Dark Carousel

by Christine Feehan

  Tariq smiled at Genevieve as she moved deeper into the dimly lit foyer. "She's a good friend."

  "Yes, she is." Charlotte still hesitated just outside the door. "What does that mean? 'Enter of your own free will'?" She couldn't make her feet move, although no harm had come to Genevieve.

  "It is an ancient invitation handed down through the generations in my family. I come from the Carpathian Mountains, and family and friends use the more ancient ways. Does it bother you?" He gave her a small courtly bow.

  Charlotte felt a little silly objecting to walking into his house when he'd practically saved their lives. Still, there was reluctance counterbalancing the need to enter. Maybe it was the need itself. "Can you ask your friend when Lourdes will be here? And Grace?"

  "Ah, yes, Grace. I had forgotten your other friend. Is she gifted? In the way you and Genevieve are?"

  He continued to hold the door open, not showing any impatience whatsoever. Charlotte could no longer see Genevieve. She'd disappeared into the interior of the house and could be heard oohing and aahing. "You aren't answering me about Lourdes," she persisted, refusing to be distracted. She was beginning to be afraid all over again, but she didn't know why.

  "Lourdes has already arrived, and Grace is following with Maksim. My friend Siv has brought your niece safe and sound and she is in bed inside the house. Let me take you to her."

  She wanted to see for herself and she nearly stepped inside, but the moment she put one foot over the threshold, she felt a curious wrenching sensation in her body. The floor moved beneath her, a ripple, just like the beginnings of an earthquake. She stopped, her heart pounding. Again, Tariq didn't seem impatient, nor did he try to get close to her. If anything, he kept more distance than he ever had. It made her feel alone--bereft.

  Her emotions were all over the place, careening out of control. It had to be from sheer fear. From the grief she felt losing her brother. She'd barely buried him when they became aware they were being followed and watched again here in the United States. At night, twice, there had been the bizarre noises at the windows and doors, just like in Paris. Charlotte had called 911, but what was there to say? She was scared. There were noises. She thought someone was outside their house. The patrol officers came and didn't find a thing either time.

  "Sielamet, what is it?"

  God. His voice. It melted her insides. Turned her stomach into a roller coaster and sent darts of fire straight to her sex. It soothed and incited. Caressed and stroked. That word he used made his accent heavier.

  "What does that mean? The name you call me?"

  His smile took her breath, and it hadn't even really lit his eyes. "It is an ancient endearment, hard to explain outside my native language. My people come from a remote region in the mountains, and we keep to the ancient ways."

  That hadn't answered her question exactly. He had a way of doing that. Telling her absolutely nothing. She forced herself to take the last step inside. The moment her left foot followed her right one and touched the hardwood floor she felt that same shifting beneath her feet, as if her world had changed for all time.

  She stayed still until the sensation passed, afraid if she said anything he would think she was crazier than she already appeared. "Which way to Lourdes? And is your friend Siv still around?" She glanced behind her, through the open door. There was no vehicle parked next to her car.

  Tariq pulled the door closed firmly, yet quietly, cutting off her view to the outside. There was intricate stained glass woven into the door, but there was no seeing through it. In the muted light from the sconces on the wall, she could see Tariq's expression. This time the blank look was gone. His face could have been carved from stone, but his eyes, that deep, dark blue, portrayed emotion. She could feel a heavy heat vibrating through the air.

  "Why do you ask after Siv?" Again his voice was clipped, terse, intense and scary.

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue again, stalling for time, turning everything over and over in her head but not coming up with an answer why her question would upset him. And he was upset.

  "I asked out of politeness. He rescued my niece and I wanted to thank him."

  The tension drained out of him instantly. "Siv isn't . . . civilized. He spends most of his time alone, and he doesn't talk much to anyone, not even those of us who are his friends. He made certain Lourdes was safe and asleep and then he slipped out." He shrugged. "That is his way and we all respect it."

