Dark Prince (Author's cut special edition)

by Christine Feehan

  How could she explain? He was like a wounded animal, radiating so much pain that she had found tears streaming unchecked down her face. His loneliness was hers. His isolation, hers. She even realized that on some level, he hadn’t believed he was experiencing real pain and loneliness, that he thought himself incapable of those feelings. She had also sensed his resolve to end his pain, his existence. She could not let that happen, no matter what the cost to herself.

  Mikhail let out his breath slowly, astonished and shocked by her nature, so giving. She was hesitant to put into words why she had reached out to him, but he knew it was her nature to give. He also knew the call had been so strong because that something in him that reached for her had found whatever it needed. He inhaled her scent, taking her into his body, enjoying the sight and smell of her in his home, the feel of her silky hair in his hands, her soft skin under his fingertips. The flames from the fire put blue lights in her hair. Need slammed into him, hard and urgent, and as painful as the ache was, he reveled in the fact that he could feel it.

  Mikhail seated himself across the small table from her, his eyes drifting lazily, possessively, over her alluring curves. “Why do you dress in men’s clothes?” he asked.

  She laughed, soft and melodious, and her eyes lit with mischief. “Because I knew it would annoy you.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. Real, genuine, incredible laughter. There was happiness in him, and the stirrings of affection. He couldn’t remember what those feelings were like, but the emotions were sharp and clear and a sweet ache in his body.

  “Is it necessary to annoy me?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him, realizing that her headache was completely gone. “So easy,” Raven teased.

  He leaned closer. “Disrespectful woman. So dangerous, you mean.”

  “Mmm, maybe that, too.” She slid her hand through her hair, pushed it away from her face. The action was an innocent habit, incredibly sexy, drawing his gaze to the perfection of her face, the fullness of her breasts, the smooth line of her throat.

  “So just how good a chess player are you?” she challenged impudently.

  An hour later Mikhail leaned back in his chair to watch her face as she studied the board. She was frowning in concentration, trying to puzzle out his unfamiliar strategy. She could sense that he was leading her into a trap, but she couldn’t find it. Raven leaned her chin on the heel of her hand, relaxed, in no hurry. She was patient and thorough and twice had gotten him into trouble simply because he was too sure of himself.

  Suddenly her eyes widened, a slow smile curving her soft mouth. “You are a cunning devil, aren’t you, Mikhail? But I think your cleverness may have gotten you into a bit of trouble.”

  He watched her with hooded eyes. His teeth gleamed white in the firelight. “Did I happen to mention, Miss Whitney, that the last person impertinent enough to beat me at chess was thrown in the dungeon and tortured for thirty years?”

  “I believe that would have made you about two at the time,” she teased, her eyes glued to the chessboard.

  He sucked in his breath sharply. He had been comfortable in her presence, felt totally accepted. She obviously believed he was mortal, with superior telepathic powers. Mikhail lazily reached across the board to make his move, saw the dawning comprehension in her eyes. “I believe what we have is checkmate,” he said silkily.

  “I should have known a man who walks in the forest surrounded by wolves would be devious.” She smiled up at him. “Great game, Mikhail. I really enjoyed it.” Raven sank back into the cushions of the chair. “Can you talk to animals?” she asked curiously.

  He liked her in his home, liked the way the fire burned blue in her hair and the way the shadows clung so lovingly to her face. He had memorized every inch of her feminine features, knew that if he closed his eyes, the picture would still be there, the high, delicate cheekbones, her small nose and lush mouth. “Yes.” He answered truthfully, not wanting lies between them.

  “Would you have killed Jacob?”

  Her lashes were beautiful and held his attention. “Be careful of what you ask, little one,” he cautioned. “I would give you the truth.”

  She curled her legs beneath her, regarded him steadily. “You know, Mikhail, you are so used to using your power, you don’t even stop to think if it’s right or wrong.”

  “He had no right to touch you. He was causing you pain.”

