Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS

by Christine Feehan

  Colby hung on grimly to the steering wheel, her mind in total chaos. Something was very, very wrong with Rafael De La Cruz. He certainly was the epitome of the Latin charmer. He could knock off a woman’s socks at fifty paces. Everything about him screamed sin and sex. She muttered unladylike imprecations under her breath. She was a practical woman, certainly not someone easily swayed by physical attraction. This man was turning on the charm to get his way. He wanted Paul and Ginny and with them, their ranch. He was ruthless enough to use any method possible to get what he wanted.

  Colby groaned aloud. She certainly showed him she was totally susceptible to his sex appeal. She’d acted just like every other female in a hundred-mile radius, throwing herself at him. She glanced in the mirror to see if her face was shiny crimson with shame. For a split second she saw eyes staring back at her. Inky black. Unblinking. Icy cold. The eyes of a merciless hunter. In the depths of those staring eyes were wicked red flames flickering and growing. The gaze was fixed on her; she was prey, helpless and weak in the face of such relentless strength.

  Colby’s heart slammed hard and loud. She nearly cranked the wheel to the side of the road as she twisted around to look behind her seat into the bed of the pickup. There was nothing there. She had seen those red flames before, felt the shiver of fear, of apprehension. A wind was whipping up out of the mountains, hitting her face through the open window, an ominous portent of things to come.

  Resolutely she pressed the gas pedal down, bumping along, the springs on the seat squeaking in tune to the radio she had blasting. As hard as she tried, Colby couldn’t stop herself from continually checking the rearview mirror for those merciless eyes. She had enough to worry about without seeing things. So many little things had gone wrong on the ranch lately—Pete’s disappearance when she needed an extra hand so desperately, the balloon payment due on the mortgage, and the South American group showing up out of nowhere demanding the children. She swept a hand through her hair, shoving it away from her face. The wind blew the silken strands right back at her.

  Something was terribly wrong at the ranch. She knew it, she felt it, but how could she make Ben understand she just knew things? Like the plane crash. She had known the moment it was in trouble. She had known the moment her mother died. She had been the one to find the wreckage, knowing her beloved stepfather was clinging to life and waiting for her. How could she explain how she knew things? How could she explain to anyone the things she could do?

  For a moment wild emotion welled up out of nowhere, blindsiding her, unexpected when she was so careful to be controlled. She felt tears burning in her eyes, her throat tight, her chest like stone. Loneliness hit her hard. She was so alone, so lonely. There was no one with whom she could ever share who and what she was. Colby fought desperately to control the burning in her chest. She didn’t dare lose control, wouldn’t lose control. It could be dangerous, very, very dangerous.

  The dirt road leading to her ranch loomed up, the gate closed and locked. She glanced around the lonely area just once, ensuring she was completely alone. Slowing the truck, Colby leaned out the window and stared intently at the padlock and heavy chain wrapped around the gate. It trembled once, then fell open. The gate swung inward, clearing the path for her. With her ragged fingernail she tapped a rhythm out on the rusted door as she pulled the truck forward. She leaned out of the window to concentrate on locking the gate behind her, thankful she had certain useful talents. It came in handy in the rain and on nights she was just too tired to pretend she was normal.

  The wind washed over her again and she felt eyes on her. The scent of a hunter. Something, someone was out in the darkness and it had turned its attention to her. Perhaps it was the disturbance of power in the air when she used her strange talents that drew unwanted attention in her direction. Colby only knew something was very wrong, and evil stalked her family. She was the only protection Paul and Ginny had. She loved them and she would guard them fiercely. From anyone. Anything.

  With a sigh she drove the rest of the distance to the ranch house. Ginny’s dog, King, a border collie, rushed out barking a greeting. She rested her head against the steering wheel for a moment trying to absorb the vibrations in the night sky. What was out there, close, watching her ranch, marking her family? Why couldn’t she isolate the direction it was coming from? She knew something was watching, yet she couldn’t pinpoint the trouble. Colby knew things. She knew the cow in the barn was going to give birth soon and it wasn’t going to be an easy birth. She knew when it was going to rain and just how long she had to get the hay out of the fields.

