Home > Dark Illusion (Dark #29)(5)

Dark Illusion (Dark #29)(5)
Author: Christine Feehan

Abruptly he pulled back. The mage then. She held power if she could get an ancient who was part of the brethren from the monastery to fall under her spell, especially from a distance. There were few that could best him. He wasn’t arrogant in thinking that, it was simply a fact. Perhaps she was with Iulian. The moment the thought occurred, his heart did a strange stuttering and he immediately found he needed to physically find the flow of energy again and reach for it with his hands.

He took to the sky. One leap and he was shifting, becoming part of the night sky, moving slowly across the atmosphere as part of the constellation he had created. Following the energy was easy enough, and without his physical body he could give in to the compulsion to become part of that very vivid flow.

Looking down, he saw cliffs, great mountains rising, bare of most vegetation, the rocks pushing upward to create beautiful formations. One kept drawing his attention back. He could almost see the shimmer of power emanating from what appeared to be three smaller rocks atop a bare slab.

His heart did that strange stuttering he’d experienced just moments earlier. He’d found her. He examined the slab of rock carefully. There was no evidence of Iulian. The night was still young enough that if his brother was traveling with the mage, he would be close. Perhaps he’d gone off to find a camper, so he could take their blood.

Making up his mind, Isai simply dropped out of the sky, right through the illusion the mage had woven for her safety, and straddled the sleeping bag, trapping her inside. Her eyelids flew open and he found himself staring into wildly furious dark chocolate eyes.

“You are?”

She clamped her lips together tightly and glared at him. She had expressive eyes, so he got it. She wasn’t happy with him sitting on her. He had muscle and no fat. She was very petite. Even beneath the sleeping bag he could tell she was small boned, so he could crush her. That didn’t stop him from sitting there.

“I can sit here all night. In fact, if I get tired, I’ll just lie down on top of you. You’re in a great deal of trouble, just in case you thought you’d play innocent.”

He made certain to keep her hands trapped. Mages had a way with spells. He knew most and could counter them. When he had come out of the monastery to reenter the world, learning new spells had been the first thing he made a point of doing. Mage spells. He had always been adept, and he knew advances had to have been made while he was locked away. He had studied everything the other Carpathians knew.

She glared at him, her long lashes sweeping down and then back up to allow him to see her fury wasn’t abating.

He couldn’t help himself. She looked . . . delicious. That was a first for him. He had no real emotions, no real feelings and that included sexual. None. Yet straddling her, he felt a stirring in his body. He went hot. He controlled temperature easily and instantly regulated it. That did nothing to stop the rush of heat through his veins. Flames, a fire racing through his bloodstream to pool in his groin. An ache that fast became an urgent demand and then a real pain.

Isai stared down at the furious little face. Her skin was very soft. Her face oval. Cheekbones high. Her mouth was generous, lips full. Teeth very white. Eyes that dark chocolate color. Color. He turned his head away from her to stare out over the cliff into the mist, his breath catching in his throat. It couldn’t be. This mage. This treacherous woman? Nothing could restore color or emotion to him but his true lifemate—a woman who held the other half of his soul.

He had been born centuries earlier. Far, far before this time. At birth, his soul had been split in two, giving him all the darkness, giving his other half all the light. He had lost all emotion and color after two hundred years and had begun the search for the one holding the other half of his soul. Endless centuries of . . . nothing. A gray, desolate world of violence. Time passed and more . . . nothing.

He was feeling emotion now, and the first of it, rather than wonder, was anger. A slow, smoldering rage that boiled in his gut when he looked at the stubborn woman. There was no telling her actual age. Mages had longevity and aged extremely slowly. Undoubtedly, she was born in the wrong century. More than one wrong century. She was mage, a mortal enemy of his people. Already she had proven her treacherous nature. More, she kept her lips pressed together, denying him when she so obviously knew he was her other half.

He leaned down very close, taking in the delicate scent of her. She smelled like peaches and cream. Like heaven. Strands of her hair caught in the dark stubble on his face and his stomach did a slow roll at the feeling of silk against his skin.

His lips brushed her little shell of an ear as he admonished her. “I am your lifemate. Your lord. You belong to me. It does not matter in the least that you fight me on this. You will learn obedience, and you will learn treachery is a very dangerous game to play.” He punctuated each word with his tongue, touching her skin, claiming every spot he licked.

