Dark Prince (Author's cut special edition)

by Christine Feehan

  And then the man beside her leaned forward, looked into her eyes, raw longing on his face, desire in his eyes. “Come for a walk with me, Raven,” he suggested, and his hand moved from the table to rest just above her knee.

  At once the pain in Raven’s head increased, crushing at her skull, stabbing at her behind her eyes. She jerked her leg out from under Jacob’s hand. Demons leaped, raged, burst free. Never had Mikhail felt such terrible fury. It rushed over him, claimed him, became him. That someone could hurt her like that, so casually, without even knowing or caring. That someone might touch her while she was so vulnerable and unprotected. That a man would presume to put his hands on her. He hurtled through the sky, the cool air fanning his rage.

  Raven felt the force of his anger. The air in the room thickened; outside, the wind rose, whirled fiendishly. Branches pelted the outside walls; the wind rattled ominously at the windows. Several waiters crossed themselves, looking with fright out into the black, suddenly starless night. The room was unexpectedly, strangely silent, as if everyone was collectively holding his and her breath.

  Jacob gasped, both hands going to his throat, tearing at it as if at strong, strangling fingers. His face was first red, then mottled, his eyes bulging. Shelly screamed. A young waiter ran to assist the choking man. People were standing, craning their necks to see what was happening.

  Raven forced calm into her slender body. Emotions were running far too high for her to remain unscathed. Release him.

  Silence answered her. Even with the waiter behind him, desperately working at the Heimlich maneuver, Jacob fell to his knees, his lips blue, his eyes rolling back in his head.

  Please, I’m asking you, please. Release him. For me.

  Jacob suddenly inhaled, a terrible gagging sound, labored and harsh. His sister and Margaret Summers crouched at his side, tears in their eyes. Instinctively, Raven moved toward the fallen man.

  Do not touch him! The command was stark, without any mental enhancement, more frightening than if he had forced her compliance.

  Raven was besieged with emotion, from everyone in the room. Jacob’s pain and terror. Shelly’s fear, the innkeeper’s horror, the other Americans’ shocked reaction. The frightening sensations were swamping her, beating at her already fragile state. But it was his all-consuming rage that sent needles shooting through her head. Her stomach heaved, cramped, and Raven nearly doubled over, looking around desperately for the ladies’ room. If anyone touched her, tried to come to her aid, she might go mad.

  “Raven.” The voice was warm, sensual, caressing. Calm in the eye of the storm. Black velvet. Beautiful. Soothing. She knew that voice at once.

  A curious hush fell in the dining room as Mikhail strode in. He had a hard arrogance about him, an air of complete command. He was tall, dark, well muscled, but it was his eyes, burning with energy, with darkness, with a thousand secrets, that drew immediate attention. Those eyes could mesmerize, hypnotize, just like the power in his voice. He moved with purpose, sending waiters scurrying out of the way.

  “Mikhail, it is such a pleasure to have you join us,” the innkeeper gasped in surprise.

  He spared the woman a glance, his eyes sweeping over her buxom figure. “I have come for Raven. We have a date this evening.” He said it softly, imperiously, and no one dared argue with him. “She has challenged me to a game of chess.”

  The innkeeper nodded her head as she broke into a smile. “Enjoy yourselves.”

  Raven swayed, pressing her hands into her stomach. Her sapphire eyes were enormous, taking up her face at his approach. He was on her before she could move, his hands reaching out for her.

  Don’t. She closed her eyes, terrified of his touch. She was already on overload; she would not be able to take the overpowering emotions radiating from him.

  Mikhail didn’t hesitate, gathering her into his arms, imprisoning her against his hard chest. His face was a granite mask as he whirled around and took her from the room. Behind them the buzzing started, the hushed whispers.

  Raven tensed, waiting for the battery on her senses, but he had closed his mind and all she knew was the enormous strength of his arms. He took her into the night, moving fluidly, easily, as if her weight was of no consequence.

  “Breathe, little one; it will help.” There was a trace of amusement in the warmth of his voice.

