Dark Fire

"This is all we have." The photograph was tossed on the table. It was of a slender young redhead standing in a stream with her arms outstretched. She was laughing, her face turned up toward the sun, while hundreds of butterflies fluttered around her.

"Matthew Brodrick is dead. The police say there's no question but that it was a suicide. But I say differently. Matt was one of us. He knew what he was up against. He wouldn't have taken pictures of just anybody." Brady Grand drummed his fingers alongside the photograph, then tapped it twice. "This woman knows something. This stream is the same stream where Matt's body was found."

"Come on, Brady," Cullen Tucker protested. "Look at that picture. It's full sun. Broad daylight. No way is that woman a vampire."

Grand's cold eyes traveled around the circle of men.

"I didn't say she was, only that she knew something. For all I know, she was helping Matt. Find her, and we can get at the truth."

"The 'truth' is, we haven't gotten anywhere," Cullen snarled. "You say this band is a group of vampires. The only 'proof you've offered so far is some obscure quotation based on the Persian word

Dara, referring to the troupe's Singer, Desari."

A low murmur of approval went around the room. Then the others shifted nervously. No one wanted to cross Brady Grand outright; he was just too mean. But they had lost six men in the first attempt against the band, excellent marksmen, and now they'd lost Matt Brodrick.

Brady looked around at the others. "Is that what you think? That I'm wrong about these creatures? What of the fact that we sent six military-trained assassins to kill supposedly defenseless civilians, and all our soldiers ended up dead, the creatures still alive and well? Tell me how that happened, Cullen. You tell me how some simple security guard single-handedly destroyed all six of our men and their remains. They had a foolproof escape plan but disappeared. They sprayed the stage with bullets, yet the band members were relatively unhurt. Explain that, Cullen, because I don't see how it's possible."

"The band got lucky. Maybe their bodyguard is better than you think, paramilitary himself. What do you know about the big guy? Not too much gets by him. Is it possible the team went in with poor information? That maybe it was you who screwed up?"

Brady's fist clenched tightly until his knuckles turned white. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I know for certain that the singer is a vampire. I know it, Cullen. The team knew, too, or they never would have gone in to make the hit. We wanted to bleed her as much as possible, weaken her, and take her alive. Our people have wanted a live specimen to study for years. But if the only thing we can get is a dead one, than so be it."

"All we've accomplished so far is to make the world think we're a bunch of crazy fanatics," Cullen objected. "I say we target someone else, someone not so damned popular. The cops love Desari. The merchants in every city she goes to love her. The audiences love her. If we kill her, they'll hunt us down like dogs."

"That's your trouble, Cullen - no sense of commitment. This is war. It's us against them. Do you believe they exist? With all the proof I've given you, do you really not believe?" Brady demanded. "After what you saw with your own eyes? Or was that just a tale to get you inside our group?"

"Hell, yes, I believe vampires exist," Cullen said. "But not this singer. She's just some woman with a beautiful voice and a bodyguard as lethal as anything I've ever seen. So she sleeps during the day. What do you expect? She works all night. So we can't find their campsites even when we track them all the time. They're very careful, very private. But no one ever dies. No kids are killed. They never leave a trail of drained carcasses behind. If they're vampires feeding off people, where are the bodies? Every vampire I've heard about kills. The reason we can't find these people when they camp is because their bodyguard is good.

That's why there are no pictures, not because we can't get anybody on film. This guy does his job and does it well. Thus, no unauthorized pictures."

"And the leopards?" Brady demanded.

"Part of the show, the mystique. They're in show business, Brady. Everyone has some kind of gimmick. They like leopards. Big deal. Vampires like wolves and bats Isn't that what we've been told?" Cullen drove his point home.

The man nearest Cullen cleared his throat. He was little older than the others and generally very quiet. "It is possible Cullen is right in this case, Brady," he said softly. "There is no evidence that any in this group were ever in the Carpathian Mountains or even originate from that area."

"Wallace," Brady protested, "I know I'm right about this singer. I know I am."

The older man shook his head. "It doesn't add up Vampires seem to have some sort of thing about their women. Possessing them completely. Yet this singer recently paired up with someone from the outside world."

"You prove my point," Brady said triumphantly. "She hooked up with Julian Savage. He is from the region long suspected of producing vampires. And he's been under suspicion for a long time. Suddenly he shows up and he and the singer fall in love? It seems too big of a coincidence to me." Brady let that sink in, knowing he had made his point. Julian Savage was definitely high on the list of the society's suspects and had been for a very long time, though he had eluded their hunters at every turn.

There was a short silence. Everyone was looking to the older, soft-spoken man, William Wallace. He had been a member of the vampire-hunting society for more years than any of the others. He had lost family members to vampires. He had hunted them in Europe, and when he spoke, everyone, including Brady, did what he said.