  Patting the dog, she made her way to the porch. Paul was waiting for her, on the porch swing. His long, lanky frame was stretched out, his hat pulled low over his eyes. His arms were folded across his chest. Colby stood there looking down at him, love for him welling up inside of her. He was an amazing brother. He looked so young and vulnerable when he was asleep. Colby touched his shoulder gently.

  Paul woke with a start. “I was just resting my eyes,” he said, his grin lighting his face as he pushed back his hat with his thumb. He had seen the gesture in a western movie and had copied it ever since. He had been about seven and Colby didn’t have the heart to remind him of its origins. In any case she found it endearing.

  “Joclyn Everett is a very nice woman, Paul. I’ve met her husband, of course, many times, but never her. What do you think of them?”

  His sigh was audible in the silence of the night. “What I think is that you told this woman you would take on her kid for riding lessons even though you are totally swamped. That’s what I think, Colby.”

  Colby rubbed her forehead, avoiding his eyes. “Well, the girl is Ginny’s age and Ginny gets very lonely.”

  “Colby, you can’t do it. You’re running yourself into the ground already. Don’t you think I know you’re staying up half the night already? You can’t take on any more.”

  “They’re offering good money, Paulo, and Ginny needs a friend. I thought I could spend a short period each lesson with the girl and then let Ginny take over. It shouldn’t really take that much time.”

  Paul groaned aloud. “You really are crazy, Colby, but there’s never any good arguing with you.” He held open the door. “I checked the stock, made the rounds so you can hit the sack.”

  She flashed him a quick smile. “Thanks, Paul. I am tired tonight.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I appreciate it, I really do.”

  “I’d give you a lecture,” he said, “but I kind of like Sean Everett. Since he’s a neighbor, we might as well become friends with him.” Colby burst out laughing, the sound soft and quite catching. Paul found himself with a big smile on his face.

  “You’re only saying that because you want another victim to rope into fixing our broken-down equipment.”

  “Are you accusing me of having an ulterior motive?” He did his best to look innocent.

  Colby signaled King toward the barn. Usually the collie slept curled up on the floor of Ginny’s bedroom, but Colby had been so troubled lately, she had taken to using him as a night guard. Paul watched her signal the dog, a frown on his face. “You really are worried, aren’t you, Colby?”

  She shrugged casually. “I just think it’s better to be safe than sorry, Paulo. Ben says he thinks a bunch of kids are playing pranks.”

  Paul snorted his denial. “Ben always blames teenagers. What’s up with that?”

  Colby laughed again, filling the house with the sound of her warmth. “You should have seen him as a teenager. He was the bad boy of the school. He just thinks everyone is like he was.”

  Paul shook his head and opened the door to his bedroom. “I can’t imagine him as a teenager. He doesn’t even know how to smile. Good night, Colby, you need to actually go to bed.”

  She raised an eyebrow even as she hid her amusement of his authoritative tone. “Good night, Paul.”

  3

  Colby sighed and threw back the covers. For a moment her hand lingered on the beaut
iful handmade quilt covering her bed. Her mother had sent away to Paris for the comforter. A very famous but elusive designer had made it. She remembered very vividly her need to have the quilt after she’d seen it advertised in a magazine. Colby had known it was something special, almost as if it possessed a power of its own. Her mother and stepfather had given it to her for her tenth birthday and Colby prized it above every other possession she had. Along with the rare beauty and unique feeling of comfort and safety it gave her, the quilt was a symbol of her parents’ love for her.

  She stretched languidly and wandered across the hardwood floor to her open window. The wind blew the thin lace curtains inward. She was wearing a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms and a small spaghetti-strapped top. Colby slowly unbraided her long hair as she stared out the window into the night. She loved the mountains at night, always mystical and mysterious. A veil of thin white fog shrouded the high ridges. She was surrounded by the giants, her ranch snuggled into a deep valley. She stretched out her arms to the high mountain range, lifting her face toward the shining half moon crescent.