  She wasn't about to complain. Being around Tariq was enough. She had noted that all his friends were good-looking in spite of the fact that a couple of them carried some rather vicious-looking scars. She had eyes only for Tariq. She found she inhaled him into her lungs. As much as she tried not to look at him, she couldn't help herself. She was looking now, and she couldn't help but note the satisfaction on his face. In his eyes. He didn't look smug, but he definitely was more than pleased that she'd entered his home.

  She stopped abruptly because that wrenching inside her body didn't go away. It increased, and she realized it had become a compulsion to touch him. To be close to him. He was only a step behind her and she was acutely aware of him. Of his every breath. Of his masculine scent. The way his muscles rippled beneath that thin silk shirt. She had the odd desire to take the single step that separated them and run her hand under his shirt to feel those muscles on her palm. Strangely, she could hear his heartbeat. Hers matched the rhythm of his exactly. That had happened before, but now she was more aware of it than ever.

  Tariq took the step, coming right up behind her, and pressed his chest to her back. She should have moved, put more space between them, but she couldn't. Her feet refused to cooperate with her brain. She melted inside. Melted into him. A part of her screamed that she wasn't in the least acting professional, and he had women throwing themselves at him all the time. She was one among hundreds--maybe thousands.

  His hands came down on her shoulders. Big hands. Strong. She felt his palms and fingers like a brand pressed into her bones. He bent his head so his mouth was against her ear. Close. So close that when he spoke his lips brushed her skin.

  "You haven't taken a breath in over a minute. Why is that, sielamet? Why do I have to remind you that you still need air?"

  Oh God. She was in such trouble. Terrible trouble. She couldn't stop herself from leaning back into him. From turning her head, giving him access to her neck. Electrical impulses sang along her skin while every cell in her body craved him. Like a drug. The need was so strong she found herself trembling. Her pulse pounded in her neck, and seemed even stronger in her clit. She felt her blood thicken. Turn molten.

  He murmured something in her ear and she closed her eyes. The language was ancient. He'd said so. It sounded so different. A single phrase. JoNGesz entolem, fel ku kuuluaak sivam belso. She knew French, but his language was so completely different she had no idea what he said to her. She only knew that when he uttered that phrase with his accent and his low, sensual voice, she wanted more. Her world narrowed until there was only him. Only Tariq Asenguard. Genevieve had gone to bed, and there was no one to save her from herself and her reckless impulses.

  His hand swept her hair over her left shoulder, leaving the right side bare. She felt his breath as his arms closed around her waist and he moved her deeper into the shadows. She could barely think with her need. His body was hot. Strong. All masculine, making her aware of the differences in them and just how fragile she was in comparison. That should have frightened her, but instead, a thrill shot through her.

  He whispered again, this time in a mixture of his language and English. "Fel ku kuuluaak sivam belso, I have waited so long for you. I cannot wait one more minute. Tell me I do not have to. Give this to me, sielamet."

  She would give him anything when he used that voice. She found she couldn't speak, lost in a dream world. His fist was suddenly in her hair, pulling her head back a little roughly, the spike of pain searing through her body straight to her sex so that she clenched and spas
med, was damp and needy. His hand in her hair kept her head back and to one side so that his lips skimmed down her neck. Scorching her. Setting her body on fire. Melting any thought of resistance.

  His mouth settled over the pulse pounding in her neck. His teeth scraped back and forth in a sexy temptation. She wanted him to kiss her there. She wanted him to bite her. Just the thought of his mouth on her skin, leaving his mark on her, heightened the growing need coiling deep inside.

  "Te avio palafertiilam. Entolam kuulua, avio palafertiilam. You are my lifemate. I claim you as my lifemate."

  He spoke firmly as if taking a vow, yet his voice was mesmerizing, just as his mouth moving over her pulse was. She didn't know what his words meant, but she liked them. She knew they meant something to him, and all she needed, all she wanted was to keep his mouth moving on her. Each time his teeth scraped over her pounding pulse her sex clenched harder and wept with need.

  "Ted kuuluak, kacad, kojed. Elidamet andam. Pesamet andam. Uskolfertiilamet andam. I belong to you. I offer my life for you. I give you my protection. I give you my allegiance."

