"Corinne!" Lisa burst from the club with Cullen one step behind her. She was obviously upset, her beautiful face betraying her anxiety. "Rina, are you ill? I'm so sorry, I should have been paying more attention." She clutched Corinne's purse protectively to her.
"I'm perfectly fine, Lisa," Corinne answered immediately. She stepped away from Dayan, but somehow he moved too in a ripple of power so that he was sheltering her body from the rising wind. Corinne looked up at his chiseled features and found her heart in her throat again. What was it about him? How could he so easily rob her of her breath and sanity with only a look? A movement?
"We were just talking away from the noise," Dayan drawled, smiling lazily, his teeth very white in the darkness. He raked his hand carelessly through his shining ebony hair, managing to tousle it more. Strands fell in disarray across his forehead, yet he looked more attractive than ever.
The two women exchanged a quick glance, rolling their eyes in complete accord while Corinne stifled a groan. How could any man be real and look and act like he did? Corinne mouthed "bad boy" at Lisa, making her laugh.
Lisa leaned close to whisper, "Only you could look at a man too sexy to be on earth and reduce his incredible beauty to bad boy."
Corinne felt herself a fraud. Lisa didn't think Corinne was in the least susceptible to Dayan's dark sensuality. But she was more than susceptible. She was enthralled, under a spell of enchantment. She even briefly wondered if his songs, or his voice, might have somehow hypnotized her.
Dayan reached out and casually removed Corinne's purse from Lisa's hand, then gave it to Corinne. He would have been amused at her thoughts had her heart not been stuttering again, a laboring that bothered him immensely. How could he fix it without harming her child? His eyes moved possessively over Corinne's face as he watched her pull a small container from her purse and swallow a tiny pill. With the same easy strength he always exhibited, he shackled Corinne's bare wrist and brought it up for his inspection. "Why are you not wearing a medical bracelet? In an emergency it would alert strangers how to help you."
Lisa tossed her blond head. "At last! Someone with a little sense, unlike Rina. She never listens to anyone."
A small sensual smile tugged at the hard edge of Dayan's mouth. He leaned down close to Corinne so his warm breath stirred tendrils of hair at her temple. "You do not listen to others?"
"I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions," Corinne informed him, her voice faintly haughty when all she really wanted to do was touch his mouth with her fingertips. Up close he robbed her of breath. Of good sense.
"Until now," Dayan corrected with infinite gentleness. His voice was very soft and, like velvet, it whispered sensuously over her skin, making her shiver. He brought her hand up to his perfectly molded mouth, rubbed the pads of her fingers over his lips.
Her heart stuttered; butterfly wings brushed at her stomach. For a moment she could only stare at him, lost in his magic. She dragged her gaze from his, withdrew her hand to curl her fingers into her palm, holding on to his warmth.
Cullen stared up at Dayan in total shock. He had camped with their leader for several weeks during the Dark Troubadours tour, yet Cullen had never seen Dayan exhibit the slightest interest in any woman.
Now Dayan's body language shouted that he felt protective, even possessive, of Corinne. There was something else, something in Dayan's eyes that had never been there before. A flicker of something dangerous. Cullen had assured Lisa that her sister was perfectly safe with Dayan, but now he wasn't so certain.
"Perhaps we had better get the ladies out of the wind," Dayan drawled. "Cullen, let's escort them to their car, and then I'll pick up my guitar." His voice brushed over Corinne's skin again like fingers.
She shivered in reaction. At once he drew her into the shelter of his arms. "I should have realized it was too cold out here for you," he said softly, apologetically, his breath warm against her neck. His body was hot and hard against the satin softness of her cool skin. "I was being selfish, wanting you to myself."
He glanced at Lisa, and she unexpectedly found herself leading the men to her small sporty car, wondering why it was suddenly so important to her to get Corinne out of the wind. Dayan kept possession of Corinne, handing her carefully into the front seat. "Where can we meet you so we can talk in a quieter atmosphere?"
He asked it softly, his black eyes suddenly on Lisa's face.
