The way her mind moved in his was delicate, feminine, wholly beautiful, a whisper of a touch rather than a bold demand. It was unexpected, her soft, womanly presence that seemed to fill every lonely place in his mind. The experience of her sharing his mind was beyond intimate. He had spent centuries alone, lost in that gray void of nothing.
She brought life to him. Scent. He could inhale and bring her into his lungs. He would know her anywhere. Her scent was distinct. Exotic and rare. She had a faint fragrance of orange, the Italian bergamot he had encountered but never thought about. The orange held a note of lime, and the two citrus fragrances mixed with rare camellias, adding just a touch of spice to the blend. The scents mixed with sandalwood and vetiver, an Indian grass root. For Ferro, that scent would always be associated with Elisabeta.
Color. She brought vivid, bright color into a world of gray. He hadn’t known there were so many shades of green. Or blue. Just looking at her hair, that dark silk, shining in the moonlight, he could see so many colors, and she had given him that. The garden, the lake, the sky, the birds and even the ground itself. She had made him see the world again in an entirely different light.
Touch. He had never allowed anyone to touch him unless he planned to use them for sustenance, or he planned to kill them. Elisabeta showed him that touch could be something different, something warm and gentle. Tender even. Touch could mean so many things other than the precursor of death. Then, there was the feel of her skin, like the finest satin. Her hair, like silk. In a very short amount of time he had learned the beauty of touching.
Sound. Her voice was like music to him. Soft. Intimate. Pouring over him like a gentle summer breeze. When she spoke, her voice was pleasing, moving through him, equally as effective as the touch of her fingers on his skin. That soft sound was that potent. He could almost feel the notes dancing over him, brushing his skin intimately, first there and then here, stroking and caressing, one moment soothing him, the next making him want to go up in flames.
Ferro had lived centuries, much longer than most, and yet he had not tasted many things. Blood was blood. One needed it to survive. There was no taste. No rush. Nothing whatsoever other than when he was wounded and starving that made him crave or need more blood. Until he had tasted his lifemate’s blood. It was exquisite. Almost beyond comprehension. He could barely make himself stop feeding once he’d started. Her taste was some kind of aphrodisiac, something beyond description he would always crave. He thought about it, and the taste would come to him, vivid in his memory and then in his mouth.
“I do not like you feeling sad . . . Ferro.” She stumbled a little over using his name but was brave enough to say it. “We are both changed. You have been very kind to me, more than I imagined anyone would ever be. I have never had a rising such as this one. For that I have to thank you.”
The pads of her fingers swept over his jaw, her touch light, sending ripples of heat moving through his veins. Her voice was very sincere. He had merely taken her across the healing grounds and into the gardens. The kindness he had shown her was so basic that he wanted to weep for what little she expected. She was more concerned with his sorrow than what she was feeling. In fact, she was completely focused on him now, all thoughts of herself and her fears were gone. She had immersed herself completely in him, in an attempt to find a way to ease his sadness.
Carpathian healers shed their bodies to become wholly spirit, losing all ego, all sense of self, in order to heal. In a sense, Elisabeta, while retaining her body, did something very similar. She lost all ego, all sense of herself, and thought only of Ferro, moving gently through his mind, seeking ways to brighten his spirit.
Those gentle fingers of hers on his jaw, stroking heat into his veins, wreaked havoc with his emotions, with his physical control, when for centuries he had always been completely disciplined. Abruptly, he rose, taking her with him, setting her onto her feet, giving his body some respite, a little shocked that he would need that.
“I want to show you our home, minan piŋe sarnanak. Hopefully it will be a place of solace and happiness for you. It does not have bars on the windows or doors, and you can walk out of it when you wish, but if I am not with you, I prefer that you let me know when you wish to leave the safety of the walls. I have woven strong safeguards into it so the vampire and his puppets cannot penetrate from any direction in his attempts to get to you. If you choose to visit your friends, as you will naturally wish to do, if you let me know, I can safeguard you.”
That was difficult for him. Much more so than he had thought it would be. He wanted her to have freedom. He told himself that a million times. She needed to know she wasn’t a prisoner. He never wanted her to feel that way with him. He wanted her to feel cherished. Treasured. Always. But he wasn’t the type of man to have his woman casually leave a place of safety when she was in danger. Not at her preference. Not on a whim. Not when he could so easily command her to stay. Her friends could visit her there if she wanted to see them.
