Dark Melody (Dark Series - book 12)

by Christine Feehan

  She heard nothing but her own heartbeat, yet when she looked up, Dayan was looming over her, tall and strong and alive. Air rushed into her lungs and she could breathe again. Corinne had an unexpected and entirely unacceptable desire to trace the angles and planes of his face with her fingertips. She needed to touch him, to assure herself he was unharmed. A small smile found its way to her soft mouth. “I was worried.”

  Dayan reached down to lay his hand against her satin cheek. Her stomach did a funny little flip, his touch bringing a strange craving for more. “There was no need, Corinne, but I thank you for your concern.” He said her name like a caress.

  She shook her head, astonished at her reaction to him. He was truly lethal. No one had ever looked at her as he did. His eyes were intense, fathomless, dark and dangerous and mysterious, moving over her possessively. So

  hungry.

  Could anyone ever refuse such longing? Such intense need? “I should have called the police,” she confessed in a little rush. “I don’t know why I listened to Cullen. I

  never

  listen to anyone when they aren’t being logical, but he was so adamant.”

  “It is just as well you did not,” Dayan said softly.

  She looked up at him from under long lashes. “You aren’t a criminal of some sort, are you? It seemed the only explanation for Cullen to carry on so.”

  Again he smiled, a slow, sexy curve accenting the sensual line of his mouth. He hunkered down beside her chair so that his head was level with hers. “Do I look like a criminal?” His voice held that strange black magic, whispering over her skin so that she shivered, but deep inside her a flame began to burn hotly and spread liquid heat like molten lava throughout her body.

  “Even if you’re not, you should be totally outlawed,” she blurted out before she could censor her words.

  Those black, black eyes glittered with male humor. “I will take that as a compliment. You did not say if you liked my playing.”

  She lifted her head, tossing her abundance of hair over her shoulder, the gesture purely feminine, entirely sexy. “You know very well you’re phenomenal, I don’t have to tell you. Everyone says so.”

  “But then, not everyone’s opinion counts to me. Only yours.” He was perfectly serious, as if she were the only one in his world. His deep black eyes did not leave her face. Did not even blink.

  Corinne wanted to look away, afraid he was capable of mesmerizing her, but instead she felt herself falling into the depths of his eyes. They were so beautiful, unlike any eyes she had ever seen. He was compelling her to answer him. She

  had

  to answer him because it was necessary to him. He made her feel that way. “You play absolutely beautifully. I’ve never heard anything like it. I want to hear you sing again.”

  “You are C. J. Wentworth. You did not whisper a word about the famous C. J. who can make someone’s career with one of her songs.”

  Color crept into her face again, and for a moment it was all he could do not to lean down and fasten his mouth to hers. She looked shy, yet so enticing he wanted to gather her to him and shelter her against his heart.

  Corinne shrugged modestly. “I’ve had luck with my songs, but they’re nothing like the ones you and Desari compose. Your music and lyrics linger in the mind.”

  “You have tapes of our gigs,” he accused, a faint grin stealing into his eyes.

  She flashed a saucy little smirk at him. “They didn’t come cheap, either. I had to pay a fortune. The strange thing is, a few years ago I came across an old record. The band is called the Dark Troubadours, but the recording was made in the 1920s.” She studied his face, feature by feature. It was a handsome mask, giving nothing of his thoughts away. “Most of the dealers know I love rare recordings and that I’m willing to pay for them. When one of them sold me that record, I became obsessed with the music. Its different, incredibly beautiful, almost haunting. You should hear it, Dayan. When I first heard the name of your band, I thought there might be some connection and I had to hear your music. It took a long time and a great deal of money to acquire the black-market tapes. I know you aren’t the same band, but I swear, the similarities are amazing. The music is different, of course, of a different era, but the style, the way of playing is so like yours. I’ve listened to that record over and over, and I’d swear the musicians are the same. You know how you can listen and know who is playing just by the sound?” The words tumbled out of her in her excitement. She was speaking musician to musician.