Lisa blinked and blurted out her address, something she would never normally do. Corinne stared at her in horror. Lisa clapped a hand over her mouth guiltily and watched as Dayan reached casually across Corinne to buckle her seat belt.
Hard and defined with muscle, his body brushed Corinne's. He smelled of spice and woods. Totally masculine. He dwarfed the small car. His chin nuzzled Corinne's hair. "I am not a serial killer, although it is nice to know you have some instinct for self-preservation."
He closed the door on her shocked expression, his arrogant, bad-boy grin very much in evidence.
Lisa put her head down on the steering wheel. "Don't say it, Corinne. I don't know what I was thinking, giving him our address like that. He's just - I don't know, too much. I couldn't think straight for a minute there with his eyes staring at me as if he could see right through me. I'm sorry. You don't think he's some kind of crazy person, do you?"
"I think we're the crazy ones." It was a relief to be away from the potency of Dayan's company. He made Corinne feel out of control. Spinning madly. Wild. Sexy. Wanting. "And he did point out he wasn't a serial killer. That was comforting news, unless serial killers regularly make such statements to strange women."
Both women dissolved into laughter, dispelling most of the tension in the car. Corinne found she could breathe again, think again, as Lisa put the car in gear and, honking the horn, plunged bravely into traffic. "So, are you looking at Cullen? Because he's certainly looking at you." Corinne rubbed her palms up and down her arms over the exact spot Dayan's arms had held her. Oddly, she could still feel him close to her. She could smell his scent on her, and it was strangely comforting.
"I really think Cullen is great," Lisa admitted. "You know how I hate being the decorative doll on the big guy's arm. He didn't make me feel like that at all, not once. He's nice, Rina. Very nice. And when I realized you were gone, he was so sweet, reassuring me that Dayan wasn't a playboy preying on women. The truth is, I panicked. I don't feel comfortable when you're out of my sight anymore." She threw Corinne a quick, mischievous grin as she rolled through the next three stop signs and narrowly missed jumping a curb. "I sound like I'm two and afraid to leave my mommy. Cullen's cute, though not in a kiddy way." She tugged on Corinne's sleeve. "And what was that?"
"What was what?" Corinne tried to sound innocent, but a blush slowly crept up her neck into her face. "You know exactly what I mean," Lisa accused, her eyes laughing. "That dance."
"Oh, that." Corinne pushed both hands through her mass of gleaming hair and lifted it off her neck, the gesture curiously sexy. "That was scorching."
Lisa let out a whistle. "Scorching? Not just hot?"
Corinne shook her head solemnly. "Absolutely, totally scorching. That man is lethal and shouldn't be allowed to live anywhere near the female population."
"I'm a believer. You've always been immune to men. If he can scorch you, he should definitely be locked up somewhere."
"Somewhere where we can still look at him," Corinne suggested with a little smile curving her soft mouth. An intriguing dimple appeared briefly, then melted away, leaving Lisa wondering where it had gone.
"You like him." Lisa made it a statement. She knew she was overprotective of Corinne. But Corinne was terribly vulnerable. A man like Dayan might easily sweep her off her feet. Anyone looking at him could see he was a dangerous man. A rock star, a musician. Half the female population was after him. But there was something about the way he looked at Corinne...
"Like him?" Corinne echoed the words thoughtfully. "I don't think he's a man who would inspire such an insipid word as like.
I feel safe when I'm with him, and yet threatened at the same time. It makes no sense. I do and say things entirely out of character for me. What's really strange, Lisa, is I feel as if I've known him forever, that I'm supposed to be with him." She took a deep breath and made a hurried confession. "And I can't look at him without feeling like jumping into bed. At first I thought it was because I love his music. Ever since I ran across that old LP, I've worked at collecting everything of the Dark Troubadours I could. You know, the idol trap that women occasionally fall into when the musician happens to be a godlike creature. But I think he's rather like a flame and I'm a little moth flying way too close to him. It's called chemistry. Explosive, natural chemistry."