  “But he didn’t know he was. And you had no right to touch me, but you did anyway,” she pointed out reasonably.

  His eyes glittered, arctic cold, dangerously predatory. “I have every right. You belong to me.” He said it calmly, his voice soft, with a hint of warning. His eyes gave away more than his tone. “More important, Raven, I did not cause you pain.”

  Raven’s breath caught in her throat. Her tongue moistened her lips with a small, delicate gesture. “Mikhail.” Her voice was hesitant, as she chose her words carefully. “I belong to myself. I’m a person, not something you can own. In any case, I live in the United States. I’m going back there soon and intend to be on the next train to Budapest.”

  His smile was that of a hunter. Predatory. For a moment the firelight gleamed red, so that his eyes glowed like a wolf’s in the night. He said nothing, simply watched her unblinkingly.

  Her hand fluttered defensively to her throat. “It’s late, I should be going.”

  She could hear the pounding of her own heart. What was it she wanted from him? She didn’t know, only that this was the most perfect, frightening night of her life, and she wanted to see him again. He was utterly motionless, menacing in his complete stillness. She waited breathlessly. Fear was suffocating her, sending tremors through her slender form. Fear he would let her go; fear he would force her to stay.

  She drew air into her lungs. “Mikhail, I don’t know what you want.” She didn’t know what she wanted either.

  He stood up then, power and grace combined. His shadow reached her before he did. His strength was enormous, but his touch was gentle as he pulled her to her feet. His hands slid up her arms, rested lightly on her shoulders, thumbs stroking the pulse in her neck. His touch sent warmth curling in her abdomen.

  She was so small beside him, so fragile and vulnerable. “Do not try to leave me, little one. We need one another.” His dark head bent lower, his mouth brushing her eyelids, sending little darts of fire licking along her skin. “You make me remember what living is,” he whispered in his mesmerizing voice. His mouth found the corner of hers, and a jolt of electricity sizzled through her body.

  Raven reached up to touch the shadowed line of his jaw, to place a hand on the heavy muscles of his chest in an attempt to put space between them. “Listen to me, Mikhail.” Her voice was husky. “We both know what loneliness is, what real isolation can do to a person. It’s beyond my imagination that I can be this close to you, physically touch you, and not be swamped with unwanted burdens. But we can’t do this.”

  Amusement crept into the dark fire of his eyes, a hint of tenderness. His fingers curled around the nape of her neck. “Oh, I think we can.” His black velvet voice was pure seduction, his smile frankly sensual.

  Raven felt his power right down to her toes. Her body went boneless, liquid, aching. She was so close to him that she felt a part of him, surrounded by him, enveloped by him. “I’m not going to sleep with someone I don’t know because I’m lonely.”

  He laughed softly, low and amused. “Is that what you think? That you would be sleeping with me because you are lonely?” His hand was at her throat again, stroking, caressing, heating her blood. “This is why you will make love with me. This.” His mouth fastened on hers.

  White heat. Blue lightning. The ground shifted and rolled. Mikhail dragged her slender form against his male length, his body aggressive, his mouth dominating, sweeping her into a world of pure feeling.

  Raven could only cling to him, a safe anchor in a storm of turbulent emotions. A growl rumbled deep in his throat, animal, feral, like that
of an aroused wolf. His mouth moved to the soft, vulnerable line of her throat, down to rest on the pulse beating so frantically beneath her satin skin.

  Mikhail’s arms tightened, pinning her to his body, possessive, certain, his hold unbreakable. Raven was on fire, needing, burning, hot silk in his arms, her body pliant, liquid heat. She was moving against him restlessly, her breasts aching, nipples pushing erotically against the thin yarn of her sweater.

  His thumb brushed her nipple through the crocheted lace, sending waves of heat curling through her body, making her knees go weak so that only the hard strength of his arms held her up. His mouth moved again, his tongue like a flame licking over her pulse.