"It is true," Wallace mused softly, "that wherever Julian Savage goes, death follows, yet he is never under suspicion by the police. He had a home in the French Quarter in New Orleans, and several members of our society vanished there, never to be found. We could not prove he was in residence at the time - it appeared he had sold his family home - but even vampires can falsely generate the proper paperwork and credentials. He travels often from country to country, a very wealthy man," Wallace continued. "Now he travels around this country with a group of singers. It is indeed suspicious." He leaned over to look at the photograph. "You're certain this was taken at the same place where Brodrick died?"

Brady nodded. "I personally inspected the site. It's the same, all right. Matt took a series of photos of this woman."

"Have you ever seen her before?" Wallace asked.

Everyone shook his head. "Matt didn't have a girlfriend, either," a pimply-faced youngster volunteered. He was the most recent inductee to the society and wanted to be noticed, to prove himself. "So if he did recently meet a woman and take all these pictures in the area where the Troubudous were rumored to be camping, she would have to have some connection to the group."

"Do any of the other photos show her face up close?" Wallace asked.

"This is the best. She was staring straight toward the camera. I say we find this girl and get a few answers," Brady replied.

"Perhaps," Wallace said, "we should investigate a little further. If this girl knows something, it shouldn't be all that hard to get it out of her. Find her and bring her back here to our headquarters for interrogation."

Cullen Tucker looked uneasy. "Suppose she knows nothing at all? Maybe she's just some girl Matt found photogenic. If you bring her here and she sees all of us, finds out what we seek, we'll be exposed to the world."

Wallace shrugged casually. "Sometimes small sacrifices are necessary. Regretfully the young lady will be disposed of in order to protect our identities."

Cullen glanced around the room, studying the faces, looking for someone who would protest along with him. But the faces were blank, the faces of followers. Prudence dictated that he keep his mouth shut.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Brady growled, his cold eyes suddenly alive with a fever for blood.

Cullen shrugged. "No more than anyone else," he temporized. "I don't have to like it, Brady, just because it's necessary. I'll start looking for her at the band's next concert. It's in northern California. I'm sure they're heading that way now. She shouldn't be hard to spot, but just in case I'm wrong, send someone back to the park. Maybe she was a local or a camper. The park rangers might have seen her."

Brady Grand was silent a moment, quieting the urge to fight. He nodded. "Take Murray with you. It's safer if there's two of you." He indicated the youngster, knowing the kid was eager to do something violent, prove himself to the group.

"I always work alone - you know that," Cullen protested. "Two of us will only draw that bodyguard's attention. We can't count him out, you know. I'm willing to bet he's the one who took down our team."

"Maybe," Wallace mused, "but more likely it was Savage. He showed up right around that time. I hardly think Desari's bodyguard is a threat to us - unless, of course, he's one of them himself."

Cullen bit back his retort. What was the use? Brady Grand had become as fanatical as William Wallace in the last few years. They carried weapons constantly and trained a small army. They both seemed to think they were fighting a war. Cullen simply believed that if something as evil as a vampire existed, it should be exterminated. He believed it because he had been in San Francisco a few years back when a serial killer was on the loose. Except it was no serial killer. The creature had murdered Cullen's fiancee right in front of him, draining her blood and laughing while he did so. The police didn't believe him - no one did. Until Brady Grand found him. Now Cullen wasn't certain anymore whether the bloodthirsty Grand and Wallace were much different than the vampire.

Cullen glanced once more at the picture of the laughing redhead. She was beautiful, with joy and warmth in her smile, compassion in her face, a sweet innocence in her stance. Beyond her slender body and wealth of red hair, he saw someone worth something. He saw a woman with the same natural goodness his fianc§ڥ had possessed. He sighed and pocketed the photograph. It was amazing to him the others couldn't see the innocence in her face. She had nothing to do with vampires.

"I'll leave now," he said gruffly. "I'll be calling in to see if anyone picked up any leads, so have someone on the phones."

Brady regarded him strangely. His nod was slow, and his cold snake eyes followed Cullen as he went out the door. Cullen inhaled the fresh, crisp night air deeply, wanting to rid himself of the stench of fanaticism. He had followed the society members out of a need to avenge his fianc§ڥ's hideous death. Now that need didn't seem so great. He wanted to be free of anger and hatred and start his life over again.

The photograph seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. The smart thing to do would be to disappear. Get out. Hide. But he knew Brady Grand. The man liked killing and thought that in the society he had found a legitimate outlet for his psychotic tendencies. Even the U.S. armed forces had kicked him out, discharging him for his repeated vicious attacks on new recruits and civilians. There had been two incidents noted on his record, two suspicious deaths no one could quite prove were murders. Cullen knew all about those; he'd had a friend access the military reports. Brady Grand was not the kind of enemy he wanted hounding him for the rest of his life.

