fully. It wasn’t simply wanting. He needed. It was an urgent demand as elemental as the earth and sky. He needed her. His hand slid under the thin material of her top to cup the weight of her breast in his palm. Her blood flowed into him like nectar and he allowed himself to indulge in her exquisite beauty, the taste and scent of her. The feel of her soft skin next to his.

  His body hardened with a savage, unfamiliar need. At once his sexual appetite grew, erotic desires pouring into his mind, into his cells, flooding him with images of taking her in every way possible, of having her whenever, wherever he wanted. He had never thought about the things he would need or want from a woman, but she roused dark passions and an edgy hunger in him.

  Rafael had never needed anything or anyone in his life. He had dedicated his life to guarding mortals from the demonic vampires. He had the memories of his love for his brothers. He had vague memories of his homeland. He had his honor. He fed. He existed. His brothers were just like him. But he was unlocking Colby Jansen’s mind and it astonished him. Shocked him. She was all about love and compassion. Her thoughts were mainly of others, her need to serve and help them. Where he wanted his own way in all things, where he believed others inferior to him, she was light and goodness. She made him ashamed of his predatory nature.

  Colby was no longer certain she was dreaming. She could never have conjured up a fantasy as erotic as Rafael De La Cruz. He was holding her submissive, a dominant sexual being that was both rough and tender. He demanded her response, took her response, rather than coaxed it. And she seemed helpless to stop the tidal wave of passion he unleashed in her.

  She began to struggle, afraid of losing who and what she was. He seemed to be slipping into her mind and wrapping himself deep inside her so that she was afraid she would never again be free. He was enormously strong and the more her body moved against his, the more viselike his grip became. He didn’t hurt her, but he refused to allow her to get away. She tried surfacing from the dream, afraid of the way her body responded to his, even when he was being roughly dominant, but she couldn’t manage to wake and save herself. And a part of her knew she would be saving herself.

  Rafael lifted his head slowly, his black eyes burning with fierce possession. He bent his head to catch the twin beads of blood running toward the slope of her breast. His tongue swirled over the mark he had deliberately left. A brand. His brand of ownership. The healing agent in his saliva closed the tiny pinpricks. His arms held her easily, his strength enormous. She was very small, and surprisingly strong for her size, yet her struggles were nothing to him. Sheer nonsense, barely registering.

  He caught her chin firmly and forced her deep green eyes to meet his. Even as he did so, his mind tuned itself to the path of hers, thrusting sharp and deep, taking command. You will take what I offer. He gave the order as he used a lengthening fingernail to open his own chest. Pressing her mouth to th
e dark liquid that would bind them together, Rafael ruthlessly forced her to swallow. He closed his eyes as her mouth moved against him, her body so like hot satin he could scarcely contain himself. A groan escaped, and his hands moved over her skin exploring the soft creamy curves.

  So lost in his own needs and desires, Rafael almost missed the movement of the young girl in the room across the hall. Nightmares were intruding, and she was calling out, thrashing on her bed, tears running down her face. His body was so hard and taut with desperate need he almost didn’t hear the intrusion.

  Shockingly, Colby stirred, right through the dark haze of her strange, terrifying dream. She began to fight the fog, sensing Ginny’s troubled sleep. Rafael cursed eloquently under his breath as he closed the wound on his chest with his own saliva. Gently, almost tenderly he laid Colby back on the pillows. She was very pale, her red hair spilling around her like a fiery halo. He had given her enough of his ancient, powerful blood for an exchange, but not enough to replace the volume she had lost. Unable to stop himself, he bent his dark head to the swell of her creamy, round breast. Her heart thundered beneath his roving mouth as he wantonly marked her a second time. He had never ached so much, needed so much in all of his existence.

