Christine Feehan - Dark Melody (Dark Series - book 12)

He raked his hand through the dark silk of his hair, his intrigued gaze on her face, drinking her in. Devouring her with his eyes. That recording had been their one mistake. It had not occurred to them that technology would one day be able to identify individuals by voice. Fortunately, few of the records had been produced. They had quietly set about tracking down and destroying every copy. Obviously, they hadn’t succeeded. “Well, have you heard of them? Did you use their name deliberately?” Corinne demanded, the mystery uppermost in her mind. “You have to hear this recording, Dayan. I’ve studied music all my life and I have a great ear. I’d swear it was you playing lead guitar.”

“That’s because it is me,” he answered truthfully, allowing a mischievous smile to light the dark depths of his eyes.

Corinne blinked up at him. “So that would make you at least a hundred years old. You’re so very well preserved, Dayan.”

“Thank you.” He bowed slightly from the waist with a curiously Old World elegance that suited him.

“You’re welcome, although if you’re thinking of a relationship, I’m afraid it’s out of the question. I can’t possibly go out with a man who’s a hundred years old.”

His smile widened until his white teeth gleamed at her, taking her breath away. He reached out to brush a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering against her skin in a light caress. “When I look at you I can barely breathe,” he admitted starkly, melting her heart. “You are so beautiful.”

Corinne took a deep breath, trying hard not to allow the wild color to creep up her neck into her face. Someone had to be sensible. She tried not to look at him so she could think more clearly. “Dayan, I’m very pregnant.”

“You should be bigger.” He spoke gently, but it was clearly a reprimand. “Now I will have to add that to my growing list of things to worry about where you are concerned.” He reached out with lazy ease and caught a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger as if he couldn’t help himself.

“The baby is perfectly healthy,” she said defensively, trying desperately not to be affected by the intimacy of his touch.

He tugged at her hair. “What has the doctor said about your health?”

Corinne tried to duck her head, but Dayan’s hand caught her chin, his black eyes capturing her gaze, refusing to relinquish his control. “Answer me, honey.”

It was odd, but she could feel his voice brushing at the walls of her mind, compelling her to answer him. She

wanted

to tell him despite her natural inclination to keep certain parts of her life private. She shrugged. “Well, you know. Doctors have a way of making everything seem like a worst-case scenario. I’d rather talk about what you found at our house.”

Dayan moved, a menacing ripple of muscles that had her heart pounding in her throat again, but he was just standing, stretching like a large jungle cat before reaching for her. He picked her up easily, as if her weight were that of a small child, and glided through the hall to a bedroom.

Corinne closed her eyes tightly for a moment, her hand creeping around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“If we are to talk, honey, I thought it best you be somewhere comfortable. I will not deny it is in my mind to make love to you all night, but I am fully aware of your pregnancy and the difficulties it presents, so I promise to behave myself.” There was a slightly humorous drawl to his voice, as if he knew that just saying the words, admitting his desire for her, would send heat coursing through her body. As if he knew his desire was contagious.

Dayan placed her in the middle of the large double bed and bent over her, his black eyes moving over her face intently. Her palm pushed against his broad chest in alarm, an effort to restrain him. Her eyes were enormous in her face, apprehensive. The ritual words beat in Dayan’s head; his very body strained with the need to bind her to him. She was his lifemate, she belonged with him, and he needed her desperately. He had been alone for so long, so many centuries. She was here. In the same room with him.

Corinne.

She lay very still, like a small wild thing caught in a predator’s stare, afraid to move. She couldn’t look away from those black eyes, the intensity, the terrible naked need. She wanted to hold him, to banish that stark, lonely look for all time. Her palm, the tiny barrier between them, trembled as she stared up at him, mesmerized by his vulnerability when he seemed so invincible. “Dayan.” She whispered his name — a soft sigh really, or was it an invitation? She didn’t know, so how could he?

Dayan captured her hand, brought her fingers to the warmth of his mouth. “You have nothing to fear, Corinne. I would never do anything that might harm you or the child. I cannot help wanting you, but until it is safe, I think we will both have to suffer.”

She found herself smiling as she moved over to allow him to stretch out beside her. Why she trusted him so much, so quickly, she couldn’t fathom, but it didn’t matter. She liked being beside him, felt comforted by his very presence. He was solid and warm, his arms strong as he pulled her to him, fit her into the curve of his body. She shivered, more from his close proximity than the cool night air, but she liked the way he instantly drew a comforter over them even though she knew he wasn’t cold.

“Are you going to tell me what you found at our home?”

“Are you going to believe me?” He asked the question quietly, but she could feel him waiting in the darkness for her answer.

“You forget, my husband was murdered. I know someone was in the house,” she answered firmly. “I felt it.”

He winced inwardly at the word husband. John. Her husband, John. Dayan had to get over that sick feeling whenever she mentioned him. John had been a part of her life for many years, first as a childhood friend, then later as a husband. A part of her loved him, would always love him. His hand bunched in her hair and he brought the silken strands to his face, inhaling the fragrance that was so unique to her. “There were two men in the house. They had guns and orders to kidnap both of you.”

Her large eyes moved over his face. “Why?”

“A few months ago our band received word that we were on a hit list. That was how I first met Cullen. He risked his life to warn us. There is a society, a group of fanatics who believe in vampires.”

Corinne lifted her head off the pillow to stare at him in shock. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Vampires? In this day and age? And what does that have to do with me? Or with you, for that matter?”

“You said you were different, that John had gone to talk to someone about his differences. That is the kind of thing these people target. The moment he set foot in the Morrison Center, you were noticed. How are you different, Corinne?”

His voice was like magic in the darkness, soft velvet brushing over her skin and in her mind. She loved the sound of his voice, his interesting accent, which she could not identify. The way he twisted certain words and sounded such a mixture of Old World and modern. “I can move objects without touching them.” Somehow it was easier to make the confession in this dark room with his body lying close to hers, with her palm resting over the steady beat of his heart. She waited for his reaction, his derision, his shock. She waited for him to get up and quietly move away from her. Corinne didn’t realize it, but her heart had gone crazy, beating irregularly again as she waited for Dayan to respond.

Dayan captured the hand over his heart, brought her knuckles to his mouth so that his breath moved over her skin, warm and reassuring. “What an amazing gift you have. I too can do such a thing.”