  Raven did as he suggested, too worn out to struggle. She had come here to this wild, lonely place to heal, but instead she was all the more fragmented. She opened her eyes cautiously, looking up at him through long lashes.

  His hair was the color of dark coffee beans, a dark espresso, drawn back and tied at the nape of his neck. His face was that of an angel or a devil, strength and power, with a sensual mouth that hinted at cruelty; his hooded eyes were black obsidian, black ice, pure black magic.

  She couldn’t read him, couldn’t feel his emotions or hear his thoughts. That had never happened to her before. “Put me down. I feel silly with you carrying me off like some pirate.”

  His long strides were taking them into deep forest. Branches swayed, bushes rustled. Her heart was beating out of control. She tensed, pushed against his shoulders, struggled uselessly.

  His eyes moved possessively over her face, but his pace didn’t slow, and he didn’t answer her. It was humiliating that he didn’t appear to notice her struggles.

  Raven allowed her head to fall back against his shoulder with a slight sigh. “Did you kidnap me or rescue me?”

  Strong white teeth gleamed at her, a predator’s smile, a man’s amusement. “Perhaps a little of both.”

  “Where are you taking me?” She pressed a hand to her forehead, not wanting a battle, physical or mental.

  “To my home. We have a date. I am Mikhail Dubrinsky.”

  Raven rubbed at her temple. “Tonight might not be so good for me. I’m feeling . . .” She broke off, catching a glimpse of a moving shadow pacing them. Her heart nearly stopped. She looked around, sighted a second, then a third. Her hand clutched his shoulder. “Put me down, Dubrinsky.”

  “Mikhail,” he corrected, not even slowing down. A smile softened the edges of his mouth. “You see the wolves?” She felt the indifferent shrug of his broad shoulders. “Be calm, little one; they will not harm us. This is their home, as it is mine. We have an understanding and are at peace with one another.”

  Somehow she believed him. “Are you going to hurt me?” She asked the question softly, needing to know.

  His dark eyes touched her face again, thoughtful, holding a thousand secrets, unmistakably possessive. “I am not a man who would hurt a woman in the way you are imagining. But I am certain our relationship will not always be a comfortable one. You like to defy me.” He answered as honestly as he was able.

  His eyes made her feel as if she belonged to him, as if he had a right to her. “You were wrong to hurt Jacob, you know. You could have killed him.”

  “Do not defend him, little one. I allowed him to live to please you, but it would be no trouble to finish the task.”

  Pleasurable even to feel his hands around the man’s throat. No one had the right to put his hand on Mikhail’s woman and hurt her as that human had done. The inability of the male to see that he was causing Raven pain did not absolve his sin.

  “You don’t mean that. Jacob is harmless. He was attracted to me,” she tried to explain gently.

  “You will not speak his name to me. He touched you, put his hands on you.” He stopped walking abruptly, there in the heart of the deep forest, as wild and untamed as the pack of wolves surrounding them. He was not even breathing heavily, though he had covered miles carrying her in his arms. His black eyes were merciless as they stared down into hers. “He caused you much pain.”

  Her breath caught in her throat as he lowered his dark head to hers. His mouth hovered inches from hers, so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “Do not disobey me in this, Raven. This man touched you, hurt you, and I see no reason for his existence.” />
  Her eyes searched his hard, implacable features. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” She did not want to feel the warmth spreading through her at his words. Jacob had hurt her; the pain was so intense it had stolen her breath, and somehow, when no one else knew, Mikhail had known.

  “Deadly serious.” He began moving again with his long, ground-eating strides.

  Raven was silent, trying to work out the puzzle. She knew evil, had chased it, soaked in it, the obscene, depraved mind of a serial killer. This man spoke casually of killing, and she believed absolutely that he was capable of doing exactly what he said, yet she could not feel evil in him. She sensed that she was in danger, grave danger from Mikhail Dubrinsky. A man with unlimited power, arrogant in his strength, a man who believed he had a right to her.

  “Mikhail?” Her slender frame was beginning to tremble. “I want to go back.”