  With a sigh of regret, he melted into the shadows, waving his hand to quiet the child’s dreams and send Colby into a deeper sleep. Bending, he brushed a kiss on her forehead even as he stroked a caress over his mark on her neck and the second one on the swell of her breast with a fingertip in great satisfaction. Without another sound he dissolved into mist, an insubstantial fine vapor. He poured through the window out into the night air. As he streamed toward the trees the droplets connected to form the large harpy eagle. He landed on the branch of the oak tree and stared thoughtfully at the house.

  Colby tried to surface to go to her sister, but Ginny had quieted under Rafael’s command, so Colby subsided, giving in to her need for sleep.

  “Colby.” The frightened sound of Ginny’s voice pushed through the uneasy dreams Colby was caught in. Her body was leaden, her mouth dry. Strangely her breasts ached and were sore. She tried hard to rouse herself, when all she really wanted to do was sleep. “Colby, wake up now.” Ginny was shaking her shoulder, her young voice very frightened.

  “I’m awake,” Colby muttered thickly, surfacing, prying open her eyelids. “What is it, honey, are you sick?” She glanced past Ginny to see Paul standing against the wall watching her. “What is it?” she asked again.

  “Your alarm was going off for so long, I got up to see what was wrong and then I couldn’t wake you up,” Ginny said tearfully. “I shook you and shook you.”

  “She woke me up.” Paul made it an accusation, but there was fear in his voice.

  Colby forced her body to move, sitting up, sweeping back the wealth of hair tumbling around her face. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. I set the alarm for four-thirty so I could do a few extra things.”

  “I knew you were getting up early!” Ginny pounced on that. “You can’t do that all the time, Colby. You need to sleep like everyone else.”

  “I need to sleep,” Paul corrected. “Speaking of which, I’m going back to bed. Colby, if Ginny spent all this time waking you up, don’t you think maybe that means you shouldn’t get up?” He sounded very superior.

  “Probably,” Colby admitted, wanting to crawl under the covers. Her body was not cooperating, feeling heavy and cumbersome, her eyes wanting to close. She was so thirsty her mouth was dry. There was a faint coppery taste on her tongue. “I think I’m beginning to believe that I’m the totally unbalanced crackpot the Chevez family and the De La Cruz brothers think I am.” She absently raised a hand to push her palm against the pulse throbbing in her neck.

  “Well, you are,” Paul stated, giving his brotherly opinion.

  “For that you get to feed all the horses while I exercise Domino. He gets hard to handle if I don’t ride him every day. I want to put in some time checking fences and if you do the feeding, I can take some extra time.” She yawned inelegantly.

  Paul scowled at her. “You ought to get rid of that horse. He’s really dangerous. Even Joe Vargas says so, everybody does.”

  Ginny caught her sister’s hand. “Is that true, Colby? Is Domino dangerous? Is he a man-killer like they say he is?”

  Colby’s head went up, the drowsy look suddenly gone from her face, leaving her green eyes blazing at her younger brother. “Did you tell her that?”

  Paul had the grace to look ashamed. “Joe told me Domino killed a man, and Ginny overheard the conversation. You know Joe, he has a thing for you. He was worried.”

  “Domino was mistreated, Ginny,” Colby explained quietly. “You can see the scars on him. He can be difficult in certain situations, but I can handle him. I really can. I don’t overestimate my abilities.”

  “I’m sorry, Colby.” Paul was quick to get the apology out. “I should never have allowed Ginny to hear that.”

  “I’m not a baby.” Ginny tossed her blue-black hair, chin going up, a small replica of Colby. “You don’t need to hide anything from me. I’m not stupid, either, Paul Chevez. Working with any horse can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. Colby does,” she added staunchly. “No one does it better.”

  “There speaks the unprejudiced voice,” Colby laughed softly, ruffling Ginny’s hair tenderly. “Honey, later on today, if you have the time, you can start setting up the north paddock for barrel racing. Janna Wilson’s bringing her horse, Roman, in on Thursday. He’s in a slump and she can’t afford that with Regina breathing down her neck for first place all the time. Janna wants the world championship this year.”