"Really?" There was definite interest in Lisa's voice. She lifted one eyebrow in inquiry. "Spill all, Corinne. Are we talking sex here?"
"You saw him. He oozes sex. I've never met anyone even remotely like him. I just thought I wasn't the sexy type. We talked about it, remember?"
Lisa nodded solemnly, hurtling around another corner, missing a parked car by half an inch. Corinne was so used to Lisa's driving, she didn't even wince. A horn blasted at them, and Lisa flashed a cheery smile and waved gaily as she cut off the driver to get to her turn. "I thought it was because it was your first time," Lisa answered carefully; "the beginner thing with John. You had a hard time of it." Corinne had always been honest with Lisa about her life with John. Everything had been comfortable between them with the exception of the bedroom. Corinne blamed herself, believing she simply didn't have a strong sex drive.
"More likely it was the chemistry thing, because, believe me, this man and I have some kind of attraction. I'm not certain I would trust myself in a room alone with him," Corinne mused aloud, shocked at the blatant response of her body. "Maybe you've run across his type before in your crowd, Lisa, but for me, this is an absolutely new and very uncomfortable first experience. He could drop a woman at thirty paces." Corinne sighed and shook back her hair. "It makes me feel guilty over John." She made it a confession.
Lisa scowled darkly. "Don't be silly, Rina. John would hate your saying that. He loved you like crazy, but we both know you didn't love him the same way. You made him happy, you know you did, and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You were always there for both of us."
"I did love John," Corinne said, "and I miss him terribly."
"I know you loved him. I didn't mean it like that. He isn't coming back, and he would want you to be happy. You know he would." Lisa pulled the car up to the driveway of their home. Her unusual, elegant, yet exotic looks had helped provide money for a beautiful home in an upscale neighborhood. The two women enjoyed just looking at their home sometimes. "Of course, I don't know if he'd approve of Mr. Sex Appeal. What were you talking about all that time? Alone. In the dark," Lisa teased.
"Babies." Corinne blurted it out, wanting to confess everything. How could she have told a perfect stranger before telling her beloved sister-in-law?
Something in Corinne's voice warned Lisa it wasn't a funny subject. Lisa went very still, her fingers freezing around the car keys while her other hand tightened around the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, I thought you said babies. Why would you be discussing babies with him? I hope you told him babies were out of the question." There was an edge of challenge in Lisa's voice. At once her eyes were examining Corinne's figure, clad in jeans and loose-fitting top.
Corinne looked away from the accusation in her eyes. "I didn't know, Lisa, I swear I didn't. The morning John was killed we had made love. After he was murdered, everything was so terrible I didn't think about it for a couple months; then I noticed I was abnormally tired. Way more than usual. I spotted the entire time, so it just didn't occur to me I could be carrying a baby. But then when I was so ill, I went to the doctor. Remember I had to go to bed for a while?"
"You're pregnant? You're pregnant right now?" Lisa pushed Corinne's shirt away from her stomach to inspect her. "You'd have to be six months and you aren't showing." It was an accusation. It was a plea. But she saw the little mound where Corinne's flat stomach had been.
Corinne caught Lisa's hand in hers. "Come on, Lisa, we can get through this together, just like we've always done."
Lisa was shaking her head in denial, tears swimming in her eyes. "You can't have a baby. The doctors said you couldn't. You were on birth control. I remember you were so upset when they said it would be a virtual death sentence for you to have a baby. John swore he would never allow you to chance it. He swore it to me. I made him swear it."
"I had to go off birth control some months ago. We were taking precautions and we were always careful." In the last few months before his death, John had begun to complain about using condoms. The pill made Corinne sick, and so did the shot. He hated everything else because it was "invasive." "It was just the one time. I knew better, but I wasn't thinking much about it at the time." John had gotten impatient with her inadequacies. Corinne hadn't blamed him. He had wanted her to feel for him the same things he felt for her. How could she explain how guilty she felt for not being sexually attracted to John in the way he needed her to be? She loved John - she knew she loved him. She loved him dearly, but she had never wanted the physical side of their relationship as he had. That morning she had tried hard for John.
