Christine feehan - Dark Slayer 20

He simply dissolved and streamed away, up and over the forest with its spider colony, back toward Carpathian territory, leaving the others to follow.

CHAPTER 15

«I think you have a devious mind,» Ivory said as she once again resumed her physical form, standing in the memory room of her lair. «Leading the hunters into the Valley of Mist and then going beneath the ground rather than through the mist was a stroke of genius. There was no way they could track us, not even through the call of blood.»

«The earth welcomes us and covers all tracks. I knew they could never follow our scent, even with the call of blood.» Razvan grinned at her. «I would have liked to have been there when they realized they were trapped in an illusion and fighting with snowmen, not ghouls.» He burst out laughing.

She stretched her arms wide to allow the wolves to take their normal shapes. «We did not make any friends.»

«We do not need friends. In any case, if they are without emotions, they could care less one way or the other.» He frowned. «I do not envy Mikhail his job.»

«Especially trying to destroy that book. He has no idea of the evil things inside of it.»

Razvan was silent for a long moment. «I should have spoken with him more about the book and its destruction. I dislike the idea of my aunts having to deal with anything involved with Xavier, but they, better than anyone else, would know how best to destroy the book.»

The concern in his voice moved her. The man had more compassion in him and more drive to protect those he loved than any person she'd ever met. Ivory turned toward him, her gaze drifting over him slowly. He took up a lot of space there in the confines of her home. His shoulders were broad and his physique very masculine. There was little soft about Razvan, although he had the calmest, most serene nature she'd ever run across as a rule. He glanced up and caught her looking at him.

Her heart leapt. There was stark, raw hunger in his eyes, glittering at her, devouring her, drinking her in. Her mouth went dry. They were alone. She moistened her lips. Wanting him. Even needing him. Fear gripping her.

«Razvan.» His name came out husky, her voice shaken.

His smile was slow, his voice as thick as molasses. «Ivory.»

The way he said her name made her body go hot and damp and her heart pound more. There would be no going back. It was all or nothing with him, she knew that about him. Once he touched her, claimed her, made her part of him, she would be lost. Completely. How much of her would disappear? She ached for this. For him. She was on fire for him. Almost desperate, when desperate wasn't part of her makeup.

She held up a shaky hand before he could take a step toward her. «If you ever betrayed me, I would kill you. I would, Razvan. You have to know that. There would be no forgiveness. I have not trusted another person in centuries. Others do not matter, but you-you would matter.»

«I would expect nothing less from my woman.»

A slow, sexy smile curved his mouth and burned in his eyes. Hunger stared back at her. Desire. Lust. All things she could cope with. But there was love, pure and honest and so real it took her breath away, shaking her to her very core. Something inside her welled up. Burst. Opened to him. For him. This one man. If she took him in, her love for him would consume her. She had so much to give, but she'd been alone for so long . . .

He held out his hand to her. «I have been alone, too.»

She wanted to make him understand the enormity of the decision. Did he know what it would cost her? Did he know how terrified she was? Did he have any idea how bad she was going to be at a relationship?

His smile widened, giving her a flash of his white teeth. He leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss over her mouth. There was no way to save herself from her treacherous heart. She had already committed to him. She had fallen for his smile. His gentle nature. His iron will. Everything about him drew her. Even his stubborn streak and that absolute boyish sense of humor. Everything.

There was more danger to her here, in this man, in this moment, than from the most powerful master vampire imaginable, or from the most ferocious of battles. Loving him too much, as she would-maybe already did-might destroy her. She could put her physical body back together, but not her heart, not her soul-not the very essence of who she was.

«Trust me, beloved. I know I am asking more than any other has dared to ask, but look into the soul we share and trust me.»

Ivory kept her gaze locked with his. His eyes. His gorgeous, wild, midnight blue eyes that held so much. All for her. Only for her. So much hunger. So much desire. So much love. Her mouth trembled as she placed her hand in his and let him lead her into their bedchamber. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

Razvan closed the door on the wolves, leaving them settled in the larger memory room. He waved his arm to set lights flickering on a hundred miniature candles set into small indentations in the rock wall. The flames danced, throwing shadows across Ivory's face. Her skin looked porcelain, rose-petal soft and inviting. Her eyes were enormous, burnished gold, liquid and frightened like a wild creature trapped by a predator, looking at him with a mixture of longing and innocence that was both intoxicating and irresistible.

He reached behind her and pulled her thick braid over her shoulder to release the tie, his fingers tunneling through the silky strands to loosen the tight weave so that her hair tumbled around her face and cascaded down her back. The texture of her hair, so soft, the strands running through the pads of his thumb and fingers, brought the smoldering embers into a slow burn. She didn't flinch or turn away from him, nor did she lower her gaze from his.

There was courage in Ivory, an abundance of it. Courage he knew was a huge part of who she was. Ivory didn't give up. If she committed herself to him, she would give everything to him, hold nothing back. He loved her all the more for that trait, that absolute unswerving characteristic that made her a dangerous hunter, but would also make her a fiercely loyal partner and a fantasy lover.

He wanted to take his time, explore every inch of her, every secret shadow and hollow, every intriguing, mysterious feminine curve. He could barely breathe with wanting. His hands moved to the buckles of her vest. He knew each buckle intimately, having committed them to memory earlier-the leather straps with the double holes-the tiny crosses embedded in the steel of each metal clasp and the three metal rivets on each side of the buckle and strap, also embedded with a cross-the cross that represented her faith and shining soul.

Of course either of them could have removed her clothes with a single thought, but he wanted the pleasure of unwrapping her. He wanted to take his time and offer her every single moment of pleasure he could give her-build her need from a smoldering ember into a raging firestorm.

She didn't move, but he felt her sharp inhale and her breasts rose and fell against his knuckles as he worked the straps apart and pushed the material off her shoulders for a slow unveiling of her magnificent body. Her breasts spilled out. Soft. Enticing. So tempting he cupped the soft weight in his palms, all the time watching her face.

He saw the swift pleasure overtake her, the flush of color, the slight glazing of her eyes as his thumbs brushed over the taut peaks of her nipples. Holding the twin soft mounds in the palms of his hands felt like a miracle, the sensation beyond his fantasies. He'd given up those dreams long ago-so long ago he couldn't even remember if he'd ever had them-yet she stood before him, her soft feminine curves a gentle weight in his hands and her enormous eyes looking at him with such trepidation . . . and anticipation.