Cullen's Jeep started easily, but the photograph continued to burn through his clothing to his skin. Suddenly he swore. He couldn't just leave the redhead hanging out there. He would have to find her and warn her. The singer, too. She might have the best bodyguard in the world, but if Brady Grand was persistent enough, sooner or later the society would get to her.

Pounding the steering wheel in sheer frustration, Cullen turned the vehicle north.

Far away, deep within the bowels of the earth, Darius held Tempest to him. Something was moving through his mind, a warning signal, one that had stood him in good stead these many centuries. It was strong enough to bring the beast roaring to life. In his mouth he felt the ominous lengthening of his fangs. He lifted his head, his ice-black gaze sweeping the interior of the chamber. Slowly he turned his head toward the south, toward danger. Something threatened Tempest, something coming from that direction. Nothing would harm this woman he held in his arms. Nothing, he vowed.

He glanced down at her face, so young-looking and vulnerable in her sleep. The light from the candles caressed her skin lovingly, throwing tempting shadows across her, inviting his touch. Darius felt the surge of need rushing through his body and allowed it to happen. It would take centuries to sate his appetite for her. Centuries. But he had chosen otherwise. Had chosen to keep her human and die with her when her time came. So he would have to be more careful in his possession of her; he could not afford to keep taking her blood during mating.

He was out of control when his body demanded hers, dangerous for both of them. But he wanted her. He would never stop wanting her. It felt savage and primitive, yet tender and gentle. But he was not a gentle man. The long centuries had seen to that, honing his ruthless side, his predatory nature. Yet he found that when he looked at her, he was different. Something inside him melted, went soft.

He knew from centuries of existing the exact moment when the sun above ground sank low, the night enfolding the earth above them. His time. His world. Darius stretched lazily and turned to run a hand possessively over Tempest's satin skin. He had not slept in the welcoming soil, nor had he slept the rejuvenating sleep of his people, because had something gone wrong, he had not wanted Tempest to awaken alone beneath the mountain with what would appear to be his dead body beside her. In the Carpathians' sleep they shut down their heart and lungs - a useful thing, a rejuvenating process, something their bodies required to keep them at full strength, but it was frightening to humans.

Without fulfilling his customary process, Darius's sleep had been fitful and uneasy. But Tempest was young and used to going her own way, so he had sacrificed his restorative rest to ensure her cooperation and security. Now he rubbed strands of her red-gold hair through his fingertips. Red hair. Green eyes. Hot temper. Strong will Her skin was warm and alluring. In her trance-induced sleep her heart beat strong, and her breath caused the rise and fall of her full, creamy breasts.

Darius bent his head to taste her skin even as he issued the command for her to awaken. His mind caught hers as she drowsily complied, feeding his own urgent hunger to her, building erotic images of his desires in her head. His mouth moved over her slowly, languidly his teeth occasionally nipping, claiming every part of her. He could feel the rhythm of her heart change to match his. His body hardened, demanded; his blood rushed in heated need. He felt her body answer as hot blood surged through her veins, carrying flames, carrying need.

Before she was fully awake, fully aware of her surroundings, he turned her world into an erotic fantasy Darius tasted the warmth of her throat, his hand moving to cup her breast possessively. Though she was small of stature, her bones delicate, her breasts were full, fitting into his palms as if made for him. He took an almost savage joy in the way his body hardened in aggressive male response.

His mouth moved over her shoulder, stopping to dwell in the small hollow there. His tongue lapped gently, insistently, tracing the valley between her breasts, paying close attention to each nipple, a task that sent fire racing through his blood. He closed his eyes for a brief moment savoring the texture of her skin, the fire spreading through his own body. But it soon became necessary to trace each indentation along her ribs, to inspect he stomach with his tongue.

His hands moved lower still, to the slender curve of her hips, caressing the satin skin there. Beneath his palms, she moved restlessly, still drowsy, only partially aware of what he was doing. But her body was alive with need for him. He shared that, connected in her mind as he was. Darius smiled to himself, enjoying the knowledge that at his every rising she would be with him, her body soft and welcoming.

Her legs were shifting, and his hands began a slow caressing of her thighs. A soft little sound escaped her throat as she tried to decide if this was some erotic fantasy or if it was real. She had no sense of where she was, only of the mouth moving lazily but thoroughly over every inch of her body.

Darius pushed his hand into the nest of tight curls, felt her pulsing heat. As she moved to press closer, he simply lowered his head to taste her. Tempest cried out, somewhere between alarm and pleasure, her fists tangling in his hair, drawing him closer. White heat, blue lightning rushed through her and into him. The sensation was astounding, Darius feeling the way her body rippled with pleasure.