  And then there was white-hot heat, searing pain, her body coiling with need, burning for him, craving him. Waves of desire beat at her. His mouth on her neck was producing a combination of pleasure and pain so intense that she didn’t know where one started and the other left off. His thumb tipped her head back, exposing her throat, his mouth clamped to her skin, his throat working as if he were devouring her, feeding on her, drinking her in. It burned, yet fed her own craving.

  Mikhail whispered something in his native tongue and lifted his head slightly, breaking the contact. Raven felt warm liquid run down her throat to her breast. Mikhail’s tongue followed the path, sweeping across the creamy swell of her breast. Mikhail caught at her small waist, aware suddenly of the way his body raged at him for release. An animal’s hunger, so intensified he burned out of control. He had to have her right then; every instinct he possessed rose up to claim her for his mate.

  A wave of dizziness swept over Raven, and she clutched at his shirt to keep from falling. He swore softly, eloquently, a mixture of two languages, furious with himself as he cradled her in his arms protectively.

  “I’m sorry, Mikhail.” Raven was appalled, frightened at her weakness. The room was spinning; it was difficult to focus. Her neck throbbed and burned.

  He bent his dark head to kiss her gently. “No, little one, I am moving us too fast.” Everything in his nature, beast and centuries-old Carpathian, raged at him to take what was his, to keep her, but he wanted her to come to him willingly.

  “I feel funny, dizzy.”

  He had been that little bit out of control, the beast in him hungry to put his mark on her, hungry for the sweet taste of her. His body was on fire, demanding release. Discipline and control fought with his instinctual predatory nature and won. He breathed away the animal instincts, and carried her to the chair beside the fire. She deserved a courtship, deserved to know him, to come to feel affection if not love for him before he bound her to him. A human. A mortal. It was wrong. It was dangerous. He gently placed her on the cushions.

  “I got a little carried away, Raven. It will pass soon. Let me get you a drink of water.”

  Raven watched the flames in the fireplace, drifting a little while she waited for him. She didn’t see him enter the room, but the flames leapt and danced as if a sudden draft had fed them. She blinked and there he was, tall and handsome, like some hero in a storybook. She smiled at the fantasy.

  Mikhail wrapped his arm around her shoulders, partially holding her up while she drank. “You really are extraordinary,” she murmured, uncertain whether she was dreaming or not.

  “It is good you think so,” he pointed out. “Since I wish to spend time with you.”

  She frowned at him. “I think it could be a little dangerous spending time with you.”

  He smiled at her, his black eyes catching the warmth from the fireplace. She couldn’t help herself; she reached up to trace that incredible smile with the pad of her finger. Who had a mouth like that? Who had such white, perfect teeth and such beautiful eyes? “You should be pretty with all those lashes,” she murmured, still not certain if she was dreaming. “But your face is a little too rugged to be feminine.”

  He caught her fingers and bit gently on them. “I’m thankful for that, at least.”

  A wolf howled. She turned her head toward the window to look out into the night. Outside, fog began to drift into the yard, curling in long tails around the trees. Mikhail rose abruptly, the smile fading from his face. Once again his eyes glittered and the red flames from the fire burned in his eyes.

  He swung around, his handsome features dark and menacing. His body lost its protective posture, all at once threatening and powerful. “Stay,” he ordered softly. He moved so fast that he blurred, closing the doors to his library, turning to face the front door. Mikhail sent a silent call to his sentries.

  A lone wolf howled, a second answered, a third, until there was a united chorus. When the noise subsided, he waited, his face an implacable granite mask. More mist drifted through the forest, tendrils of fog, collecting, moving, massing outside his home.

  Mikhail lifted his arm, and his front door opened. The fog and mist seeped in, collected in pools until his foyer was thick with it. Slowly the mists connected; bodies shimmered and became solid. “Why do you disturb me this night?” he challenged softly, his dark eyes glittering dangerously.

  A man stepped forward, his fingers clasped solidly in his lifemate’s. She looked pale and drawn, was obviously pregnant. “We seek your council, Mikhail, and bring you news.”