  He raked his hand through the dark silk of his hair, his intrigued gaze on her face, drinking her in. Devouring her with his eyes. That recording had been their one mistake. It had not occurred to them that technology would one day be able to identify individuals by voice. Fortunately, few of the records had been produced. They had quietly set about tracking down and destroying every copy. Obviously, they hadn’t succeeded. “Well, have you heard of them? Did you use their name deliberately?” Corinne demanded, the mystery uppermost in her mind. “You have to hear this recording, Dayan. I’ve studied music all my life and I have a great ear. I’d swear it was you playing lead guitar.”

  “That’s because it is me,” he answered truthfully, allowing a mischievous smile to light the dark depths of his eyes.

  Corinne blinked up at him. “So that would make you at least a hundred years old. You’re so very well preserved, Dayan.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed slightly from the waist with a curiously Old World elegance that suited him.

  “You’re welcome, although if you’re thinking of a relationship, I’m afraid it’s out of the question. I can’t possibly go out with a man who’s a hundred years old.”

  His smile widened until his white teeth gleamed at her, taking her breath away. He reached out to brush a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering against her skin in a light caress. “When I look at you I can barely breathe,” he admitted starkly, melting her heart. “You are so beautiful.”

  Corinne took a deep breath, trying hard not to allow the wild color to creep up her neck into her face. Someone had to be sensible. She tried not to look at him so she could think more clearly. “Dayan, I’m very pregnant.”

  “You should be bigger.” He spoke gently, but it was clearly a reprimand. “Now I will have to add that to my growing list of things to worry about where you are concerned.” He reached out with lazy ease and caught a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger as if he couldn’t help himself.

  “The baby is perfectly healthy,” she said defensively, trying desperately not to be affected by the intimacy of his touch.

  He tugged at her hair. “What has the doctor said about your health?”

  Corinne tried to duck her head, but Dayan’s hand caught her chin, his black eyes capturing her gaze, refusing to relinquish his control. “Answer me, honey.”

  It was odd, but she could feel his voice brushing at the walls of her mind, compelling her to answer him. She

  wanted

  to tell him despite her natural inclination to keep certain parts of her life private. She shrugged. “Well, you know. Doctors have a way of making everything seem like a worst-case scenario. I’d rather talk about what you found at our house.”

  Dayan moved, a menacing ripple of muscles that had her heart pounding in her throat again, but he was just standing, stretching like a large jungle cat before reaching for her. He picked her up easily, as if her weight were that of a small child, and glided through the hall to a bedroom.

  Corinne closed her eyes tightly for a moment, her hand creeping around his neck. “What are you doing?”

  “If we are to talk, honey, I thought it best you be somewhere comfortable. I will not deny it is in my mind to make love to you all night, but I am fully aware of your pregnancy and the difficulties it presents, so I promise to behave myself.” There was a slightly humorous drawl to his voice, as if he knew that just saying the words, admitting his desire for her, would sen
d heat coursing through her body. As if he knew his desire was contagious.

  Dayan placed her in the middle of the large double bed and bent over her, his black eyes moving over her face intently. Her palm pushed against his broad chest in alarm, an effort to restrain him. Her eyes were enormous in her face, apprehensive. The ritual words beat in Dayan’s head; his very body strained with the need to bind her to him. She was his lifemate, she belonged with him, and he needed her desperately. He had been alone for so long, so many centuries. She was here. In the same room with him.

  Corinne.

  She lay very still, like a small wild thing caught in a predator’s stare, afraid to move. She couldn’t look away from those black eyes, the intensity, the terrible naked need. She wanted to hold him, to banish that stark, lonely look for all time. Her palm, the tiny barrier between them, trembled as she stared up at him, mesmerized by his vulnerability when he seemed so invincible. “Dayan.” She whispered his name — a soft sigh really, or was it an invitation? She didn’t know, so how could he?

