Dark Magic (9 page)

"You're certain?" This time there was a distinct quaver in her voice, and her hand trembled when she lifted it to brush back her hair.

The movement caused her to wince, and Gregori felt that wince, that trembling, through his entire body like the blade of a knife. "You are in me, Savannah, a light to guide me through the darkest of times." He wanted to enfold her into the safety of his arms, shelter her for all eternity against his heart. But was he speaking the truth? He felt in his soul that he was, but he had long ago tampered with nature. Would the safeguards against his violence hold?

"I need time." She hated the pleading note in her voice. But her life had changed overnight. And Peter. God help her, she would never forgive herself for Peter's death.

"Roberto was not alone." It was easy to read her thoughts.

Savannah gingerly tested her ability to move. Every muscle seemed to shriek in protest. "What do you mean?"

His hand moved over her shoulder, his touch possessive. A jolt of fear hit her hard. She was naked beneath the sheet. Instantly she felt vulnerable, her blue-violet gaze jumping to his pale one as if she expected him to grow horns.

Gregori sighed softly and eased his weight onto the bed. "I will not hurt you,
mon petit amour
. I cannot with the ritual completed."

"Then why did you say our life will be difficult?" Her fingers were clutching the sheet until her knuckles turned white.

His hand settled gently over hers, tracing a fingertip over each tense knuckle. Every brush of his fingers sent an unexpected jolt of electricity through her. "I cannot lose you after waiting centuries for you. I know I am a hard man, and you will not find me easy to live with. We will both need to make certain adjustments."

"Yeah, like you can lose the macho attitude," she muttered under her breath. Steeling herself, she said aloud, "I want to sit up, Gregori." She felt at a distinct disadvantage, fiat on her back and naked beneath the sheet. "If we're going to discuss our future, I'd like to participate."

For a long moment his silver eyes moved over her pale, bruised face, studying her intently, clearly debating whether to allow it. A storm began to gather in her eyes, and reluctantly he shifted back to give her room.

"Easy,
bébé
," he said softly, slipping an arm around her, his breath warm on her neck. The feel of his hair-roughened, iron-hard arm wrapped around her bare skin sent a shiver down her spine and set warmth curling in the pit of her stomach. She detested that warmth, the way her body tuned itself to his, the way her mind struggled to ignore her firm resolution and sought to touch his. It was the ritual. She might tell herself that, but it didn't stop the self-loathing. How could her body want his brutal touch? Was she some kind of masochist?

The trembling started deep inside, progressing through her muscles until her very teeth chattered. Savannah clutched the sheet to her and sat rigidly against the support of his arm. "I think this would go a lot better if you sat over there." She pointed to a chair across the room.

Gregori's hands framed her face, thumbs stroking the delicate line of her jaw. "Look at me, Savannah." His voice was black velvet but an order nevertheless.

Her gaze jumped to his, but hastily she averted her eyes, lashes sweeping down protectively. Beneath the pad of his thumb her pulse raced. "Are you going to fight me at every turn? This is a small thing I ask of you, to look at me, your mate."

"Is it? It is said you can command anyone with one look."

His laughter was soft, playing over her skin like the touch of fingers. "I can do that with my voice alone,
chérie
. Savannah, I have a need for you to look at me."

Reluctantly she locked her gaze to his. Why had she thought his eyes cold? They were pools of molten mercury, warming her, calming her so that the trembling eased and some of her fear dissipated enough to begin to relax her muscles.

"I will never hurt you again. The way I took you was not by choice, and I will carry the shame and guilt of my lack of control for all time." His hands found her hair and brought the crushed silk to his lips. "I know you fear me, Savannah, and I have given you good reason, but I offer my mind freely so that you can see I speak the truth." He was risking everything. His past was murky, at times even black. At her tender age she was incapable of understanding such a history, the bleakness of his existence that had led to this moment. But she would know every fact, every merciless act. She would also know just how far he had gone to ensure that he would have her as his lifemate. It was the only way he knew to reassure her that he meant what he said. If he opened his mind completely, she would know he spoke the truth. She could never love him, but he didn't expect love from her.

