Dark Prince (3 page)

Carefully avoiding skin contact, Raven allowed herself to be seated. It was hell to be so close to so many people. As a child she had been overwhelmed by the bombardment of emotions around her. She had nearly gone insane until she learned to protect herself, to build a shield. It worked unless the pain or distress was too concentrated, or if she physically touched another human being. Or if she was in the presence of a very sick and evil mind.

Right now, with conversation flowing all around her and everyone seemingly having a good time, Raven was experiencing classic signs of overload. Shards of glass pierced her skull, her stomach roiled in protest. She couldn't possibly eat a thing.

Mikhail inhaled the night air, moved slowly through the small town, seeking what he needed. Not a woman. He couldn't bear to touch another woman's flesh. He was aroused, dangerous in his highly sexual state, and far too close to turning. He might lose control. So it had to be a man. He moved among the people easily, returned greetings from those who knew him. He was well respected, looked up to.

He slipped up behind a young man who was physically fit, strong. His scent spoke of health, veins bursting with life. After a brief, easy conversation, Mikhail spoke his command softly, laid a friendly arm across the other's shoulder. Deep within the shadows he bent his dark head and fed well. He was careful to keep his emotions firmly in control. He liked this young man, knew his family. There could be no mistakes.

As he lifted his head, the first wave of her distress hit him.
Raven.
He had unconsciously been seeking contact with her, touching her mind gently to assure himself that she was still with him. Alert now, he finished his task quickly, releasing the young man from his trance, implanting the continuing conversation, laughing amicably, accepting the handshake with ease, steadying the man when he was a bit dizzy.

Mikhail opened his mind, focused on the thread and followed it. It had been years—his skills were rusty—but he could still "see" when he wanted. Raven was seated at a table with two couples. Outwardly she looked beautiful, serene. But he knew better. He could feel her confusion, the unrelenting pain in her head, her desire to leap up and run from everyone. Her eyes, brilliant sapphires, were haunted, shadows in the paleness of her face. Strain. It amazed him how strong she was. There was no telepathic spillage, no way for anyone with telepathic ability other than he to tell she was in distress.

And then the man beside her leaned forward, looked into her eyes, raw longing on his face, desire in his eyes. "Come for a walk with me, Raven," he suggested, and his hand moved from the table to rest just above her knee.

At once the pain in Raven's head increased, crushing at her skull, stabbing at her behind her eyes. She jerked her leg out from under Jacob's hand. Demons leaped, raged, burst free. Never had Mikhail felt such terrible fury. It rushed over him, claimed him, became him. That someone could hurt her like that, so casually, without even knowing or caring. That someone might touch her while she was so vulnerable and unprotected. That a man would presume to put his hands on her. He hurtled through the sky, the cool air fanning his rage.

Raven felt the force of his anger. The air in the room thickened; outside, the wind rose, whirled fiendishly. Branches pelted the outside walls; the wind rattled ominously at the windows. Several waiters crossed themselves, looking with fright out into the black, suddenly starless night. The room was unexpectedly, strangely silent, as if everyone was collectively holding his and her breath.

Jacob gasped, both hands going to his throat, tearing at it as if at strong, strangling fingers. His face was first red, then mottled, his eyes bulging. Shelly screamed. A young waiter ran to assist the choking man. People were standing, craning their necks to see.

Raven forced calmness into her slender body. Emotions were running far too high for her to remain unscathed.
Release him.
Silence answered her. Even with the waiter behind him, desperately working at the Heimlich maneuver, Jacob fell to his knees, his lips blue, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Please, I'm asking you, please. Release him. For me.

Jacob suddenly inhaled, a terrible gagging sound, labored and harsh. His sister and Margaret Summers were crouched at his side, tears in their eyes. Instinctively, Raven moved toward him.

Do not touch him!
The command was stark, without any mental enhancement, more frightening than if he had forced her compliance.

Raven was besieged with emotion, from everyone in the room. Jacob's pain and terror. Shelly's fear, the innkeeper's horror, the other Americans' shocked reaction. They were swamping her, beating at her already fragile state. But it was
his
all-consuming rage that sent needles shooting through her head. Her stomach heaved, cramped, and Raven nearly doubled over and looked desperately for the ladies room. If anyone touched her, tried to come to her aid, she might go mad.