"It was totally irresponsible of both of you," Lisa snapped. "I told John he should have an operation, but he didn't want to because..." She trailed off.
"Because he thought he might have children one day with someone else after I died," Corinne finished for her. "I wanted him to be happy."
Lisa's fingers tightened around Corinne's desperately. "What can we do? Can they take it early?"
"Take a deep breath, Lisa," Corinne advised gently. "This baby isn't an it. We're talking about a child. A part of John."
"I don't care who it's a part of. That baby is going to kill you."
"John and I have a daughter, Lisa. She's a living, breathing child, kicking and moving, a little girl." Very gently Corinne attempted to guide Lisa's hand over the small mound of her stomach.
Lisa snatched her hand back and shoved open the car door. She scooted out and slammed it very hard, a measure of her mood. Corinne sighed and slid from the vehicle, following her up to the house. As Lisa grabbed for the doorknob, Corinne stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I know you're upset, Lisa. I should have told you right away, when the doctor confirmed it, but I wasn't certain I could carry the baby. After the horror of John's death, I didn't want you to suffer along with me. It was all such a nightmare, a terrible nightmare. What would be the point of making you worry even more? John was dead, I was already pregnant, and we both know the chances of my carrying successfully were slim. I didn't want to worry you."
Lisa spun around, her blue eyes reflecting a mixture of grief, fear and anger. "You didn't want me to tell you what you knew all along. You can't have this baby because you'll die if you do. You'll die, Corinne. That's the bottom line; it's always been the bottom line. I thought you had accepted the fact that you'd never have a baby. You're everything to me. My family, the only family I've got. We fought for the life we had, the three of us, but then when we finally made it, someone killed John and now you're planning on dying and leaving me all alone!"
Corinne wrapped her arms around Lisa and held her close until the stiffness melted away and Lisa was clinging to her. "I'm not planning to die, Lisa, and if I did, you wouldn't be alone, you'd have a part of John and a part of me with you."
"I don't want a part of you, Corinne, I want you.
I can't do this - I won't lose you too. I'm not like you. I'm not strong and brave and I don't want to be," Lisa said adamantly, then breathed a soft expletive under her breath as headlights caught them for a moment and the engine of a car died. "I can't possibly act normal now. I want everyone to go away so I can cry a river."
The moment Dayan stepped from the car and inhaled the night, he knew something was wrong. He was well aware of the dissension between the two women; he could easily read their thoughts. He wanted to comfort Corinne, knew she was fighting tears, but they were both in danger. Even as he read their minds for information, he scanned the area, his mind seeking the hidden threat. His heart in his throat, he glided toward the two women, putting on a burst of preternatural speed as they turned away from him to reach for the front door. His hand was there first, effectively blocking Lisa from entering. Even as Dayan jerked the door shut, Corinne gasped and pulled Lisa away from the house, across the lawn, back toward the car.
"It was open, Lisa. The door wasn't closed all the way." There was panic in Corinne's voice. She had been afraid someone was watching them ever since John's body had been found in the small park close to their home.
"You probably forgot to lock it," Lisa ventured, but her voice was shaking.
Corinne shook her head, her eyes meeting Dayan's over Lisa's head. "I locked it, I know I did. We have to call the police." She wanted him to believe her.
Dayan was already herding the two women toward Cullen. Dayan nodded his head as if in agreement, his hands very gentle on Corinne's arms, moving up and down over her skin, warming her, offering a measure of comfort. "Go with Cullen. I'll take care of things here." There were two human males waiting in concealment in the house. "Cullen, take them to the house where we're staying. I will come as soon as I am able."
The authority in his voice said he was a man used to being obeyed. Lisa immediately slid into the car, her face very pale. Corinne balked, just as he had known she would.
She lifted her chin at him, her green eyes flashing. "I don't think so! You're getting in the car too, Dayan. What are you thinking? My husband was murdered. Don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence that someone's in our house? You're coming with us!" Corinne caught his arm and tugged.