Savannah studied his face for a long moment. "It's enough that you made the offer, Gregori. My fears wouldn't go away even knowing you're incapable of hurting me. Fear doesn't work that way." It wasn't necessary for him to sacrifice his pride, to confess every dark, ugly deed. His life had been hard, and he had done the best he could. She had no right to judge his actions. "Maybe we can slow all this down and work at getting to know one another."

He let his breath out slowly, became aware he had been holding it. "You are certain?" At her nod, he released her.

"What did you mean, Roberto was not alone?" Deliberately she changed the subject, tried to ease the tension between them.

"He traveled in a pack. They turned Europe into a killing ground. Your father was hard put to cover up the evidence and protect our people. It hasn't been that long since the assassins swept through our homeland and murdered our people."

"How many are in this pack?"

"Four more."

Her hand went to her throat. She looked so young and defenseless, he wanted to drag her into the protection of his arms. She was doing things to him he didn't understand, but no price was too high to pay for her. "Did they come here because of me? Roberto said he found me first. I thought he meant before you did. Did I bring them here?"

He wanted to lie to her—hadn't he caused her enough pain already?—but he couldn't bring himself to do it, so he said nothing.

Savannah shook her head sadly. "I see." She was still weak and dizzy with the loss of blood from his voracious feeding. "Where are my clothes? I am too weak to manufacture any."

His eyebrows shot up. "Where do you think you are going?"

"I have to make arrangements for Peter's funeral. Everyone's probably looking for me, and the crew must be devastated over Peter's death and worried about me. After I take care of those things, I intend to join you in hunting down the renegades."

"And you think I will allow such a dangerous thing?"

Her eyes grew stormy. "You can't dictate to me, Gregori—we may as well get that straight right now."

Gregori unfolded his long frame from the bed and stretched like a lazy jungle cat. Savannah found her eyes glued to him. He glided soundlessly, muscles rippling beneath his elegant silk shirt. Crushing sweet-smelling herbs into several small pots of water, he lit candles beneath each container. Instantly the room filled with a soothing, beguiling scent that seemed to find its way into her body, her very bloodstream. Picking up a brush from the nightstand, Gregori moved around the bed and returned to her side. "Of course I will be dictating to you, Savannah. But please do not worry. I can assure you, I am quite good at it."

She was shocked. Gregori, the Dark One, teasing her? He sat behind her, careful of her bruises, and began to smooth the tangles from her hair. It felt good, the brush moving over her scalp, down the length of her hair, his hands stroking in long caresses, a kind of magic.

"Very funny. I wasn't born in the fourteenth century or what ever idiotic and
backward
time you were born. I'm a modern woman whether you like it or not. It was your choice to tie yourself to me. Dictating, no matter how good you are at it, is out." There was sorcery, seduction, in the touch of his hands, the velvet of his voice, the little teasing note that she now matched with her own.

His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, sending heat spiraling through her blood. "I am of the Old World,
bébé
." The warmth of his breath was against her ear. "I can do no other than protect my woman."

"Get over it," she suggested sweetly. "We'll get along much better that way."

"We will get along splendidly,
ma petite
, as you will never oppose my will." His voice, pitched low, was temptation itself. The air in the room was thick with the scent of herbs, invading her senses, his voice mesmerizing her.

She turned her head to look at him over one bare shoulder, violet eyes smoldering. His silver eyes gleamed at her, amusement in their depths. "Get a grip, Gregori. You're losing your mind. It did occur to you I would need clothes, didn't it?" She tried to sound tough; it would do her no good to allow him to seduce her into lowering her guard. But she was very drowsy, her head spinning with the scent of the herbs and the feel of his hands in her hair.

"It is not difficult to conjure such items," he reminded her, bending his head to stroke his tongue soothingly across a particularly ugly bruise on her lower back. The healing saliva would work faster mixed with their native soil, but it was all he had.