  Colby was worried about so many things she couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted and yet determined to be up at four-thirty. She leaned against the windowsill, staring up at the stars. She didn’t tell Paul, but after feeding the stock, she intended to take her horse into the hills and look for old Pete. She had been making sweeps of the ranch over the last three days, getting up extra early and devoting as much time as she could spare to look for signs of him. Despite what Ben said, Colby didn’t believe that Pete had simply drifted away or that he had gone on a drinking binge.

  Pete was in his late seventies, his body riddled with arthritis from his rodeo days. He had a home with Colby, a warm bed, a roof, good food, and the ranch work to make him feel useful. He was a man who knew the meaning of the word loyalty. She was certain he would never leave the ranch, especially when he knew Colby was in danger of losing their home. He would never desert her. Pete just wouldn’t do that. Colby was afraid he was sick or hurt somewhere on the property.

  In the large oak tree across the yard from her window, a bird flapped its wings, drawing her attention. The bird had a round facial disk with a very pronounced ruff. It wasn’t an owl but it was large. Very large. The unusual bird could easily weigh in at twenty pounds. She stared at it, and it stared right back. She could see its eyes, round and shiny black. She was familiar with the birds on her ranch and she had never seen one like this. If she didn’t know better, she would think it was a harpy eagle. Colby leaned all the way out of the windowsill, concentrating on the bird.

  She watched it closely as she tuned her mind to the path of the raptor. The beak was wicked looking, curved and sharp, the talons enormous where they curled around the thick branch of the tree. It had a keen intelligence shining in its eyes. Colby’s breath caught in her throat, her heart beating in sudden excitement. Harpy eagles lived in the Amazon rain forest, flying gracefully, agilely through the trees. They were unquestionably the world’s most formidable bird, capable of taking monkeys, snakes, even sloth as prey. It couldn’t possibly be, yet the more she studied it, the more she was certain. What in the world was an endangered eagle from South America doing in the Cascade Mountains?

  Colby continued to stare at the creature, keeping eye contact, whispering softly, more in her mind than with her voice. She often lured all kinds of animals to her, whispering to horses, sheep, and cattle, drawing wildlife to her when she was alone. She called to the bird, shocked at its size. It was really quite beautiful. Wild. Untamed. Powerful. She was afraid it must have been injured in some way to travel so far from its native territory.

  Deep within the body of the bird, Rafael De La Cruz smiled. Colby had taken the bait. She was calling the bird to her, using a mental path unfamiliar to him, but the trail of power led straight back to her mind and gave him the opening he needed. The key to unlock her memories, to take control. She would never willingly invite him into her home, yet she was inviting the bird. Once invited inside, he would have even more control of Colby. In the body of the large eagle, he spread his enormous wings and stepped off the branch of the tree. He saw her face, startled by his sudden movement, drinking in the beauty of the harpy eagle in flight. Circling high, he spiraled down in a lazy show and landed on her windowsill, talons digging deep into the wood. Slowly, majestically, the eagle folded his wings.

  Colby looked beautiful in the moonlight. In the faint silvery light she looked a young pagan goddess offering up a sacrifice, a homage to the high peaks. Her skin was soft looking, gleaming at him with an invitation to touch. Inside the body of the bird, his gut clenched hotly. His need was a fever in his blood. Dark and out of control when he needed restraint the most. Her innocence shook him, yet it drew him. She was his. Made for him. Exclusively for him. Only Colby Jansen could rid him of the dark shadows in his soul.

  Colby stared at the bird, entranced. It was a little frightening to have the raptor so close to her. She wasn’t altogether certain she was safe. Very carefully she took two steps backward, the sound of her heart loud in her ears. It was an amazing bird, huge and very intimidating. Colby forced her mind to be calm as she examined it. It didn’t appear to be injured in any way. She didn’t get the impression it was hungry or hurt. It was staring at her as intently as she was staring at it.

