“You are Raven, the most beautiful, courageous woman I have ever known.” He said it sincerely, stroking back her silken hair.
Her body was tense, almost rigid with wanting to deny his tranquil statements of fact. “Can I exist without blood? With juice and grains?”
His hand found hers, laced their fingers together. “I want it to be so for you, but it is not. You must have blood to live.”
She made a sound, a small denial, hunching away from him, withdrawing into herself. It was too far-fetched, too frightening to really comprehend. She wanted to believe it was a nightmare.
Mikhail sat up, let her go so that he could push the sheet from her slender body. Her mind was blocking out every explanation, refusing to deal with the information he was giving her. Wanting to distract her, he bent to examine her abdomen, his fingers splaying possessively over her skin, touching each white scar gently. “Your wounds are nearly healed.”
She half sat, astonished. “That’s impossible.”
He lifted his hands out of the way to show her the long scars. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Mikhail’s eyes darkened and burned, brushed her bare breasts with heat. Raven’s small teeth tugged at her lower lip and a red flush spread over her entire body. She clutched the sheet, dragged it over her.
His white teeth gleamed at her in a predator’s smile, pure taunting male. He leaned close so that his mouth brushed across her ear as he spoke. His warm breath beckoned and enticed. “I have kissed every inch of your body. I have been in every secret corner of your mind.” His teeth skimmed her ear-lobe, sent a shiver along her spine. “I will admit, the blush suits you.”
Raven found herself holding her breath, heat coiling deep within her. She pressed her forehead against the heavy muscles of his chest so that he couldn’t see the answering flare in her eyes. “Mikhail,” she warned, “there is no way you can change what I feel by seducing me. I know I cannot handle this.”
“I hear your thoughts, little one. You have closed your mind to all possibilities.” He whispered the words like a terrible seduction. “I will give you what you wish. I no longer can bear your unhappiness.” His hand moved up to his chest, right below her chin, hovered over his heart.
Her stomach clenched at the sudden knowledge of his intention. The sweet odor of hot blood mingled with his wild, masculine scent. Before she could stop him, before she could voice a protest, his life’s blood was streaming freely down his chest. Instinctively she clamped both hands over the wound, applied pressure.
Eyes wild with fear, Raven cried out frantically. “Stop, Mikhail. Don’t do this.” Tears welled up, spilled over. “Please tell me what to do to save you.” There was desperation in her voice.
“I can’t, Mikhail. Stop this; you’re scaring me!” She pressed as hard as she was capable, but the blood continued to flow between her fingers.
“Your tongue has the power to heal; so does the saliva in your mouth.” His voice was dark, hypnotic. He leaned back as if his strength was waning. “But do not counteract my choice unless you live also, because I refuse to go back to a world of darkness.”
Frantically she bent her head to his chest, swept her tongue over the edges of the wound, sealing the gap as if it had never been. The revulsion was in her brain, but not in her body. Something wild lifted its head; her eyes went slumberous and sensual. Heat coiled, spread. Her body hungered, craved. The call was so strong within her. She wanted more, needed the erotic ecstasy only he could provide.
Mikhail’s hands were in her hair, bunching, dragging her head back, exposing her throat. His mouth moved over her soft skin, her frantic pulse. “Are you sure, Raven?” He whispered it so sensually her body went liquid in answer. “I want you to be completely sure. You must be certain this is your choice.”
She circled his neck with her arms, cradled his head. “Yes.” The memory of his mouth moving against her, the white-hot pleasure piercing her very soul made heat pool low and wicked in her abdomen. She wanted this, even needed this.
“You give yourself to me freely?” His tongue tasted the texture of her skin, flicked across her pulse, and traced down the valley between her breasts.
“Mikhail.” His name was a plea. She feared that he was waiting too long and might not be able to live, to breathe, to merge completely with her.
He lifted her easily, cradled her in his arms. His tongue lapped her nipple, once, twice. Raven gasped, arched closer to him, her body scenting the wildness in him rising to match, to conquer the wildness in her. She seemed to float through the air, every nerve ending raw with hunger and need. The sweet scent of blood called to her.
She smelled fresh air and opened her eyes to discover the night. It whispered to her with the same sensual power as the ebb and flow of Mikhail’s blood. Trees swayed overhead; the wind cooled her body, yet fanned her need.
“This is our world, little one. Feel its beauty, hear its call.”
It was all like a dazzling dream, as if they were drifting with the faint mist, a part of the night itself. The stars overhead played hide and seek through the canopy of leaves and branches. The moon was elusive, wandering behind floating clouds. Everywhere Raven heard the sounds of life. It was in the sap of the trees, the rustle of small animals, the beat of wings, the echoing, savage cry of a night hunter as it missed its prey.
Mikhail raised his head and called, a wild sound of joy. It was answered. Raven could feel the rapture in the wolves’ rejoinders. It filled her heart and in her, the wildness grew.
He carried her through a maze of paths, deep into the mountains until they were at the entrance of a downward sloping cave. “Hear it,” he ordered as he passed into the murky shadows. “Hear the earth sing to you.”
Impossibly she could see rich veins of minerals curving on either side of the narrow walls just as if the sunlight were pouring into the tunnel. She could hear the rush of water echoing through the many chambers. Bats called to one another and the earth welcomed it all.
Mikhail was sure-footed, striding through the maze of tunnels without hesitation, every step taking them deeper underground until they were in a huge steam-filled grotto. Water ran in a frothy fall down to pour into a series of pools. Crystals gleamed like jewels all around them.
He took them into the farthest pool from the fall, where the water bubbled up like soda and was warm and fizzy against their skin. He sank into the water, with Raven cradled in his arms and steam rising around them.
The bubbles nibbled at sensitive skin, danced and teased like so many fingers, foamed and caressed like the lapping of tongues. With lazy, languid movements, Mikhail began to wash her slender body, her small feet, her calves, her thighs. Raven moved against his hands, closed her eyes to give herself up to pure sensation. Carpathian blood flowed hotly in her veins. Carpathian needs and desire warred with the human limitations and taboos her brain insisted on.
His hands slid in a tender, loving caress over her flat stomach, his fingertips reverently tracing each scar, wiping away the last traces of the poultices and blood. He paid careful attention to each rib, her back, and finally, her face and hair. Mikhail was so gentle, he made her want to cry. He had not touched her anywhere intimately, yet he had begun a slow fire in her blood, a melting in her body. She ached for him. Needed him.
Raven opened her blue eyes; they were slumberous, sexy, darkened with desire. She tilted her head to look up at him and then moved to rinse his body. She had no intention of being so kind. Her every stroke was designed to tease, to inflame. Fingertips delved into the dark tangled hair veeing toward his flat belly, slid tantalizingly over the heavy muscles of his chest, rinsing every drop of blood from his skin. So much. It worried her, and she wanted him to feed, to replace what was lost.
Some small part of Raven recognized that the thought should be appalling to her, yet with her body needing his so desperately, she craved his mouth on her, felt hunger herself. Her hands wandered lower, moved across his flat belly, dipped over the ridge of his hipbones.