  Her eyelids felt so heavy, but she forced them open to look at his face. His eyes blazed down into hers, little flames leaping inside the pupils. So dark. So mysterious. Beckoning her. She wanted him. It was that simple. His words seemed to draw her even closer to him, as if by uttering them, he had woven tiny threads between them, unbreakable and sacred.

  Staring down into her eyes, holding her captive with that hand in her hair and his mouth on her pulse, he continued. "Sivamet andam. Sielamet andam. Ainamet andam. Sivamet kuuluak kaik etta a ted. Ainaak olenszal sivambin. I give you my heart."

  Her heart jerked in her chest at that declaration. She wanted his heart. For a moment, the sane part of her objected to the terrible need building inside her, but he continued translating for her, and his low, mesmerizing voice, so darkly sensual, robbed her of her ability to think clearly. She could only want. Only need. Only feel his breath and his mouth and those terrible, wonderful teeth scraping against her skin, each time sending shock waves straight to her sex.

  "I give you my heart. I give you my soul. I give you my body."

  Sielamet. She recognized that word. My soul. He called her that numerous times. She wanted his heart and his body.

  "I take into my keeping the same that is yours. Your life will be cherished by me for all my time."

  That was so beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. So much so that tears blurred her vision. And then he sank his teeth into her neck. Right into her pounding pulse. Pain seared her. Heat lashed like a whip through her bloodstream, straight to her core. The tight tension in her body increased, coiling and building until she was rocking her hips helplessly in need.

  His palm cupped her breast and she felt his touch on bare skin. That didn't make sense because she wore clothes . . . didn't she? She couldn't think. Only feel. Her body was a living flame of terrible brutal need.

  "Please." She whispered her plea, never wanting him to stop. Needing more. Needing him. She felt empty without him. Desperate for him. Still in a dream. A hazy, wonderful, beautiful dreamworld. In it, she could do anything, including have this beautiful man for herself.

  The connection between them was real. Strong. Compelling. Her body was on fire, his fingers finding her nipples, first one, then the other, tugging and rolling, pinching hard and then stroking gently, keeping her off-balance so that need only climbed higher. The flames burned out of control. A firestorm of sheer desperation.

  Then his tongue swept over his brand on her, a soothing stroke to counter the erotic pain of his bite. He turned her into him, guiding her with the back of her head in his palm. His chest, that amazing, defined muscled chest was bare to her touch. To her lips. He pressed her close while one hand came up between them. His finger stroked a line above his heart and for a moment her breath caught in her throat. She could see little ruby beads there.

  "For you. Dare to be with me; dare to enter my world and stay with me. I have waited so long for you, sielamet."

  His soul. She loved that. She let him press her face to his chest. She nuzzled all that hot skin. Felt his strength. Tasted a ruby drop. It tasted like ambrosia. Nectar. A spicy, heady potion made just for her. Once her tongue had taken that single drop into her mouth, it set up a craving. His hand pressed her head closer and she took the invitation, her mouth feeding at those drops. Her hands moving over his chest, dropping lower to find his heavy, thick cock so perfectly erect. So ready for her. Her fingers closed around him, thumb sliding through the droplets there, smearing so she could begin a lazy slide with her fist while her mouth took more of his offering.

  He groaned. So sexy. Her body clenched with need. His voice whispered to her, not aloud, but in her mind, more intimate than ever. "Te elidet ainaak pide minan. Te avio palafertiilam. Ainaak sivamet jutta oleny. Ainaak terad vigyazak. Your life will be placed above my own for all time. You are my lifemate. You are bound to me for all eternity. You are always in my care."

  5

  Charlotte cried out when Tariq's fingers stroked low and sinful, building her need beyond anything she had ever known. One hand gently inserted itself between her mouth and his chest; the other pulled at her hair, forcing her head up. He swept his finger across the line on his defined muscles and the ruby drops disappeared. Her head was held in position so that she stared into his blazing eyes. He appeared pure predator. Pure male. His hands cupped the bare cheeks of her bottom and he lifted her easily, his gaze holding her captive, refusing to allow her to look away from him.

