Dark Prince (Author's cut special edition)

by Christine Feehan

  Mikhail’s body’s demands began to assert themselves. Fire licked along his skin, roared in his belly. His muscles contracted, flexed, little drops of perspiration beading on his skin. He dragged her closer, claiming her for his own, his body burying itself in hers over and over, intent on sating an insatiable hunger.

  Raven’s hands moved to his chest, fluttered there as if in protest. He growled a warning, bent his dark head to the spot over her left breast. Soft velvet skin, a fiery hot sheath. He burned, drove harder, seeking relief in the only way he could. They were one; she was his other half. She moved again, shifted away from him, a breathless, inarticulate cry voicing her fear of the rippling pleasure consuming her. He growled again, the animal protesting, sinking his strong teeth into the hollow of her shoulder, pinning her to the library floor.

  The fire built into a conflagration, turbulent, out of control. Thunder cracked, shaking the house as bolt after bolt of lightning struck the ground. He roared, a cry to the heavens, as he took her with him beyond the earth. It went on and on, pain edging pleasure, needing more and more. His body’s seed spilling triggered a ravenous, sensual hunger, the beast in him totally aroused.

  Mikhail’s mouth slid from her shoulder, traced a path along her throat to find the steady beat of her heart beneath her full, inviting breast. His tongue stroked her hardened nipple, returned to trace the swell of her breast, once, twice. His teeth sank deep and he fed, his body taking hers again, hot and fast, insatiable in its sexual frenzy. The taste of her was sweet and clean and very addicting. He craved more and more, his body building power and strength, driving harder and harder, burying himself deeply in her, pushing her toward another shattering release.

  Raven struggled with herself, not recognizing Mikhail in the beast whose emotions were pure sensual hunger and ravenous appetite. Her body responded to him, seemingly endless in its need for his. His mouth burned and tortured her skin, fed an endless, spiraling climax. She could feel herself weakening, a curious euphoria stealing over her, languid and sexy. She cradled his head to her, giving herself up to his terrible hunger as his body convulsed over and over.

  It was her acceptance that brought him back to sanity. This woman was not in a trance; she was offering herself freely because she felt his raging need, because she trusted him to stop before he hurt her, before he killed her.

  Mikhail’s tongue lapped across her breast, closed the wound. He lifted his head, his dark eyes still glowing with the beast, the taste of her in his mouth, on his lips. He swore softly, bitterly, his self-loathing total. She was under his protection. He had never hated himself or his kind more. She had freely given of herself and he had taken selfishly, the beast in him so strong he had given in to the ecstasy of uniting with one’s lifemate.

  He gathered her limp body to him, cradled her in his arms. “You will not die, Raven.” He was furious with himself. Had he done this on purpose? In some dark corner of his mind, had he wanted this to happen? He would try to find the answer to the question at a later date. Right now she needed blood, and she needed it fast.

  “Stay with me, little one. I remained in this world because of you. You will have to be strong for both of us. Can you hear me, Raven? Do not leave me. I can make you happy. I know I can.”

  He slashed a burning wound across his chest. He pressed her mouth to the dark crimson stain pouring freely from the slash.

  You will drink, obey me in this. He knew better than to have her drink directly from his flesh, but he needed to hold her, needed the feel of her soft mouth against his skin taking his very essence, his life’s blood, into her starving body.

  Her obedience was reluctant, her body threatening to reject his life-giving fluid. She gagged, tried to turn her head away. Ruthlessly he clamped her to him. “You will live, little one.” Drink deeply.

  Her will was incredibly strong. Even his people did not require so much effort to force obedience. Of course, his people trusted in him, wanted to obey. Although Raven was unaware of what he was forcing on her, some deep sense of self-preservation fought his commands. It didn’t matter. His will would prevail. It always prevailed.