Dayan smiled down at her, his heart melting. "Thank you, Corinne." He framed her face with his hands, his black gaze holding her captive. "You will go with Cullen and wait for me, and you will not call the authorities." His mouth brushed the top of her head, the briefest contact; then he was smiling his reassurance as he put her gently in the car.
"Dayan, please, come with us. I have a bad feeling about this," she protested.
"It will be fine, Corinne. I am not easily killed." He leaned across the seat in the protective way he had and tightened her seat belt. "Your heart is beating too irregularly," he whispered against her ear, his mouth against her skin. "Listen to the rhythm of mine." He brought her hand to his heart.
For one moment she couldn't breathe, and then she could hear the sound of his heart. At once her heart seemed to work to follow his lead. It was impossible, but then, Corinne could move objects by simply willing them to move, so she believed in the impossible. With Dayan, everything seemed natural. She felt a jolt of electricity as his fingers brushed the silken top of her head before he closed the car door. Whips of lightning danced in her bloodstream. He did everything smoothly and efficiently, with no hurry, his confidence complete. It was impossible not to do as he said when he seemed in such complete control and utterly invincible. Corinne couldn't look away from him until the car pulled out from the curb.
The moment those black eyes were no longer on her, Corinne covered her face with her hands. "We shouldn't have left him like that. I don't know why I act so out of character around him. Cullen, we need to go back and help him. If someone is in our house, they could hurt him, or worse."
Cullen laughed softly. "Save your sympathy for anyone in the house. It won't be Dayan who goes down."
"I'm serious," Corinne said. "There could be several men with guns."
"Believe me, it won't matter. They won't hurt him." Cullen spoke with complete conviction.
"He's a musician, a gentle, sweet poet," Corinne protested, thinking of the beauty of his words, the tenderness in his smile.
Cullen laughed softly. "He's much more than that, Corinne. Don't worry about him. He really has an uncanny knack for taking care of himself."
Dayan watched the car until the taillights disappeared around a corner. Corinne feared for his safety. He read it easily in her eyes, in her mind. Heard her protest with his acute hearing. It warmed him as nothing else had ever done. Then he turned his head very slowly to look at the house. As he turned, his entire demeanor changed. There was nothing left of the elegant male. At once he looked like what he truly was. A dark, dangerous predator unsheathing his claws. Stalking his prey. He began to move in the darkness - his home, his world. He had the complete advantage. He could see easily on the darkest night, he could move with the silence of the wind, he could scent his prey as keenly as the wolf, and he could command the skies and the earth itself.
Dayan glided around the house, effortlessly vaulting the six-foot fence. As he did so he shifted shape, landing silently on four paws instead of two feet. The leopard padded softly on its large, cushioned paws, the grass barely moving as it circled the back of the house. Off the back porch a light shone beneath the door of a small room. In the shadow of the porch, the huge cat wavered and shimmered, its mottled fur almost iridescent for a brief moment, then it simply dissolved as if it had never been.
A stream of vapor poured through the crack of the door, flowing as quickly and silently as a lethal dose of carbon monoxide. Dayan gained the interior of the house and paused for a moment inside while the vapor wavered into transparency once more, only to reform in the huge, well muscled body of the cunning and silent predatory cat.
Dayan padded through the small, well-lit room into the darkened kitchen. He knew immediately where both hunters lay in wait. He could smell them, a pungent mixture of fear and excitement. They had been waiting for some time, pumped up and ready, sweat glands excreting their foul stench, but inevitably the wait had drained them and they had become restless and cramped in their positions. When the headlights of the car had signaled the arrival of the two women, the cycle had started all over again. Fear. Excitement. Adrenaline. And then the terrible letdown.
They were shifting their positions, uncertain what to do. Their orders were clear. Wait until the women arrived, grab them quickly and quietly. Dayan read their minds as clearly as he smelled the sweat from their bodies. Neither noticed the large leopard as it made its slow, patient approach in imperceptible silence.
