Dark Symphony (Dark Series - book 10)

by Christine Feehan

  “Feel how soft you are. Feel what I feel when I touch you. This is you, Antonietta. Beautiful. Perfect. Mine.” Her hands curved around her soft breasts, his hands holding her fingers in place. It was the most erotic thing she’d ever done.

  Keeping her eyes on her reflection in the mirror, she turned her head slightly to send her long, unbound hair cascading around her bare shoulders. Byron’s hands gently began to knead her breasts, using her fingers. His thumb teased and stroked her nipples into hard peaks of blatant desire. Silky hair only heightened the effect on her skin. She couldn’t stop the little moan that escaped from her throat.

  Byron rubbed his shadowed jaw against her neck. “Tell me you are not beautiful. You even feel that way to me.” His hands left hers to drop lower to the waistband of her slacks. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the mirror.

  Antonietta watched her own hands on her breasts, watched his hands unfasten her slacks and slowly peel them from her body. He hooked her thong at the same time, stripping it away to leave her bare. She stepped out of her clothes and just looked in wonder at her legs, the curve of her hips. It didn’t seem possible that that woman in the reflection could be her.

  Byron stood behind her, fully clothed, his hands shaping and caressing the curve of her buttocks. His every touch sent waves of desire flooding her until she squirmed with need. She watched his hands move around her thighs, his long fingers stroking so close to that small triangle. Her muscles clenched, her knees went weak. His teeth nibbled on her shoulder, went to her neck. His tongue tasted her frantic pulse, swirled and glided. All the while his eyes were open. Watching her. Allowing her to watch.

  “I am going to move around you. For a moment your vision will blur, but then my memories will be your memories, and you will see us together.” His hands slid up her body to once more cup her breasts.

  “Take your clothes off, Byron. I want to see you.” She sounded breathless even to her own ears.

  “I do not see me in quite the way I would want you to see me.” There was a trace of self-mockery in his tone, but right there, in front of the mirror with her watching, he shed his clothes in the manner of his people.

  Antonietta gasped. “How did you do that?”

  “I am Carpathian. Clothes are fashioned from natural fibers or simply illusion, whichever is easiest.”

  He tried to look at himself objectively, to see his body the way a woman might see it and be pleased. His muscles were subtle but defined. His shoulders broad, hips narrow. His erection was large and thick and eager to find its way deep inside of her. There was a small silence while he waited for her response. When it came, he was unprepared for it. The flood of sexual excitement. The pouring of heat into her body, into her mind. The pleasure at seeing his naked body.

  He stepped to her side, careful to keep looking at his own reflection. His fingers were long, the hands of an artist. He never noticed it before, but against her skin, he could see the shape and size.

  “You’re beautiful, Byron.” She watched her arm go up, her fingers twisting in his long, black hair. “I can’t believe I’m really seeing us. I don’t want it to end yet.”

  “I’m moving around in front of you. Keep your eyes on the mirror and your mind firmly merged with mine. Expect the blurring and distortion, but it will not last.” He moved around in front of her, watching himself over his shoulder. He saw the firm muscle of his buttocks flex and contract, felt her surge of damp heat and heightened pleasure. His gaze dropped to her breasts.

  Antonietta swayed, closed her eyes, but she couldn’t block out the strange, dizzy feeling assaulting her. Shadows and edges blended. She wanted to cry out a protest. His tongue lapped at her nipple. Once. Twice. He drew her breast into his mouth, suckling strongly, teasing her nipple with his tongue. Her body nearly convulsed, and she wrapped her arms around his head and stared at the gray and black shadows in the mirrors while wave after wave of sensation swamped her.

  She saw them together the images so clear in his mind. Byron feeding at her breast. Devouring her body Ravenous for her and making no apologies. His hands moved over her, his fingers splayed wide to take in every bit of skin he could find. He stroked and caressed her, his hands cupping her breasts, then her buttocks, then gliding over her stomach to nestle his fingers in the tight, black curls.