It made no sense to him to leave such a dangerous decision in anyone’s hands but his own. He was the one who would have to fight Sergey Malinov. He would not use his lifemate as the bait to draw the master vampire to him. He would choose the time and the place of the battle. It would not be where there were children around. Or women. Or his woman. Not when he had so much to lose.
“Have I angered you?” Elisabeta asked.
Ferro realized he was striding along the path and immediately shortened his steps to accommodate her. “No, Elisabeta, I was thinking of you leaving the house and what that might entail.”
She gave a quick shake of her head. “Please do not ask me to do such a thing, even to see Julija, not without you. I know I am not capable of that.”
Not only did her voice tremble, but so did her entire body. That shamed him. Ferro didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want her so frightened she was nearly paralyzed with terror at the mere thought of venturing out on her own. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her thin, shivering form under his shoulder for protection.
“Elisabeta, I have told you that you do not have to do anything that is frightening to you. I do not intend to leave you alone unless it is strictly necessary. In that event, I will put you in the ground where you will sleep, or I will leave you with Julija or someone you feel very safe with. You are not expected to entertain or go off on your own at any time. In fact, I would not like it.” Ferro felt the instant relief flooding her mind.
He had always been a decisive person. He knew exactly how to conduct a battle. He avoided humans and Carpathians alike. He was direct when he wanted something and commanded others, expecting instant compliance with his orders. He didn’t bother with niceties. He had no need and no time for such things. Now, with Elisabeta, he was feeling his way, completely at odds with not only his own personality but his own character and needs.
He stroked a caress down the back of her head as they stepped out of the protection of the gardens into the open. Elisabeta gasped aloud, stopped and actually turned to flee. The yard ahead of them seemed to be filled with people when there was only Isai Florea and his lifemate, Julija, standing on the front porch of a little Victorian replica of the main mansion, talking with Emeline and Dragomir Kozel. Both Dragomir and Isai were Ferro’s brethren from the monastery, as was Andor, the third male who was standing on the stairs of the little Victorian house with his lifemate, Lorraine.
Ferro caught Elisabeta around the waist and pulled her tight against him. She moaned and buried her face against his ribs. I can’t. Too many. Too many. Do not ask me to do this. It is too big. Too much. Hurts my eyes. My stomach. I can’t. I can’t do this.
She repeated the chant, a mantra in her mind, in his, over and over until he realized she didn’t know he could hear her. He felt her tears. Heard them in her voice. They dripped in her mind, yet his clothes, his skin, remained dry.
Ferro tried to assess what was happening to her, all the while breathing calmly for both of them. His heart remained steady. He pried her fingers off his shirt and placed her palm over his heart so she could follow the rhythm.
Breathe with me, sívamet. I am with you. We do this together. You do not have to speak. You do not have to look at them. I stand in front of you at all times. I will simply tell them I do not allow you to speak to others yet. We are new and you are getting used to a new master. A small well of humor he didn’t know he had welled up at the thought of the modern women hearing him state that. He didn’t know Emeline and Julija very well, but he was very familiar with Lorraine and her ultra-forward thinking. Her head might explode.
I do not want this woman’s head to explode. This does not seem kind.
It will not literally explode, Elisabeta. She will not like me referring to myself as your master. Nor will she like me saying you cannot talk to anyone else but me.
Why? Elisabeta tipped her head up to look at him curiously, her dark eyes roving over his face as if he were her anchor.
Ferro couldn’t help himself. He bent his head and brushed her lips with his. It was the briefest of contacts, but her lips were quivering, just that little bit, just enough to break his heart, and he wanted to reassure her he would take care of her.
“Did you notice how well you were able to walk? I did not feel you stumble once. You learned simply by looking into my mind and taking what you needed from me. Just keep putting your trust in me, Elisabeta. I know that is difficult when you have had no reason for centuries to have faith in anyone, but if you keep looking to me, I give you my word, I will not let you down. Lifemates cannot deceive one another. You can hear lies if you listen for them.”
She didn’t answer him, but her body felt as if it might shake apart any moment.
“Tell me what you fear the most. What is the worst of what is happening to you right this moment, piŋe sarnanak?” He phrased the question as a command because she responded and was most comfortable with an outright order to answer. She didn’t seem to like room for making her own decisions under stress.
She moistened her lips, glanced around her and then quickly buried her face again in his ribs. “It is too much. Too big.”