  Three

  Inside the library, Raven felt fear slam into her, the emotion beating in her head, swamping her, driving out the heavy, trancelike cobwebs. Someone was distraught, crying, feeling pain as sharp as a knife. She staggered to her feet, clutched at the back of a chair. Images pushed in. A young woman with pale, white skin, a large stake protruding from her chest, blood running in rivers, her head detached from her body, something sickening placed in her mouth. A ritual killing, symbolic, a warning of others to come. A serial killer, here, in this land of peace.

  Raven gagged, both hands going to cover her ears, as if that could somehow stop the images pouring into her mind. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe; she just wanted it to end. Wildly, she looked around, saw a door to her right leading in the opposite direction from the overwhelming emotions. Blindly she stumbled to her feet, weak, disoriented, and dizzy. She staggered out of the library, needing to get some fresh air, desperate to get away from the horror the group in the other room had witnessed. Away from the details of murder that were so vivid in the minds of the newcomers.

  Their fear and anger was a living thing. They were animals wounded and ready to tear and rend in retaliation. Why were people so ugly? So violent? She had no answer, and she no longer expected one. She had taken several steps down a long hall when a figure emerged from the shadows. He was a little younger than Mikhail, thinner, with glittering eyes and wavy chestnut hair. His smile was taunting and held menace as he reached for her.

  An unseen force hit the stranger square in the chest, knocking him backward and slamming him into the wall. Mikhail loomed up, a dark, malevolent shadow. He towered over Raven as he protectively thrust her behind him. This time the throaty growl was a beast’s roar of challenge.

  Raven could feel the terrible rage in Mikhail, rage mixed with grief, his emotions so intense they beat at the air itself. If it weren’t for the wall, she might have fallen, but she leaned hard against it and reached out to touch Mikhail’s arm. Her fingers curled halfway around the thickness of his wrist, a tiny deterrent to the violence swirling within him. She felt the tension running through him as if it were alive.

  There was a collective, audible gasp. Raven realized she was the center of the group’s attention. There was one woman and four men, including the one who was the object of Mikhail’s wrath. All eyes were on her fingers circling his wrist, as if she had committed some terrible, criminal act. Mikhail’s larger body moved to shield her completely from their scrutiny. He made no attempt to shake off her hand. If anything, he moved his body protectively, backing her farther into the wall so that he was pressing against her, obscuring their vision of her.

  “She is under my protection.” A declaration. A challenge. A promise of
quick, savage retribution.

  “As we all are, Mikhail,” the woman appeased softly.

  Raven swayed; only the walls were holding her up. Vibrations of rage and grief were beating at her until she wanted to scream. She made a sound, a single, threadlike sound of objection. Mikhail turned to her at once, his arms sweeping around her, enveloping her. “Guard your thoughts and emotions,” he hissed at the others. “She is very sensitive. I will escort her to the inn and return to discuss this disturbing news.”

  Raven had no real chance to see the others before he was striding past them, taking her with him to the small car waiting in the garage. She smiled tiredly, her head resting against his shoulder. “You don’t seem like you belong in this car, Mikhail. Your views on women are so archaic, in a former life you must have been lord of the castle.”

  He glanced at her quickly. His gaze slid over the paleness of her face, dwelt on his mark on her neck, visible through the long mane of her hair. In truth, he hadn’t meant to leave a mark, but now it was there, his brand of ownership, and he was glad. “I am going to help you sleep tonight.” He made it a statement.

  “Who were those people?” She asked because she knew he didn’t want her to ask. She was very tired, even dizzy. She rubbed at her head and wished that for once in her life she was normal. He probably thought she was the fainting type.

  There was a short silence. He sighed heavily. “My family.”

  She knew he spoke the truth, yet he didn’t. “Why would someone do such a terrible thing?” She turned her face up to his. “Do they expect you to track this killer, to stop him?” There was raw pain in her voice, pain for him. Worry. His grief was sharp, edged with guilt and the need for violence.