  Dayan captured her hand, brought her fingers to the warmth of his mouth. “You have nothing to fear, Corinne. I would never do anything that might harm you or the child. I cannot help wanting you, but until it is safe, I think we will both have to suffer.”

  She found herself smiling as she moved over to allow him to stretch out beside her. Why she trusted him so much, so quickly, she couldn’t fathom, but it didn’t matter. She liked being beside him, felt comforted by his very presence. He was solid and warm, his arms strong as he pulled her to him, fit her into the curve of his body. She shivered, more from his close proximity than the cool night air, but she liked the way he instantly drew a comforter over them even though she knew he wasn’t cold.

  “Are you going to tell me what you found at our home?”

  “Are you going to believe me?” He asked the question quietly, but she could feel him waiting in the darkness for her answer.

  “You forget, my husband was murdered. I know someone was in the house,” she answered firmly. “I felt it.”

  He winced inwardly at the word husband. John. Her husband, John. Dayan had to get over that sick feeling whenever she mentioned him. John had been a part of her life for many years, first as a childhood friend, then later as a husband. A part of her loved him, would always love him. His hand bunched in her hair and he brought the silken strands to his face, inhaling the fragrance that was so unique to her. “There were two men in the house. They had guns and orders to kidnap both of you.”

  Her large eyes moved over his face. “Why?”

  “A few months ago our band received word that we were on a hit list. That was how I first met Cullen. He risked his life to warn us. There is a society, a group of fanatics who believe in vampires.”

  Corinne lifted her head off the pillow to stare at him in shock. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Vampires? In this day and age? And what does that have to do with me? Or with you, for that matter?”

  “You said you were different, that John had gone to talk to someone about his differences. That is the kind of thing these people target. The moment he set foot in the Morrison Center, you were noticed. How are you different, Corinne?”

  His voice was like magic in the darkness, soft velvet brushing over her skin and in her mind. She loved the sound of his voice, his interesting accent, which she could not identify. The way he twisted certain words and sounded such a mixture of Old World and modern. “I can move objects without touching them.” Somehow it was easier to make the confession in this dark room with his body lying close to hers, with her palm resting over the steady beat of his heart. She waited for his reaction, his derision, his shock. She waited for him to get up and quietly move away from her. Corinne didn’t realize it, but her heart had gone crazy, beating irregularly again as she waited for Dayan to respond.

  Dayan captured the hand over his heart, brought her knuckles to his mouth so that his breath moved over her skin, warm and reassuring. “What an amazing gift you have. I too can do such a thing.”

  Corinne turned her head to look at him. “You can? I’ve never met anyone else who could. It’s so cool. Lisa doesn’t like me to do it, but I can’t help myself. John knew things. Like the telephone was going to ring and who would be calling. I’ve never met anyone else who could move objects.”

  “I can do other things too,” he told her softly, his white teeth scraping along her fingers, back and forth in a soothing rhythm so that her heart settled down into the steady pattern of his.

  Tears of relief were burning behind Corinne’s eyes. Somebody who could understand. Even Lisa, who loved her, didn’t really understand. She wanted Corinne to hide her differences from the world, and from her. Lisa pretended that Corinne was like everyone else. They had enough trauma in their lives without adding any more burdens. “Can you read minds?”

  Dayan nodded solemnly. “Yes. I do not have to touch the person to read his thoughts. I was very relieved to know you found me attractive when you saw me, because you took my breath away.”

  A slow smile curved Corinne’s soft mouth. “That is so cheating. You honestly can read my mind?”

  “Right now you are attempting to keep your mind totally blank and you are wondering if there is any way you can censor your more, ah... how shall I put this delicately...?”