  Rafael watched as Colby’s tongue moistened her full lower lip. The action tightened his body even more and turned his bloodstream to a molten heat. He could not control his reaction to her. He was very much aware it made him more dangerous than he had ever been. He needed to be in control at all times. He didn’t want to risk harming her. She was temptation itself, standing there with her bare feet, looking young and beautiful and slightly afraid. He felt his heart turn over, his every protective instinct welling up. He hadn’t known he had protective instincts. She was doing things to him so fast he couldn’t adjust.

  Rafael was determined to have her under his command. He wanted her to himself, away from others where he could slowly and carefully work out what he wanted to do with her. He would have her. He would imprison her, he decided; it was the only way she would be his, under his care, under his dominion. There was a fierce need in him, hungry and growing each moment, to chain her to his side.

  Colby could feel her heart pounding hard, but it was more out of excitement than fear. She should be afraid, the bird was a true raptor, but it was magnificent. She worked harder at finding the path to its brain, sending waves of reassurance, trying to keep it calm. It hopped from the windowsill onto the hardwood floor, still keeping its eyes fixed on her face.

  It had black eyes! Round, shiny, very intelligent black eyes. She stared at it for fully two minutes. That wasn’t normal, she was certain. Very slowly, so she wouldn’t startle the creature, she backed across the room to her bookshelf. Still looking at the bird, she slid her fingers over her books until she found the one she wanted. It slipped off the shelf into her waiting hand, the pages already turning to the very entry her mind was seeking. Strangely, the bird was observing her just as intently, an intelligence in its gaze as it watched the pages of the book open without her hand. She brought the book in front of her and glanced down to look at the photograph of the harpy eagle. The eyes were round and shining with intelligence, but they were not black. The eyes in the picture were a bright amber with a black pupil. She let out her breath slowly. Something was wrong with her bird.

  You aren’t blind, though, are you? She sent the words, images to the creature. It was watching her too closely to be blind.

  It stirred then, almost in triumph. Colby’s heart jumped in response. For one moment she felt threatened in some undefined way. She thought she caught a fleeting expression in the eagle’s eyes and then it hopped back onto the windowsill and launched itself skyward. For such a large bird, it amazed her how perfectly silent it was. It circled for a moment, climbing higher and higher until it was a mere speck. She watched it until it was gone.

  Colby fe
lt inexplicably lonely as she climbed back into her bed. Her fingers plucked at the quilt, seeking comfort. The book lay on the bed beside her. She tapped on the cover with her fingers before waving it back to the shelf. Telekinesis was a very handy talent. She had discovered it at an early age. She had often set her toys dancing around her room when she was alone. Once, she had shown her mother, proud of her ability. Her mother had seemed delighted, yet Colby could read the worry in her mind. She learned at a young age she was “different” and people didn’t tolerate differences very well. She stared at the open window sadly. I am so alone. She sent the heartfelt cry winging into the night.

  She had other things she could do. Not nice things. Things her mother cautioned her over many times. Colby was older now and knew control was very necessary. She never had taken a drink of alcohol in her life and never would. She couldn’t afford to allow some of her unusual gifts to erupt unbidden.

  She sighed and turned her face into the pillow. It would have been nice to have someone to talk with. To be herself with. Just once. Just one time, to be who and what she was, instead of so afraid of betraying herself. She missed her mother. Tears were welling up out of nowhere and Colby hated that.

  Querida, why are you so sad this night? The voice was heavily accented, musical, a whisper of enticement. She heard it as clearly as if the words were spoken aloud.

  Colby stiffened, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She opened her eyes, searching the shadows of her room. It appeared empty at first, but then she felt a hand brush a lingering caress over her face, the fingertips trailing over her skin as it removed silken strands of hair from her forehead. She sat up, pushing at the shadowy figure bending over her. The broad chest was real and very solid. How could she have missed his presence?