"Raven." The voice was warm, sensual, caressing. Calm in the eye of the storm. Black velvet. Beautiful. Soothing.

A curious hush fell in the dining room as Mikhail strode in. He had a hard arrogance, an air of complete command. He was tall, dark, well muscled, but it was his eyes, burning with energy, with darkness, with a thousand secrets, that drew immediate attention. Those eyes could mesmerize, hypnotize, just like the power in his voice. He moved with purpose, sending waiters scurrying out of the way.

"Mikhail, it is such a pleasure to have you join us," the innkeeper gasped in surprise.

He spared the woman a glance, his eyes sweeping over her buxom figure. "I have come for Raven. We have a date this evening." He said it softly, imperiously, and no one dared argue with him. "She has challenged me to a game of chess."

The innkeeper nodded her head as she broke into a smile. "Enjoy yourselves."

Raven swayed, pressing her hands into her stomach. Her sapphire eyes were enormous, taking up her face at his approach. He was on her before she could move, his hands reaching out for her.

Don't.
She closed her eyes, terrified of his touch. She was already on overload; she would not be able to take the overpowering emotions radiating from him.

Mikhail didn't hesitate, gathering her into his arms, imprisoning her against his hard chest. His face was a granite mask as he whirled around and took her from the room. Behind them the buzzing started, the whispers.

Raven tensed, waiting for the battery on her senses, but he had closed his mind and all she knew was the enormous strength of his arms. He took her into the night, moving fluidly, easily, as if her weight was of no consequence.

"Breathe, little one; it will help." There was a trace of amusement in the warmth of his voice.

Raven did as he suggested, too worn out to struggle. She had come here to this wild, lonely place to heal, but instead, she was all the more fragmented. She opened her eyes cautiously, looking up at him through long lashes.

His hair was the color of dark coffee beans, a dark espresso, drawn back and tied at the nape of his neck. His face was that of an angel or a devil, strength and power, with a sensual mouth that hinted at cruelty; his hooded eyes were black obsidian, black ice, pure black magic.

She couldn't read him, couldn't feel his emotions or hear his thoughts. That had never happened to her before. "Put me down. I feel silly with you carrying me off like some pirate." His long strides were taking them into deep forest. Branches swayed, bushes rustled. Her heart was beating out of control. She tensed, pushed against his shoulders, struggled uselessly.

His eyes moved possessively over her face, but his pace didn't slow, and he didn't answer her. It was humiliating that he didn't appear to notice her struggles.

Raven allowed her head to fall back against his shoulder with a slight sigh. "Did you kidnap me or rescue me?"

Strong white teeth gleamed at her, a predator's smile, a man's amusement. "Perhaps a little of both."

"Where are you taking me?" She pressed a hand to her I forehead, not wanting a battle, physical or mental.

"To my home. We have a date. I am Mikhail Dubrinsky."

Raven rubbed at her temple. "Tonight might not be so good for me. I'm feeling…" She broke off, catching a I glimpse of a moving shadow pacing them. Her heart nearly stopped. She looked around, sighted a second, then a third. Her hand clutched his shoulder. "Put me down, Dubrinsky."

"Mikhail," he corrected, not even slowing down. A smile softened the edges of his mouth. "You see the wolves?" She felt the indifferent shrug of his broad shoulders. "Be calm, little one; they will not harm us. This is their home, as it is mine. We have an understanding and are at peace with one another."

Somehow she believed him. "Are you going to hurt me?" She asked the question softly, needing to know.

His dark eyes touched her face again, thoughtful, holding a thousand secrets, unmistakably possessive. "I am not a man who would hurt a woman in the way you are imagining. But I am certain our relationship will not always be a comfortable one. You like to defy me." He answered as honestly as he was I able.

His eyes made her feel as if she belonged to him, as if he had a right to her. "You were wrong to hurt Jacob, you know. You could have killed him."

"Do not defend him, little one. I allowed him to live to please you, but it would be no trouble to finish the task."
Pleasurable. No man had the right to put his hand on Mikhail's woman and hurt her as that human had done. The inability of the male to see that he was causing Raven pain did not absolve his sin.