  “I don’t care if I am a cat in heat,” she said, widening her stance for him in invitation.

  He spent time lavishing attention on her breasts while liquid heat trickled on the inside of her thigh. Until she was hot and wet and couldn’t stop moving her hips in sheer frustration. When his mouth left her breast, she cried out a protest, but then watched, fascinated, as his mouth drifted, feathered down her body to her waist, lower still to her navel. He stayed there a few moments, his tongue lapping gently, his hand cupping the heat between her thighs.

  “I can hardly breathe.” She wanted him so much. Her hands moved constantly, finding every defined muscle, wanting to touch him even while her mind saw them together. “I’m burning up, Byron.”

  She watched as he knelt in front of her and without haste, wrapped his arms around her hips, forcing her body to him. Her mind nearly exploded with scent and taste and sensation rocketing through their merged senses, their merged brains. She heard her own small scream as his tongue stabbed deep, pushed inside of her.

  Antonietta caught two fistfuls of hair, held him to her, pushed her hips into him, tears running down her face. Their shared intimacy amplified her sexual need tenfold. She felt his heavy fullness. The gathering pressure that threatened to blow the top of his head off. She felt his possessive nature. The implacable resolve to hold her to him, to bind her for all eternity. Two halves of the same whole. His hunger for her. His need of her. His need to convert her, fully bring her over.

  She tried to hold on to that strange thought, but her body imploded, a vicious, wild orgasm that took her into another dimension. Her vision was gone as he swept her into his arms, carried her across the floor into her bedroom. Antonietta gasped for breath, her muscles convulsing as he thrust into her.

  He filled her completely, driving deep, his hands gripping her hips, holding her still while he surged forward relentlessly, mercilessly, demanding she take every inch of him. Skin to skin. Heart to heart. He took her body and gave her his as if he were possessed. Craving her. Never getting enough. As if it could never be enough.

  Antonietta didn’t want to relinquish her hold on his mind. He was everywhere, in her, surrounding her, a part of her. When she was alone, in her wildest dreams, with her fingers on the keys of her piano, she allowed the intensity of her passion to pour through her, to envision such a joining between man and woman. Whatever strange needs her body had plagued her with throughout the evening, all the suffering was worth it for the time she spent in his arms.

  She clung to him, held on tightly as he surged deep and strong inside of her. She wanted him deeper still where the fierce pressure gathered and built until she was burning, a firestorm she couldn’t control. “Byron.” She whispered his name as her muscles tightened around him, gripped convulsively. As he shuddered with the effort to hang on. One long stroke sent them both careening over the edge.

  They clung to one another, fighting for air, fighting to calm their pounding hearts. Byron didn’t move, his body melting into hers. They lay locked together as they were meant to be.

  Antonietta. My love. I love you very much.

  She knew his face now, even more vividly than she had before. Every detail was etched in her memory, both from her fingertips and seeing him through his eyes. His whisper was against her throat. His words found their way straight to her heart. Antonietta feared she was very much in love with her dark poet. She slipped her arms around him, holding him to her, not wanting him ever to leave her. All through the night she held him close. Each time he woke her to make love to her again, she turned to him eagerly. She loved the soft whispers and shared laughter, and she didn’t want their time ever to end.

>   Chapter 11

  Antonietta woke to the knowledge she was in danger. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her body, her heart pounded in terror. She fumbled at the nightstand for her dark glasses to cover her eyes even as her mind reached for Byron. She found a dark, black void instead of comfort. Her lungs burned for air. Where was he? And what manner of monster prowled just outside her windows, seeking a way in.

  Byron.

  She called his name sharply. Imperiously.

  Where the hell is my white knight when I’m in danger? Wake up!

  Predatory eyes watched her with a single, focused purpose. Antonietta could feel the burning malice in the stare. With a slow, unhurried movement, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Drawing the sheet up to her chin, her hand went out instinctively to the dog. The borzoi remained absolutely silent, but she could feel the tension vibrating in the animal’s body. Celt was on the alert, his posture that of a hunter. It was night, Antonietta didn’t know how she knew, but it was definitely night. Once again she had slept away the day. Something terrible and dangerous prowled outside on her balcony, looking for a way into her home. A dark malevolence poured into her room.