The cat walked boldly out into the center of the spacious room, not even attempting to use the furniture for cover. This kind of cat-and-mouse game was as old as life itself to the predator. The leopard's eyes remained focused on its prey, a penetrating, piercing stare signaling that death was stalking. Those eyes held all the cunning and intelligence of a great hunter. They were not the yellow eyes of a leopard, but a fierce, calm black, empty of anything but lethal intent.
The leopard dropped low, belly to the ground, muscles incredibly controlled as it began to stalk the men. Inch by slow inch. In complete silence. There was not even the whisper of fur brushing the immaculate carpet as the cat gained on its prey. A man was leaning against the wall, sighing, moving restlessly, easing his cramped muscles. A gun was in his right hand and he continually checked it, caressing the trigger absently with his finger, wiping his forehead where beads of sweat were accumulating. Waiting was a difficult thing, and he didn't have the patience or stillness of the cat.
He never knew that he had gone from the hunter to the hunted. He felt the impact of the heavy body as it drove him into the wall. He felt the brush of fur and smelled the wild scent of death. Daggers pierced him where the heavy cat's crushing claws held him still while its long, sharp teeth punctured his throat. For one moment the man stared into the eyes of the cat, caught and held as his throat was crushed; the knowledge of his own death had come far too late to stop it. Those eyes held savage intelligence and were mesmerizing, compelling. As he died, he recalled the events leading up to this moment. He had been one of the men who'd stalked and murdered John Wentworth. One of the men who did security work at the Morrison Center for Psychic Research.
Dayan lowered his prey to the ground, breathing deeply, forcing the beast under control. In the body of the leopard, his own hunger was doubly difficult to restrain. He moved quickly from the temptation, padding softly around the corner of the room into the hall on his cushioned paws. Corinne had been correct: The kidnappers were after them because John had gone to the center. Whatever her husband had told them, it had aroused interest in Corinne and Lisa as well.
Once again in complete control of the beast raging inside him, Dayan began to stalk the other kidnapper.
He was on the other side of the room, oblivious to his partner's fate. Twice he lifted a small corner of the curtain and looked out into the dark night. The leopard could smell him, hear his sighs, his movements giving away his position as he constantly shifted his weight back and forth in an attempt to ease sore muscles and keep himself alert. This man was stroking his gun, too, fantasizing about what he would do to the two women when he had them in his hands.
The leopard padded forward until it was within several feet of its prey before it froze in position, sinking to the carpet in a low crouch. The cat remained perfectly motionless, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on its prey. The man turned and looked directly at the leopard without seeing it, without any awareness whatsoever. Dayan waited with all the patience of a thousand years of hunting. For him, the life cycle was endless and there was all the time in the world. He watched dispassionately as the intruder turned back to his post without seeing the body of his partner or the danger to himself.
The leopard inched forward once again without even a whisper of movement to betray him. He had stalked prey countless times and defeated his enemies time and again. The merciless black eyes never once left their target. When he was within striking distance, he gathered himself for the attack, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He struck hard, going for the throat, the quick kill, and this time he shifted shape as he did so, bending his head to drink as he took the man unaware.
At once the rush of adrenaline-laced blood hit him hard, a fireball moving through his system.
The forbidden.
Addicting as any drug. He was hungry and he drank deeply, the beast rising, fighting for supremacy. Dayan calmly held the man's weight in his enormously strong hands and deliberately thought of Corinne. She anchored him, kept him safe. She was there to ensure he did not cross over to become the very thing this man was hunting. The vampire. The undead. Dayan was a Carpathian male, as old as time, one of the ancients walking the land in search of his lifemate. Without her he would eventually be forced to seek the dawn or choose to lose his soul and become the vampire.
The blood was moving through his system, reviving cells and muscles and tissue, soaking into his body and giving him a false high. Everything in him demanded more, demanded he feed while the life force faded from the body.
Corinne.
He called her name in his mind for strength to resist the wildness. A cool breeze seemed to find its way to his hot skin.