Savannah jumped as the velvet roughness of his tongue moved erotically along her hip. The heavy scent of the herbs invaded her senses, inducing a languid drowsiness. Gregori's fingers brushed her hair aside, positioning the long length of silk over her shoulder to expose her back to him. He bent his head slowly to her, his own long, dark hair sliding over her sensitive skin.

She made a sound of protest and tried to move away from him, but she landed sprawled on her stomach, her hands trapped beneath her.

"Lie still, Savannah. This must be done." His mouth was against her hip, at the worst of the bruises.

Fear clawed at her, swirled in her brain. He made her feel so completely vulnerable, so helpless. It was going to happen all over again, his brutal possession. Tears burned behind her eyelids, and a moan welled up in her throat.

He found her fear of him intolerable. It shouldn't have mattered to him. He knew he wasn't going to hurt her—just the opposite, he was healing her—but her fear ate at him, turning him inside out. He, who had thought he had no gentleness left in him, touched her with extraordinary tenderness. "If I bring you your wolf, Savannah, will you accept
his
ministrations?" He offered it gently. Glossy black fur rippled along his arms, and bones crackled and stretched to accommodate his changing shape.

Savannah's skin was so unbearably sensitive, even the brush of fur was painful. Through her fear she caught a glimmer of hurt, as if it would bother Gregori that she would prefer the animal to the man. "No, please don't, Gregori. Don't bring the wolf. Let me heal naturally," she pleaded, unable to bear his hurt. She closed her eyes as the roped muscles rippled once more beneath his own skin.

His tongue found the dark mark of his fingers on her rounded bottom, tracing each purple line. "You are not mortal,
ma petite
. This
is
natural to our people." He felt pleasure at her choice, yet wondered that he did so.

Gregori's hands traced her body, finding every scratch, every bruise. His mouth was warm, moist, lapping caresses along her ribs, her waist, her hips and buttocks. Savannah gasped as he inserted a hand between her legs, forcing her to give him access to a long, terrible scratch on her thigh. It wound its way from the back to the inside of her leg. Rough velvet lapped gently, insistently, at the angry red wound, an intimate, erotic touch.

Savannah could barely breathe. His touch was like a drug, invading her body, warming her bloodstream, easing every ache. It was so easy for him to control her mind, her body, as if there were no Savannah without him. She needed his touch every bit as much as she hated it. Even the air in the chamber favored him, the soothing herbs insidious, making her drowsy.

Gregori turned her over gently, his breath catching in his throat. He had never realized just how beautiful the female body really was.
His
. Pride and possession were burning in his pale eyes as his gaze swept her bare skin, then moved to her delicate face. Tears glittered like jewels, caught in her long lashes.

He murmured something she couldn't catch, his fingers brushing the tears from the tips of her lashes so that the teardrops fell into his palm. He closed his hand around them, breathed warm air through his fingers, and opened his hand. Three flawless diamonds lay on his open palm.

Even though she was a mistress of illusion, Savannah's eyes widened in wonder at Gregori's feat, and her fingers curled around the thickness of his wrist. Gregori's heart somersaulted at the touch of her fingers, her mixture of childlike awe at his magic and the stark fear of what his intimate touch was doing to her body. Every Carpathian worth his salt could perform the illusion of tears to diamonds, but Gregori's gems were real, solid. He had used his enormous strength and the tremendous power of his mind to fashion the impossible for her, to make illusion reality.

Taking her hand, his eyes fastened to hers, Gregori allowed the diamonds to fall into her open palm, a shower of gems. Very carefully he closed her fingers around his gift to her. His eyes still holding hers, his tongue stroked along her bruised fist. Once, twice, a third time.

Darts of fire went racing into her bloodstream. Her body stirred, warmed in the cool of the night air. A little sound escaped when he bent his head to find a darkened smudge at the corner of her mouth. Her heart lurched crazily. She wanted to run, but her body was too heavy, the scent of the herbs drugging her senses. In her head, faint, far away, she could hear a chant in his low, smooth voice, the language centuries old. Her lashes drifted down. Fire and ice. Pain and pleasure. Rough velvet lapping at her sore mouth, taking away the sting.

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.