  I am with you. Stay connected to Celt.

  Byron sounded calm.

  Something heavy thudded against the stained glass. Pushing relentlessly, steadily, scratching to get in. The dog bounded to the window, a ferocious protector rushing with teeth bared and ready. The breathing coming from behind the thick walls was a terrible thing to hear. It sounded like air rushing through a tunnel. The footfalls should have been silent, but Antonietta could hear the soft padding across the balcony, the nails scraping on her windowsill.

  It’s at the window, trying to get in. I can’t hold Celt back. He’s pacing between the windows. I’m afraid, Byron.

  Antonietta pulled on her robe. She smelled the pungent odor of the large, heavy cat and wanted to gag.

  It wants me. Not just anyone, but me. I’m not being hysterical. I can feel it reaching for me.

  Her body itched beneath the skin, much like it had when she had been so terrified as a child, knowing a bomb was on her parents’ yacht. Her senses sharpened even more. There was clarity in her mind and a tunnel narrowing to take in and amplify every sound. Colors shimmered, reds and yellows, brilliant and vivid and blinding. Antonietta couldn’t shut them out. She was seeing with another part of her, not her eyes, and the colors remained in her mind. The colors took on the blurry but recognizable form of a large animal. Bright splashes of red at its chest and abdomen, surrounded by shades of orange fading to a perimeter of glowing yellow. She watched a paw print, pale yellow fade to blue and disappear and realized she was seeing body heat. Thermal images as the animal went from window to window, pawing and scratching and digging to get in.

  I have it now. Jaguar. Large one. Celt is tracking its movements. Get out of the room. Go downstairs into Franco’s wing and remain with him until I reach you. I am on my way.

  Antonietta didn’t need to be told. The sheer malevolence coming from outside the thick walls of the palazzo was alarming. She could feel black hatred. A need to rend and kill. “Celt, come with me.” She yanked open the door.

  The cat yowled. A nasty note that climbed to a high-pitched scream of rage. Sensing she was getting away, it slammed its body against the stained glass nearest the door. She heard the terrible thud as the heavy body rammed the glass and lead in a determined effort to gain entrance. There was the ominous sound of something cracking. Celt growled low in his throat. Antonietta heard a crunch as the borzoi closed its great jaws over something she was afraid to identify. She felt, more than heard, the dog shake its head savagely.

  Get out of there. He will hold the cat at the window. Close the door behind you. I won’t leave Celt alone in here. The jaguar is evil. I feel it.

  She wanted to drag the dog out, but no amount of coaxing or commanding could call him from the window.

  Do as I command.

  Byron used a soft voice, pitched low, one that cut deep into her mind and forced obedience when her entire nature insisted she couldn’t leave her dog behind to face evil.

  Byron exploded out of the earth, a black vapor cloud streaming relentlessly through the sky. One part of his mind followed Antonietta’s progress through the palazzo, down the sweeping stairs and through the long rows of rooms toward the wing where Franco and Marita resided. Another part of him stayed connected with Celt. The borzoi locked on to the muzzle of the cat, slashed and crunched and let go, springing back. The jaguar retreated with a hideous screech of pain.

  The dog tracked the cat across to the far window. Outside, on the balcony, the jaguar leapt to the roof, scrambled for purchase, and jumped up to the battlements, running across the narrow ledge to reach the tower. Celt lost sight of the cat. The borzoi tracked back and forth between the windows several times.

  Go to her. I will hunt.

  Byron knew he was too late. The cat had a head start. Apparently some internal warning system had alerted the creature that a predator was stalking. Byron could only hope for a lead, a small mistake to give him an idea where the jaguar’s lair was. The scent and trail would be fresh. He had no choice but to uncover the newest danger to Antonietta. Why did they all want her dead?