  Mikhail carried her to his sleeping chamber. He crushed sweet, healing herbs around the bed, covered her small, still form. He placed her in a deep sleep. In an hour he would make her drink again. He stood for a moment staring down at her, feeling the need to cry. She looked so beautiful, a rare, precious treasure he had treated cruelly, when he should have guarded her against the beast in him. Carpathians were not human. Their lovemaking was intensely wild. Raven was young, inexperienced, a human. He had not been able to keep his newly acquired emotions under control in the heat of passion.

  With trembling fingers he touched her face, a light caress, then bent to kiss her soft mouth. With an oath, he spun around and left the room. The safeguards were the strongest he knew, locking her in, everyone and everything out.

  The storm raged outside, as furious and turbulent as his soul. He took three running steps and launched himself into the sky, hurtling toward the village. The winds whirled and screamed around him. The house he sought was no more than a small shack. He stood at the door, his face a mask of torment.

  Edgar Hummer opened the door silently, stood aside to allow him entrance. “Mikhail.” The voice was gentle. Edgar Hummer was eighty-three years old. Most of his years had been spent in the service of the Lord. He considered himself deeply privileged to be counted among Mikhail Dubrinsky’s few real friends.

  Mikhail filled the small room with his presence, his power. He was agitated, deeply disturbed. He paced restlessly, the storm outside increasing in fury, in strength.

  Edgar settled himself in his chair, lit his pipe, and waited. He had never seen Mikhail anything but completely calm, without emotion. This was a dangerous man, a man Edgar had never even glimpsed.

  Mikhail slammed a fist against the rock fireplace, creating a fine network of lines across the stones. “I nearly killed a woman tonight.” He confessed it harshly, his dark eyes wounded. “You told me God made us for a purpose, that we were created by him. I am more beast than man, Edgar, and I cannot continue to delude myself. I would seek eternal rest, but even that is denied me. Assassins stalk my people. I have no right to leave them until I know they are protected. Now my woman is in danger, not only from me but from my enemies.”

  Edgar puffed at his pipe calmly. “You said ‘my woman.’ You love this woman?”

  Mikhail waved a dismissing hand. “She is mine.” It was a statement, a decree. How could he say “love”? It was an insipid word for what he felt. She was purity. Goodness. Compassion. The other half of his soul. Light to his darkness. Everything that he was not.

  Edgar nodded. “My friend, you’re in love with her.”

  Mikhail scowled darkly. “I need. I hunger. I want. That is my life.” He said it in torment, as if he could make it true.

  “Then why do you feel such pain, Mikhail? You wanted her, maybe you needed her. I presume you took her. You hungered, I presume you fed. Why should you feel pain?”

  “You know it is wrong to take the blood of women for whom we feel other appetites.”

  “You have said you have not felt sexual need in centuries—that you cannot feel at all,” Edgar reminded him softly.

  “I feel for her,” Mikhail confessed, his dark eyes alive with pain. “I want her every moment of the day. I need her. God, I have to have her. Not only her body, but also her blood. I am addicted to the taste of her. I crave her, all of her, yet it is forbidden.”

  “But you took her blood and body anyway, knowing it was wrong?”

  “I almost killed her.” Mikhail brushed his hand over his face, as if he could wipe out the things he’d done.

  “But you didn’t kill her. She still lives. She cannot be the first time you fed too deeply. Did the others cause you pain?”

  Mikhail turned away. “You do not understand. It was the way it happened, what I did afterward. I feared it from the moment I first hea
rd her voice.”

  “If it had never happened before, why did you fear it?”

  Mikhail hung his head, his fingers curling into fists. “Because I wanted her, I could not bear to give her up. I wanted her to know me, know the worst. See all of me. I wanted to bind her to me so she could never leave my side.”

  “She is human.”

  “Yes. She has abilities, a mental link to me. Compassion. She’s an innocent, Father. I told myself I would not do this thing, that it was wrong, but I knew I would.” It was a measure of his distress that he called the priest “Father.”

  “And knowing you would do something you believe is wrong, you still did it. You must have had a good reason.”

  “Selfishness. Did you not hear me? I, I, I. Everything for myself. I found a reason to continue my existence and I took what did not belong to me, and still, even now, talking to you, I know I will not give her up.”