Corinne.
He could see her face - he had memorized every inch of it. Her soft skin begging for his touch. Her moss-green eyes, the color as rare as she was. The light inside her, shining out of her.
Corinne.
He felt her with him and it was enough. He closed the wound with his healing saliva, allowing the man to die at his own pace. The beast inside him raged for a moment, fighting him, wanting more, wanting to gorge itself, but Dayan ignored the terrible whispers of power and concentrated on Corinne.
Her mouth. The intriguing dimple that came and went. The way her lips curved into a smile. She was extremely kissable. He looked around the spacious house. Corinne's house. He inhaled her scent as he moved through the rooms. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, lots of wood and was very clean. Instinctively he knew that Corinne was the one who did the housekeeping. Lisa's bedroom had clothes on the floor and draped over chairs. Lipsticks and cosmetics were scattered over a vanity. A large gilded mirror was on the wall above the small vanity. The room held Lisa's scent and two pictures. One was of Corinne. The other was of a young male. Tall. Laughing. Blond like Lisa. It had to be John.
Dayan stared a long time at the man. He could see Lisa in him. The eyes were intelligent, the smile real. He wanted to find something not to like about the man, some hidden demon, but he seemed genuine. Dayan moved out of the room and wandered through the house getting a feel for those who lived there. A large room off the main living area held a gleaming piano and a drum set. He paused for a moment, inhaling Corinne's scent. This was a part of her domain; he knew she was often at the piano. It was only after he had inspected the area carefully that he allowed himself to enter Corinne's room. Various antique instruments hung on the wall.
The bedroom was decorated in soft colors, very neat and tidy, the bed with a multitude of throw pillows. Her clothes were neatly folded in the drawers and hung in the closet. Books were everywhere. Books of every kind. There was an entire section devoted to wild cats. Dayan found himself smiling as he picked up a particularly thick one on leopards. The pictures were excellent. His finger touched the snarling face on the cover. Books on weather and the ocean were in a pile on the left side of the bed. Thick volumes dedicated to the history of music were scattered on the floor beside a case holding a state-of-the-art music system.
On the walls were rare signed posters of various artists. A keyboard was set up in a corner of the room. There was an electric guitar leaning up against the wall and a beautifully crafted acoustic instrument lying in a padded case with the lid opened. A CD holder was packed with every type of music imaginable. Tapes were neatly fit into another case and records were in a third. Browsing through the tapes, he was shocked to find several cassettes marked "Dark Troubadours."
Looking further, he found rare and bootleg recordings of various artists.
On the bed lay a notebook filled with lyrics written in a small, neat script. Her handwriting. He looked at the signature and his eyes widened. A slow smile softened the line of his mouth. C. J. Wentworth. The name was respected in music circles. He'd had no idea C. J. Wentworth was a young woman. His young woman. Corinne. He leafed through the notebook. Her words were beautiful and touched his heart.
All at once Dayan couldn't wait any longer to get back to her. Her presence was everywhere in this room, her scent enfolding him in its embrace. He inhaled deeply, taking her fragrance deep into his lungs. Dayan caught up a photograph of Lisa and Corinne laughing together, Corinne looking up at Lisa as a spray of water showered down over the two of them. The pad of his thumb caressed her laughing face. The sun had bathed her in a ray of light, a surrounding halo. She was so beautiful she robbed him of the ability to breathe. It hurt to look at her. There were moments when a giant hand seemed to be squeezing his heart. He wondered whether it was because her heart labored so terribly, or because she was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.
His emotions were difficult to sort through. He wanted to be everything to her, the very air she breathed. He was concerned with the logistics of protecting her. If he bound her to him in the ritual manner, as every fiber of his being was demanding he do, they would be locked together for all time. She would not be able to endure separation from him during the daylight hours, and if he remained above ground he would eventually be drained of the great strength needed for her protection. During the day, if he was not safe underground he would be helpless and vulnerable to his enemies.