  Corinne burst out laughing, the sound soft and inviting in the privacy of the bedroom. Dayan closed his eyes in an attempt to control himself. His body was burning with need, a hard, urgent ache. Little jackhammers seemed to be ripping at his skull. Her body was soft and tempting against his, her curves fitting into the hard angles and planes of his body. Fitting just right. He ached with need and loneliness. Inside him the beast was fighting to break free, raging against the restrictions Dayan was placing on himself. He reminded himself over and over that first and always came her health and well-being. He allowed the scent and sound of her to wash over him, into him, through him, so that he felt centered and balanced.

  They weren’t joined yet, but she was beside him, giving him the precious gift of color and emotion. She was there, alive and real, a truth he could barely grasp.

  Corinne.

  Her name was a light in the terrible darkness of his soul. Shining for him alone. Leading him away from a path down which so many of his kind had disappeared for all eternity.

  Corinne.

  He breathed her name and calmed his raging body with the knowledge that she was beside him.

  “Let’s not go there,” Corinne said softly, laughter in her voice. “How did these people know about your gifts? And why would they think you were a vampire?” It was much safer to keep the conversation away from the almost bewitched way she felt in his company.

  “I think there are many reasons. Our lifestyle, traveling from country to country, seems odd to many. The name of our band may even have contributed to the society’s suspicions. We hand-raised two leopards and they travel with us. We sleep during the day and perform at night. Somehow it all added up to our being vampires. They tried to kill us by spraying the stage where we were performing with bullets.” In the darkness he shrugged. “Cullen used to belong to the society.”

  “Cullen?” She echoed the name in alarm, astonished that Dayan could say it so casually. Lisa was alone in the other room with Cullen, asleep and very vulnerable.

  Dayan touched her gently, his hand moving over her face. “Be calm, honey. Cullen risked his life to warn us. Those killers want him more than they want us. I’ve stayed with him to help protect him. My family owes him a great debt. Thanks to you, I can feel friendship again, even affection, where before I felt only a debt of honor. You have already given me more than you will ever know.”

  “I don’t understand the vampire thing. Why haven’t the police found these men?” Corinne was deliberately ignoring his strange references to her. She didn’t understand her attachment to him, the way she needed to be with him when she had never been a needy person in her life. She f
elt safe with Dayan, yet at the same time threatened in some elemental and very exciting way.

  “This group operates the same way terrorist organizations work. Hit and run, meet in secret. Only those at the top know who belongs. No one trusts anyone else. Some of those on the bottom have no real idea that killing goes on. I know it sounds bizarre, but unfortunately the society is very real. We have to protect ourselves at all times. If these people have targeted you and Lisa, you need protection too. They will not stop hunting you. Somehow we have to find a way to convince Lisa she really is in danger. She is resisting the truth because she does not want anything else in her life to change.”

  “Lisa had it much harder than John or me. When we were very young, their father began to date my mother. It was mainly a drinking relationship. We didn’t know it then, but their father when he drank was extremely violent. To make a long story short, their father murdered my mother. Lisa walked in when he was bludgeoning her with a tire iron, and he knocked Lisa down, put a bag over her head, threw her in the trunk of a car with my mother’s body and doused them with gasoline. John knew — he always knew things, and between the two of us, we managed to free Lisa without her father knowing.” Corinne had unlocked the trunk of the car using her unique gift. “Lisa, John and I stayed together. We lived mainly on the streets, sort of fending for ourselves.” She said it hurriedly, in a little rush, not wanting to dwell on the painful details of her childhood. She never talked about that time, never revealed the details of her early life to anyone, yet she couldn’t stop herself from giving Dayan whatever he asked for.

  Dayan threaded his fingers through Corinne’s, all too aware of the sorrow beating at her, the horror of those memories. “After the murder, Lisa was so battle-scarred she didn’t talk for days on end. I sat with her for hours and rocked her back and forth, and she would hold me when I broke down and cried. John was our rock; he stole food for us and kept us safe as we grew up. Eventually we all landed jobs in a cafe. Lisa was discovered there by a huge modeling agency. After that we didn’t have to worry about a roof over our heads. I was already making money writing songs, so I pursued music in college. John became very successful at landscaping. We lived together as a family.”