  “Accept your nature, Mikhail. Accept yourself as you are.”

  Mikhail’s laughter was bitter. “Everything is so clear to you. You say I am one of God’s children. I have purpose, I should accept my nature. My nature is to take what I believe is mine, hold it, protect it. Chain it to my side if necessary. I cannot let her go. I cannot. She is like the wind, open and free. If I caged the wind, would it die?”

  “Then don’t cage it, Mikhail. Trust it to stay beside you.”

  “How can I protect the wind, Edgar?”

  “You said cannot, Mikhail. You cannot let her go. Not would not, will not. You said cannot. There is a difference.”

  “For me. What of her? What choice am I giving her?”

  “I have always believed in you, in your goodness and your strength. It is very possible that the young lady needs you as well. You have heard the legends and lies associated with your kind for so long, you are beginning to believe the nonsense. To a true vegetarian, a meat eater can be repulsive. The tiger needs deer to survive. A plant needs water. We all need something. You take only what you need. Kneel, receive God’s blessing, and go back to your woman. You will find a way to protect your wind.”

  Mikhail knelt obediently, his head bent, allowing the peace of the old man and his words to comfort him. Outside, the fury of the storm abated abruptly, as if it had spent its anger and now could rest in the aftermath.

  “Thank you, Father,” Mikhail whispered.

  “Do what you must to protect your race, Mikhail. In the eyes of God, they are His children.”

  Five

  Mikhail wrapped his arms around Raven’s slender form and pulled her tight against his hard frame. His body curved protectively around hers. She was heavily asleep, her body light, her face pale. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes. He whispered to her softly. “I am sorry for this, little one, sorry I have placed you in this position. Beast that I am, I know I would do it again. You will not die, I will not allow it.”

  He traced a line over the vein in his wrist, filled the glass beside his bed with the dark red liquid. Hear me, Raven. You need this drink. Obey me in this. He pressed the glass to her pale lips and tilted some of the contents down her throat. His blood was very healing, would ensure her life.

  Raven choked, gagged, tried to turn her head away as she had before.

  You will drink all of it. His command was stronger this time.

  She detested the contents, her body striving to reject it, but the force of his will won, as it always did.

  Mikhail! He heard the forlorn cry in his head—a protest even through layers of sleep.

  You must drink, Raven. Continue your trust in me, he encouraged.

  She relaxed, obeying him reluctantly before sinking back into the layers of sleep.

  Mikhail caught a brief glimpse of her confused thoughts, the swirl of alarmed emotions. She believed she was fighting a nightmare. Her color was better. Satisfied, he lay down beside her. For a moment he considered erasing her memories of his taking of her innocence, but he would not arbitrarily decide for her. She had to be able to live with who and what he was.

  She would remember the blood exchange as only a part of her nightmare. He propped himself up on one elbow, taking the time to study her face, her long thick lashes, her flawless skin and high cheekbones. It wasn’t just her beauty, he knew that, it was what was inside her, the compassion and light that allowed her to accept his wild, untamed nature.

  It was beyond his imagination that such a miracle could occur. Just when he knew he would walk into the sun without hesitation, he had been sent an angel. A slow smile softened his mouth. His angel refused to do anything he told her. She responded far better when he thought to ask. He had been too long accustomed to obedience from all those under his protection. He had to remember that she was mortal, raised in a different time, with different values. It was imprinted on male Carpathians before their births that it was their duty to protect the women and children. With few women and no female children born in the last centuries, it was essential to safeguard every woman they had.

  Raven was mortal, not Carpathian. She did not belong in his world. When she left, she would take his color and emotions with her. She would take the very air he breathed. He closed his eyes against the thought. Where would he find the strength to let her walk away? He had so much to do before sunrise. He wanted to stay with her, hold her, persuade her not to leave him, tell her what was in his heart, tell her what she meant to him, tell her she couldn’t leave him, that he might not survive. He wouldn’t survive.