  The borzoi easily opened the door to Antonietta’s quarters and unerringly followed her scent through the palazzo, bringing a measure of relief to Byron. He turned his full attention to hunting the jaguar. The cat had to have a lair somewhere, unless it was a member of Antonietta’s family. If that were the case, it might double back and enter the palazzo in human form.

  If it is one of my cousins as you so clearly suspect, why wouldn’t they simply shift inside the palazzo and attack me from within? And don’t think you’re going to get away with sending me from my room without Celt. We’re going to have a long discussion about boundaries.

  He ignored her comment, focusing on her intentions.

  What are you thinking, Antonietta? Do not dare to search the palazzo. Don’t you see? If the cat is out there, and my cousins are all in their rooms, it can’t be one of them. I’m going to check on Franco and Marita, and if they’re here, I’ll check on Paul and Tasha.

  Byron swore eloquently in several languages.

  You will do no such thing. Where is that dog? Why is he not with you? He’s here, and stop fussing at me.

  Antonietta knocked on her cousin’s door. Although dark, it was early enough in the evening that everyone should be up.

  Byron! For heaven’s sake. Did you invite your family to the palazzo for dinner tonight?

  How could she have forgotten? She had told Helena the night before but hadn’t checked with her to see if everything was going smoothly.

  As soon as you asked me. Do not worry. I can easily un-invite them. For all of our sakes, it may be best. I would rather your family not be exposed to young Josef. No. Don’t you dare uninvite them. I’m not going to allow a wild animal to scare me away from my chance at meeting your family.

  Franco opened the door, startling her. “Have you come to see Margurite? She’s better today. I brought her a computer, and I think it is the perfect idea to entertain her.” He kissed his cousin’s cheek as he drew her inside. “She’ll love to see your dog. Both children are already wild about him.”

  “Where’s Marita?” Antonietta asked as she waved to Vincente and crossed the room to kiss Margurite. Celt pushed his nose against the child in a display of affection.

  “She’s probably out looking for computer educational software,” Franco said. “She’s been agitated ever since she stumbled upon that…” He glanced down at his daughter. “You know. She’s been upset.”

  “It was a frightening experience for her.”

  “And she’s so sensitive and highly strung.”

  Volatile.

  The word was in her mind before she could censor it. She heard the echo of Byron’s instant agreement.

  “I forgot to let you know Byron’s f
amily is in the area, and I’ve invited them to dinner this evening. If you’re able, I would very much like you and your family to join us.” She caught Margurite’s hand. “How are you feeling,

  cara

  ? Does it hurt much?”

  Margurite shook her head. “Byron comes in at night and does something when I’m crying, and then my leg doesn’t hurt anymore. It works better than the medicine that makes me sleepy.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Franco said.

  “You’re asleep,” Margurite pointed out with childlike candor.

  “Byron is even more skilled than I when it comes to taking away pain,” Antonietta explained. “I have to see to the details of tonight’s dinner, but I wanted to make certain you knew we were having company.”

  Franco laughed. “The staff might take you seriously if you weren’t in your bathrobe, Antonietta. More and more you are sleeping the day away. You artists enjoy keeping strange hours.”

  “So true.” She kissed him lightly. “But you love us anyway.”

  “Yes, I do. Thank Byron for helping Margurite. And we will be at your dinner party, giving you full Scarletti support. Have no worries.”

  “Can Celt stay with me?” Margurite asked.

  Deep inside of her, she could feel Byron still and waiting. He didn’t protest. He didn’t object, but she felt him hold his breath. His concern made her feel cherished. “I’ll ask him if he’d like to visit a little later,” Antonietta promised the child. “I need him just a bit longer.” Her hand dropped to caress the dog’s silky ears. The borzoi did give her more independence. She would never have entered Franco’s quarters without taking him, afraid the furniture was moved in one of Marita’s frenzied decorating schemes, or that the children had left their toys out. Celt simply steered her around all objects without seeming to do so.