  The dark eyes drifted over her face again, noting the shadows, the fear lingering in her blue gaze. Her heart was pounding, her slight body trembling in his arms. “Go back to what? Death? Isolation? You have nothing with those people and everything with me. Going back is not your answer. Sooner or later you will not be able to take their demands. They continually take pieces of your soul. You are much safer in my care.”

  She pushed at the wall of his chest, found her hands trapped against the heat of his skin. He merely tightened his hold, amusement spreading warmth to the coldness of his eyes. “You cannot fight me, Raven.”

  “I want to go back, Mikhail.” She worked to keep her voice under control. She wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. She feared he knew the truth before she even knew it. He was inside her mind, felt what she felt. He knew the price she paid for her gift. The pull between them was so strong, she could hardly think straight.

  The house loomed up, dark, threatening, a rambling hulk of stone. Her fingers twisted in his shirt. Mikhail knew she was unaware of that nervous, telltale gesture. “You are safe with me, Raven. I would not allow anyone or anything to harm you.”

  She swallowed nervously as he pushed open the heavy iron gates and mounted the steps. “Just you.” She said it under her breath, but knew he heard her.

  He allowed his chin to brush the top of her silky hair, feeling the jolt in the core of his body. “Welcome to my home.” He said the words softly, wrapping her up in them as if they were firelight or sunshine. Very slowly, reluctantly, he allowed her feet to touch the threshold.

  Mikhail reached past her to open the door, then stepped back. “Do you enter my home of your own free will?” He asked it formally, his eyes burning on her face, over it, dwelling on her soft mouth before returning to her large blue eyes.

  She was frightened, he could read it easily, a captive wild thing wanting to trust him yet unable to, run to the ground, cornered, but still willing to fight with her last breath. She needed him almost as much as he needed her. She touched the door frame with a fingertip. “If I say no, will you take me back to the inn?”

  Why did she want to be with him when she knew he was so dangerous? He wasn’t pushing her; she had too much talent of her own not to know. He looked so alone, so proud, yet his eyes burned over her with hungry need. He didn’t answer her, didn’t try to persuade her, simply stood in silence, waiting.

  Raven sighed softly, knowing she was defeated She had never known another human being she could just sit and talk with, even touch, without the bombardment of thoughts and emotions. That in itself was a type of seduction.

  She started across the threshold. Mikhail caught her arm. “Your own free will; say it.”

  “My own free will.” She stepped into his home, her lashes sweeping down. Raven missed the look of savage joy that lit his dark, chiseled features, but she felt the floor shift beneath her feet. An old, obscure myth rose up to haunt her. Never enter the home of a vampire of your own free will. It gives him power over you.

  Shivering, she turned as if she might step back across that ancient threshold. The heavy door swung closed behind Raven with a thud of finality. She shivered again, and rubbed her arms nervously. What was she thinking? That he was a legend, a myth? Some creature stepping out of the pages of a novel? Frowning, she shook her head to clear her thoughts.

  Mikhail whirled a cape around her, enveloping her in warmth, in his woodsy, masculine scent. He strode across the marble floor to throw open the doors to the library. Within minutes he had a fire roaring. He indicated a chair near the flames. It was high-backed, deep-cushioned, an antique, yet curiously not worn.

  Raven studied the room with awe. It was large, with a beautiful hardwood floor, each parquet tile a part of a larger mosaic. On three sides there were floor-to-ceiling shelves, completely filled with books, most leather-bound, many very old. The chairs were comfortable, the small table between the chairs an antique in perfect condition. The chessboard was marble, the pieces uniquely carved.

  “Drink this.”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when he appeared beside her with a crystal glass. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

  He smiled the smile that made her heart beat faster. His acute sense of smell had already processed that particular bit of information about her. “It is not alcohol; it is an herb mixture for your headache.”

  Alarm slammed into her. She was crazy for being here. It was like trying to relax with a wild tiger in the room. He could do anything to her, and no one would come to help. If he drugged her . . . Decisively, she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “Raven.” His voice was low, caressing, hypnotic. “Obey me.”