  “Sure.” Ginny was excited. Janna Wilson was a barrel racer out of Oklahoma, the leading female money winner halfway into the season and Ginny’s heroine. Ginny was determined to barrel race professionally in the not too distant future.

  “Go back to bed, you two,” Colby advised, “it will be sunup soon enough.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Paul said gratefully. “And, Colby, you really are nuts to be getting up now. Come on, Ginny, it’s embarrassing enough to have one crazy sister, I don’t want to admit to having two of them.”

  Colby was laughing as she stumbled her way sleepily to the shower and drenched herself with hot water, hoping to clear the cobwebs. She actually felt weak and listless. It was no wonder after such bizarre dreams. Rafael De La Cruz sneaking into her bedroom, kissing her . . . his hands touching her breasts, her body. Instantly heat swept through her, her breasts aching with need. Colby groaned and closed her eyes against the humiliation of such an erotic dream and its aftermath. She allowed the water to cascade directly onto her face, hoping to wash the scent of him from her body, his taste from her mouth, the feel of his hard strength against her skin. You’re probably the devil in disguise.

  She wiped at the fog on the mirror then wished she hadn’t when she saw herself. She was so pale her eyes looked enormous, vividly green. As she pulled the thick mass of red hair back to braid, she noticed the strange mark on the side of her neck. It looked like a strawberry, or a teenager’s hickey. When she stood on her toes and examined it closer, she thought there were two tiny pinpricks in the center of it. It burned, not painfully, but intimately, so that she covered the mark with her palm as if to hold it close to her. She had no idea what it was, but it made her uneasy after her strange dream. As she stared at her reflection, she caught sight of the second mark. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart began to pound. The mark was on the swell of her breast, a vivid red standing out starkly against her white skin. How had it gotten there? It was no insect bite. Worse, as she looked at her hand, pressed tightly against her neck, there were faint smudges on her wrists that looked suspiciously like fingerprints. She snatched her hand down, breath catching in her throat. He couldn’t have been in her room.

  Had she really allowed Rafael into her bedroom? Kissing her. Touching her. She forced herself to look a
t the all too real marks. A brand on her skin. Was it his brand of possession? She groaned aloud, her face flaming crimson. She preferred to believe it was an erotic dream. She shook her head and dressed hastily, unwilling to think too much about what seemed like a hazy dream.

  Domino was a large horse, and always restless when she saddled him. She worked quickly, her movements deft and reassuring. All the while she crooned endearments to him. She took Domino up the narrow trail leading into the mountains. He was difficult to handle; she could never sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. Domino had more tricks than most rodeo broncs. The narrow trail made it almost impossible to bolt, effectively eliminating one of his favorite bad habits.

  Colby had literally pulled the rifle from his previous owner’s hands, saving Domino’s life. Half crazed with pain and fear from the ugly beatings he had received, the horse had lashed out at anything and everything that came near it. She still couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said or done to convince the owner to sell her the horse, or even how she had managed to load him for transport in his terrible condition.

  It had taken three years of patient love, hundreds of hours spent sitting on a fence rail talking soothing nonsense. He looked for her eagerly now, thrusting his head toward her, trumpeting a welcome when he saw her. But to ride him . . . Colby shook her head, smiling to herself. Riding him was never easy, but it was exactly what she needed. It would keep her mind away from Rafael De La Cruz.

  Forty-five minutes up into the mountains she dismounted, preferring to lead Domino and enjoy the tranquility of her surroundings while she looked for signs of Pete. The Cascades were seven hundred miles in length, stretching from California through Oregon and Washington into Canada. The range had been born of fire then carved of ice. Along with a chain of volcanoes, the mountain range boasted heavy forests, a multitude of waterfalls and cataracts along with miles of snowfields. The Columbia River literally cut the mountain range in half. Guarded by three towering volcanoes, white-water rapids ripped through its steep rocky gorge with dizzying speed. Lava cliffs, lakes, streams, lush evergreen forests, the Cascades were unequaled in beauty or potential ferocity.