  God. God. Those eyes. So incredible. The color was like gemstones, that bright and pure. And then they would blaze with power, or like now, with lust. With possession. She loved that look. No man had ever looked at her as if she were the only woman on earth. The one woman who was his beginning and end. She could barely breathe watching that expression in his eyes deepen. He focused solely on her--as if she were the world. She wanted to stare into his eyes for an eternity. Lost. Cared for.

  "Wrap your legs around my waist and lock your ankles."

  Tariq issued the order in his low, commanding voice. The one she couldn't resist. Velvet soft. A little rough, but sexy rough. His voice made her shiver, sent her stomach rolling in a series of somersaults. Deep inside she was wet, needy. Totally desperate, and in that moment she would have done anything he asked.

  She did as she was told, her hands at his shoulders, fingers biting deep. His hands moved to her hips, and he backed her against a table. She wasn't certain where she was. Not the hall. Hadn't she just been in a hallway with him? For one moment, she tried to look around her. What was she doing? Where was she? Where was everyone else?

  "Charlotte."

  He whispered her name, low, commanding, and her gaze jumped back to his. She had the sensation of falling into his eyes. He mesmerized her with that look. A dark sorcerer holding her captive with his spell, and she didn't ever want to escape. She felt the cool wood on her heated skin as he laid her back on the narrow table, her hips controlled entirely by him, and everything went out of her head again. Every sane thought until there was only Tariq and his incredible eyes, his voice and that perfect, gorgeous body.

  "I cannot be gentle, sielamet, not this time, but I will make it good for you."

  She didn't care. Couldn't care. She needed. Craved. Was burning up without him. He had to hurry. And she told him. Whispering. Pleading. "Hurry. You have to be inside me." There was no other place for him to be. He belonged with her. Inside her. That rough, sexy voice he used only pushed her need higher. Added an edge to the terrible hunger consuming her.

  "Say my name," he ordered. His voice whispered over her skin, causing goose bumps to rise. "Know who your lifemate is."

  She had no idea what a lifemate was, but she wanted to be that for him. She wanted to be anything he wanted. Her nipples were twin tight peaks, her breasts aching and swollen with need. Deep inside tension coiled tighter and tighter.

  "I'm your m
an. Say it, Charlotte Vintage. Say you belong to me and that I belong to you." His rough voice had dropped an octave until it was almost harsh, yet it still carried that sexy, velvet sound that triggered something deep inside her--a need, a hunger--to be with him. To do anything for him. To be whatever he needed.

  She would have said anything to get him inside her, so claiming him wasn't in the least difficult. She wanted that. Wanted him to be hers. "Please hurry, Tariq. I belong to Tariq Asenguard, and he definitely belongs to me." He did belong to her. She felt the truth of that with every ragged breath she took.

  He took her hard. Brutally. One desperate stroke filling her, pushing ruthlessly through tight, scorching-hot muscles, tearing through the thin barrier to fill her with his thick, hard cock. Filling her completely. Stretching her. Burning. A blazing hot stroke of pure erotic pain and pleasure.

  She heard herself scream and it was a mixture of shock, pain, and so much pleasure she hadn't known a woman could feel such a thing. Every nerve ending sizzled with pure fire. And then he was planted in her. Deep. Pulsing. She could feel his heartbeat through his cock, on the walls of her vagina as he waited, taking a breath, giving her time to adjust.

  She couldn't look away from his face, those lines etched deep, the planes and angles carved into a handsome, purely masculine face. His hair was messy, wild even, long and glossy dark. His eyes blazed down into hers and she saw an absolute predator staring down at her. Focused. Brutal. Dominant. Possessive. It should have frightened her, but there was something else in his eyes, something that made her feel absolutely safe with him.

  He'd branded her as his, and she knew he meant it. She could see that in his eyes. She felt it in his touch. So possessive. She'd never done anything like this in her life. Never. But she knew she belonged to him, and she needed him desperately to move. If he didn't move, she was going to go up in flames like a phoenix. Turn to ashes. Nothing left.

  Tariq, watching her face, withdrew and slammed deep, all the while holding her gaze captive with his, judging her reaction to his hard, brutal stroke, and then held still again to give her body time to adjust to his invasion.