  He sighed heavily and rose once more. He needed to replenish himself, get to work. Again he crushed healing herbs, and then thrust her more deeply into sleep. He was meticulous about the safeguards in his home and added a command to the creatures in the forest. If anyone came near his lair or threatened her in any way, he would know immediately.

  At Mikhail’s call, Jacques and Byron met him in the trees above Noelle and Rand’s home. Once the body had been discovered, it had been properly burned, as was their way. “You touched nothing else?” Mikhail asked.

  “Only the body. All of their clothes and personal items were left as we found them,” Byron assured him. “Rand did not go back in the house. You know they must have some sort of trap set for you. The body was left deliberately as bait.”

  “Oh, I am certain of that. They will use all the modern technology they can come up with—cameras, I’m certain.” Mikhail’s dark features were brooding. “They believe all the legends. Stakes, garlic, beheading. They are so predictable and primitive.” There was a snarl in his voice, contempt for the murderers. “They take so much trouble to learn about our kind before they condemn us to death. I’d like them to meet a true vampire.”

  Byron and Jacques exchanged an uneasy glance. Mikhail in this mood could be lethal. His hooded eyes, burning with fury, slid over them. “You stay and observe. If I get into trouble, you get out. Do not show yourselves.” He hesitated. “If something goes wrong, I ask a favor.”

  Mikhail had slipped into Old World formality. Byron and Jacques would lay down their lives for him. It was a rare privilege to be asked a favor by the prince of their people. “My woman is sleeping deeply. She rests in my home. The safeguards are many and perilous. You must be careful and take great care to unravel them meticulously. She is to be healed, taught how to shield herself, and if she chooses, to stay in your protection. Through our bloodline, Jacques, you will inherit the mantle of leadership. I believe it should be offered to Gregori at this time, to give you the time you will need to educate yourself to lead. If Gregori should refuse to accept—and most likely he will—my mantle must pass to you, Jacques. You will find it not to your liking, as I suspect you are already aware. If such becomes the case, you will have to ensure Gregori’s loyalty to you and to our people. You will do these things for me. Byron, you will aid Jacques as Gregori has aided me. Both of you will give your sworn allegiance to Gregori should he accept. And Jacques, never forget that as the vessel of our people, you will need someone from the Daratrazanoff lineag
e as your right hand and protector.”

  Both answered formally, speaking the words that bound them to their vow. Byron cleared his throat. “Have you . . . that is, is she one of us?” He ventured the question with great caution. They all knew vampires had attempted the conversion of human women. They had even discussed the possibility that they try, because they were in such a desperate situation. The risk far outweighed the advantages. The women that had been converted had gone mad, had murdered small children, and had been impossible to save. Carpathians were born with their abilities and taught rigid discipline. The few who broke their laws were dealt with instantly and harshly. The race respected all forms of life. Because of their tremendous power, it had to be that way.

  Mikhail shook his head. “I know that she is my true lifemate.” His words were terse, surly, daring them to continue the inquisition, warning them that it would be at their peril. “I did not bind her to me. She is mortal, and it would be wrong.”

  “We will do as you wish,” Byron reiterated with an uneasy glance at Jacques, who looked more amused than worried.

  Mikhail dissolved effortlessly, streamed down through the heavy branches of the fir tree. Once on the ground he took the form of a wolf. Mist couldn’t follow a scent, and he needed the unique capabilities of his furred brethren. He would find spoor and follow it. After all, first and foremost, above all else, he was a predator. His shrewd intellect only served to enhance his hunting abilities.

  The wolf circled the clearing warily, nose close to the ground, examining each tree in the vicinity near the house. The wolf smelled death. It filled his nostrils with its sour, pungent odor. He began to crisscross the ground, covering every inch in his search pattern, identifying Rand’s odor, Eric’s, and Jacques’s. He found where the assassins had approached the house. Three, no, four human men. He lingered over each scent until they were imprinted deeply in his mind. He took his time unraveling the macabre, gruesome story.