He didn’t want her answer. He only wanted one thing and he took it. With no warning, he sank his teeth into her neck. She cried out, the sound like music, shattering the silence of the night. Bright colors struck at him, glowing and shimmering behind his eyes. Her blood filled his mouth, delicate and pure, a ruby drink designed for his taste alone. It was perfection. Exquisite. The tang beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

He knew he was changed for all time. Addiction took hold. He would always need this. Waking. Sleeping. Every moment he thought of her. Her taste would be in his mouth, on his tongue. His muscles, organs and bones would cry out for her blood. She had been created just for him and he was nearly drunk—no, euphoric—at the idea of a lifemate. Especially one who would give him trouble at every turn. He would enjoy being with her nearly as much as he would enjoy taking her blood.

It took effort to connect back with reality and realize she was struggling, trying to push him away from her. You will obey. He pushed the command deep into her mind. There was a shield there. A very effective one. Her psychic shield was strong, but it hadn’t been formed with a lifemate in mind. Nor had she been prepared for a Carpathian warrior as old and as skilled as he was.

Fuck you and the bird you flew in on.

There was pure defiance as well as a hidden note of fear. Good. She would need both to survive and he was going to make certain she did.

That is unacceptable language for my woman to use, especially on me.

In one smooth move, he rolled her over forcing her facedown on the hard rock, trapping her arms beneath her. One silent command and he had stripped the bag from her body, leaving her in her jeans and tee. He brought his hand down hard on her bottom. Over and over. He wasn’t gentle about it.

“You are getting off lucky in spite of your cries and pleas. You helped steal from the prince of the Carpathian people. That isn’t even your worst crime.” He put a little more power into his smacks on her rounded bottom. “You deliberately tried to deny me, your lifemate, what is mine. You belong to me. I’ve lived a life of honor. I’ve risked my life to save every species over and over, century after century. You knew, just looking at me, and yet you childishly and stubbornly refused to open your mouth and give me back emotions and colors.”

She sobbed softly, no longer struggling or trying to get him off her back. She lay beneath him, accepting his punishment, her small body shuddering. Abruptly he rolled her over again and pulled her into his arms, looking down at her tear-streaked face.

You will take my blood now. He pushed firmly past her strong shield to force her obedience.

She tilted her head up, her hands going to his shirt. It was already open in preparation and she swept the two edges apart as she pressed her mouth to his chest, right over his heart. Her lashes were wet. Her incredible skin was splotchy red from crying. She hiccupped twice, as if she couldn’t quite stop crying, but struggled to do so. He thought she was beautiful. Treacherous, but beautiful.

She turned her face to his chest, nuzzled there. He felt the slow lick of her tongue like a flame against the heavy muscle of his chest. His entire body shuddered with need. Craving coursed through him, hot, almost completely feral, a sexual hunger he’d never experienced before. Heart pounding, he brought up one finger to open his chest, to give her a way to take his blood, but before he could, she bit down, her teeth unerringly finding the vein.

He threw his head back at the pleasure/pain that instantly roared through his body with the force of a freight train. Every cell in his body, every nerve ending focused completely on his woman. For such a little thing, she wreaked havoc with his mind, body and soul. So easily.

Her hands stroked up his chest. She shifted in his lap, turning more fully toward him, drinking his blood, making her own demands. Her own claims. He hadn’t ordered her to do more than take his blood for an exchange, but she was definitely going beyond that.

One hand teased at his flat nipples, sending a searing flame through his bloodstream, igniting some explosive chemistry between them. Her other hand slid down his belly to fumble at the waistband of his trousers. He obliged her, waving clothes away from both of them. His breath caught in his throat. Her body was beautiful. She might be petite, but she was a woman and her body proclaimed her as such.

She had taken enough for a true blood exchange. Enough.

It will never be enough.

Obey me in this. He pushed more command into his voice, but he didn’t physically stop her. He wanted to see what she would do.

She pulled back, licked at the ruby drops running from the twin holes in his chest her teeth had made and then she began pressing little kisses down his chest to his belly button. One hand pushed at him to insist he lie back. He didn’t. He leaned for her, but he wasn’t putting himself in a vulnerable position. He might want her with every breath he drew, but he didn’t trust her.

She stretched out, lapping at his stomach and then his groin, licking the broad, flared head of his cock until he thought he might lose his mind. Still, he let her. How could he possibly stop her when every lash of her tongue felt like a whip of lightning wrapping around his desperate, aching cock?

He ran his hand down her back to her sore buttocks. His handprint didn’t show on her skin, but the marks of his punishment did. He rubbed, hoping to take away the sting, but the heavy brush of his palm, the kneading of his fingers, seemed to inflame her more. Her mouth engulfed him.

   
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