"You don't mean that. Jacob is harmless. He was attracted to me," she tried to explain gently.

"You will not speak his name to me. He touched you, put his hand on you." He stopped abruptly, there in the heart of I the deep forest, as wild and untamed as the pack of wolves surrounding them. He was not even breathing heavily, though he had covered miles carrying her in his arms. His black eyes ; were merciless as they stared down into hers. "He caused you much pain."

Her breath caught in her throat as he lowered his dark head to hers. His mouth hovered inches from hers, so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. "Do not disobey me in this, Raven. This man touched you, hurt you, and I see no reason for his existence."

Her eyes searched his hard, implacable features. "You're serious, aren't you?" She did not want to feel the warmth spreading through her at his words. Jacob had hurt her; the pain was so intense, it had stolen her breath and somehow, when no one else knew, Mikhail had known.

"Deadly serious." He began moving again with his long, ground-eating strides.

Raven was silent, trying to work out the puzzle. She knew evil, had chased it, soaked in it, the obscene, depraved mind of a serial killer. This man spoke casually of killing, yet she could not feel evil in him. She sensed that she was in danger, grave danger from Mikhail Dubrinsky. A man with unlimited power, arrogant in his strength, a man who believed he had a right to her.

"Mikhail?" Her slender frame was beginning to tremble. "I want to go back."

The dark eyes drifted over her face again, noting the shadows, the fear lingering in her blue gaze. Her heart was pounding, her slight body trembling in his arms. "Go back to what? Death? Isolation? You have nothing with those people and everything with me. Going back is not your answer. Sooner or later you will not be able to take their demands. They continually take pieces of your soul. You are much safer in my care."

She pushed at the wall of his chest, found her hands trapped against the heat of his skin. He merely tightened his hold, amusement spreading warmth to the coldness of his eyes. "You cannot fight me, little one."

"I want to go back, Mikhail." She worked to keep her voice under control. She wasn't sure she was telling the truth. He knew her. He knew what she felt, the price she paid for her gift. The pull between them was so strong, she could hardly think straight.

The house loomed up, dark, threatening, a rambling hulk of stone. Her fingers twisted in his shirt. Mikhail knew she was unaware of that nervous, telltale gesture. "You are safe with me, Raven. I would not allow anyone or anything to harm you."

She swallowed nervously as he pushed open the heavy iron gates and mounted the steps. "Just you."

He allowed his chin to brush the top of her silky hair, feeling the jolt in the core of his body. "Welcome to my home." He said the words softly, wrapping her up in them as if they were firelight or sunshine. Very slowly, reluctantly, he allowed her feet to touch the threshold.

Mikhail reached past her to open the door, then stepped back. "Do you enter my home of your own free will?" He asked it formally, his eyes burning on her face, over it, dwelling on her soft mouth before returning to her large blue eyes.

She was frightened, he could read it easily, a captive wild thing wanting to trust him yet unable to, run to the ground, cornered, but still willing to fight with her last breath. She needed him almost as much as he needed her. She touched the door frame with a fingertip. "If I say no, will you take me back to the inn?"

Why did she want to be with him when she knew he was so dangerous? He wasn't "pushing" her; she had too much talent of her own not to know. He looked so alone, so proud, yet his eyes burned over her with hungry need. He didn't answer her, didn't try to persuade her, simply stood in silence, waiting.

Raven sighed softly, knowing she was defeated. She had never known another human being she could just sit and talk with, even touch, without the bombardment of thoughts and emotions. That in itself was a type of seduction.

She started across the threshold. Mikhail caught her arm. "Your own free will; say it."

"My own free will." She stepped into his home, her lashes sweeping down. Raven missed the look of savage joy that lit his dark, chiseled features.

Chapter Two

The heavy door swung closed behind Raven with a thud of finality. She shivered, rubbed her arms nervously. Mikhail whirled a cape around her, enveloping her in warmth, in his woodsy, masculine scent. He strode across the marble floor to throw open the doors to the library. Within minutes he had a fire roaring. He indicated a chair near the flames. It was high-backed, deep cushioned, an antique, yet curiously not worn.