  She found her fingers curling around the glass. She fought the order, and pain sliced through her head so that she cried out.

  Mikhail was at her side, looming over her, his hand closing over hers around the fragile glass. “Why do you defy me over so trivial a thing?”

  There were tears burning in her throat. “Why would you force me?”

  His hand found her throat, circled it, lifted her chin. “Because you are in pain, and I wish to ease it.”

  Her eyes widened in astonishment. Could it be so simple? She was in pain, and he wanted to ease it? Was he really that protective, or did he enjoy imposing his will? “It’s my choice. That’s what free will is all about.”

  “I can see pain in your eyes, feel it in your body. Knowing I can help you, is it logical for me to allow you to continue to hurt yourself just so you can prove something?” There was genuine puzzlement in his voice. “Raven, if I was going to harm you, I would not need to drug you. Allow me to help you.” Asking her cost him nothing but a heartbeat of time. If she didn’t comply, well, he was going to ensure the pain stopped one way or another.

  His thumb moved over her skin, feather-light, sensuous, tracing the pulse in her neck as though fascinated by it, moved over the delicate line of her jaw, and stroked the fullness of her lower lip.

  She closed her eyes and let him put the glass to her mouth, tilt the bittersweet contents down her throat. She felt as if she were placing her life in his hands. There was far too much possession in his touch.

  “Relax, little one,” he said softly. “Tell me about yourself. How is it that you can hear my thoughts?” His strong fingers found her temples and began a soothing rhythm.

  “I’ve always been able to hear thoughts, especially if they’re very strong. When I was little, I just assumed everybody else could do the same thing. But it was terrible to know other people’s innermost thoughts, their secrets. I heard and felt things every minute of the day.”

  As a rule, Raven never talked about her life, her childhood, to anyone, least of all a complete stranger. Yet Mikhail didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like a part of her. A piece missing from her soul. It seemed important to tell him. “My father thought I was a freak, a demon child, and even my mother was a little afraid of me. I learned never to touch people, not to be in crowds. It was better to be alone, in places of solitude. It was the only way I could stay sane.”

  Gleaming teeth bare
d above her head, a predator’s menace. He wanted to be alone with her father for a few minutes, to show him what a demon really was. It interested him, yet alarmed him, that her words could bring about such rage in him. To know she was alone so long ago, had endured pain and loneliness when he was in the world, angered him. Why hadn’t he gone looking for her? Why hadn’t her father loved and cherished her as he should have?

  His hands worked magic, slipping to the nape of her neck, his fingers strong, hypnotic.

  She continued, mostly because those strong fingers were mesmerizing—and relaxing. “A few years ago a man was murdering families, small children. I was staying with a friend from high school, and when I returned after work, I found them all dead. When I went into the house, I could feel his evil, and I knew his thoughts. It made me sick, the terrible things running around in my head, but I was able to track him and finally led the police to him.”

  His hands smoothed down the length of her thick braid, found the tie, and loosened the heavy mass of silk, tunneling his fingers to release the woven strands, still damp from her shower hours before. “How many times did you do this thing?”

  He knew she was leaving things out. The details of horror and pain, the faces of those she helped as they watched her work, shocked, fascinated, yet repulsed by her ability. He saw those details, sharing her mind, reading her memories to learn her true nature.

  “Four. I went after four killers. The last time I fell apart. He was so sick, so evil. I felt as if I were unclean, as if I could never get him out of my head. I came here hoping to find peace. I decided I would never do anything like that again.”

  Mikhail, above her head, closed his eyes for a moment to calm his mind. It shocked and saddened him that she could feel unclean. He could look into her heart and soul, see her every secret, know she was light and compassion, courage and gentleness. The things she had seen in her young life should never have been. He waited until his voice was calm and soothing. “And you get these headaches if you use telepathic communication?” At her solemn nod, he continued, “Yet when you heard me, unguarded, in pain, you reached out to me, knowing the price you would pay.”