Dayan sat on the edge of her bed, his palm absently running over the quilt in an uncharacteristic show of tenderness. He sent out a call, seeking information. He was far from his own kind, but Darius was strong and their connection had been powerful almost since the beginning of their time together. Theirs was a blood bond, unbreakable by time or distance. Darius was family and he would answer on their own private path, mind to mind.
Darius. I have need of you.
Dayan had learned patience hundreds of years earlier, the patience of the leopard on the hunt, the patience of the ocean wearing away the rocks. He sat quietly, his mind replaying the events of the day so Darius could read his problem clearly. He could feel the connection between them, Darius's power filling his mind. Unexpectedly, he felt a rising emotion for this one man who had been so much a part of his life. Dayan had had only the memories of their closeness to sustain him for hundreds of years; he had lost his ability to feel early on, yet he had the music that poured out of his soul, reminding him he still lived. He had been fortunate that he had retained that priceless gift when so many others lost everything.
We are happy for your find, Dayan.
The voice alone comforted and gave Dayan a sense of well-being, a sense of family. Darius had led their small group unerringly through terrible years of war and vampire hunts. He had kept them together, given them purpose, protected them and taught them how to survive in those early years.
Desari and Tempest cannot wait to meet their new sister. I must consult with a healer. The need is great and the situation complicated. She is with child. I will find the best our people have to offer and bring them to you as quickly as possible. We will start out immediately to come to you. We have enemies here. Perhaps the society has found my lifemate, or perhaps we have a new enemy. Someone from the Morrison Center, a psychic research organization, was sent to acquire her. They were using guns and had violence in their minds. Come carefully, Darius, and caution the others to do so also. I have already put out the word to the others. It will take us a few days, Dayan. I thank you for your concern, Darius. I do not yet know if our enemy is her enemy, but I will find a way to keep Corinne safe. Should something happen to me... She will always be under my protection and the protection of your family. You will keep her alive until the healer arrives.
It was a command.
We will not lose either of you, Dayan.
The voice spoke with utmost confidence.
With a small sigh Dayan turned his attention to the problem at hand. He had to remove the bodies of the intruders from Corinne's home. The leopard had crushed the throats of the two men, strangling them rather than ripping and tearing. There was very little blood where the puncture wounds were. He had been careful to keep the carpets clean. He wanted no signs that the two men had ever been in the house.
Dayan lifted the bodies easily, slung them over his shoulder and stepped out into the backyard. The night was waning, and he had much to do. He launched himself into the air, shape-shifting as he did so, taking the men with him as he winged through the sky, gathering dark clouds together to shield himself from any observers. He was moving fast, a dark shape streaking across the heavens with his burden.
Dayan, like all his kind, was enormously strong, and the dead weight of the two bodies meant nothing to him. He was enjoying the night, the sounds, the songs, the sheer beauty of it all. It surrounded him, enfolded him in its music. The stars glittered like diamonds, a brilliant display, and below him trees dipped and swayed in the wind. In the darkness the leaves appeared a gleaming silver. He flew over a small lake and the surface glistened like glass. The world had never appeared so beautiful to him. Laving so long without colors, Dayan found their return overwhelming. He wanted to take it all in, turning his head this way and that so he could see everything.
Far from the city he found what he was looking for, a deep forest. Dayan settled to earth, his wings dissolving as he took his own shape. With a wave of his hand he opened the earth and floated the bodies into the deep chasm, tossing the crushed guns on top of the remains. Overhead, he built a storm, gathering in dark clouds and roiling the air above him so that lightning arced, veins of white-hot energy leaping from cloud to cloud. The dancing whips were directed into the hole so that both bodies were incinerated quickly. No one would find this grave. With a wave of his hand, the earth settled back over the ashes. The wind scattered leaves and twigs across the grave so that it looked as if it had been undisturbed for years.
Dayan dispersed the storm and, in the shape of an owl, flew quickly back to the safe house where Cullen waited with Corinne and Lisa. He was eager to get back to her, to be in her company, to see that she was real and not a figment of his imagination.