His own body was brutally relentless, so full and heavy that he was afraid he might break her if he moved too fiercely. As they shared her shattering release, Tempest's hands moved over the carved muscles of his back to rest on his hips. Darius lifted his head, his eyes burning down into her.

Normally modest, Tempest should have felt shy. Instead she caught the images in his mind, his hungry need, and she felt like a wanton temptress - and liked it. She pushed him backward so that he lay down. Her hands inspected his chest. Smiling a little, she bent her head to lap gently at his hot skin. He even tasted masculine. With his mind firmly entrenched in hers, she could feel the fire sweeping through his blood, feel the relentless, aching need of his body. Deliberately she allowed her silken hair to fall over his sensitive skin, heightening the sensation even more.

Darius whispered her name, his white teeth coming together helplessly. She was taking her sweet time, driving him crazy with anticipation, her mouth traveling leisurely over his flat belly to find the indentations at his hips. Her hand brushed him, and his body tightened even more. He bit out her name again, a command this time, but Tempest refused to listen. Her tongue tasted him in a long slow caress that brought his hands up to clench her hair, forcing her head to him.

She had the audacity to laugh at him, her warn breath adding to the conflagration building in his body Her hand moved up and over him, testing his weight the thickness of him. Then he was shouting hoarsely The silken feel of her mouth on him was incredible. Hot tight, moist. She knew what he liked by the images in his mind, and Darius was lost to the world. Lost in the beauty of what they shared.

She teased him. Tortured him. Reveled in her power over him. He stood it as long as he was physically able to; then he dragged her head up by a fistful of red-gold hair. No matter if he was brutal, it was the only thing he was capable of doing at that moment. His hands found her waist and pulled her over him.

With their gazes locked together, Tempest slowly lowered herself over him so that he speared her, inch by inch. Her waiting sheath was so hot and moist, so tight and velvet soft, that Darius's fingers bit deep into her hips to keep him from exploding. Where was his centuries-old self-control?

Tempest found it amazing to know exactly what he wanted. She started to ride him slowly, but it fast turned into a frenzied motion, her muscles clenching around him, taking him deep within her. His hands moved over her body, inspecting her small waist, narrow rib cage, and full breasts. Then he was leaning up toward her, a slow, inexorable movement that nearly stopped her heart. She could feel the hunger in him, his need to take her blood - more a sexual urge than a physical hunger. He had done so many times, but she had never seen his teeth other than perfect. Now he made no attempt to hide his lengthening incisors from her as he bent his head to her throat.

He thrust upward, burying himself deep within her as his teeth sank into her soft throat. He shared the ultimate sensation with her, their bodies and minds joined, sharing the very essence of life together. His body was on fire, the conflagration building and building until there was no controlling it. He swept her along with him until they were both exploding wildly, the very earth shaking beneath them.

He forced himself to stop taking more of her blood simply to satisfy his insatiable craving for her. Already he had noted the differences in her, her ability to hear and see much more acutely. He was inadvertently enhancing her senses. Altering the humanness he had vowed to preserve. Darius swept his arms protectively around her. Nothing was going to hurt her. Not ever. Not even he.

Tempest was content to lie upon the hard strength of his body, feeling sheltered and thoroughly loved. He was a perfect lover, careful of her even at his roughest moments. She could hear their hearts beat in perfect rhythm, and she lay there for some time getting her breath back. As she inhaled to slow her breathing, she felt oppressive heat. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she looked around her.

They were still in the cave. Humiliation washed over her. She had been so distracted by his lovemaking, she hadn't even considered where they were. She doubted she would have noticed if they were in the middle of a street. Where was her pride? This man had practically kidnapped her, held her in the center of the earth without the slightest remorse, and then taken shameless advantage of her.

Tempest lifted her head, her long lashes veiling her eyes before he could read her expression. But Darius became a shadow in her mind, feeling her guilt and anger at herself, her sense of humiliation that she had allowed this when she was so angry with him.

Immediately he rolled her under him, trapping her slender body with his much larger frame. He tangled a fist in her bright, silky hair and drew it to his mouth. "I must apologize for taking advantage of you while you slept. It was wrong of me when we had unresolved issues between us. But you are so beautiful, Tempest, that I lost control."

Her long lashes swept up, revealing green eyes blazing fury at him. She actually shoved him, the palm of her hand hard against his chest. He was so startled by her reaction that he forgot to move, to pretend he felt the push. Heat curled in him, a wave of desire so strong that he nearly kissed her angry mouth.

"You are so full of it, Darius. Don't even think you can snow me with a line like that. You didn't lose control. You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted to have sex, so you did. And I'm such a ninny, I went along with it, like one of those idiot heroines in a steamy novel." She realized she hadn't budged him with her push, and that raised her temper another notch.

"I wanted to make love to you," he corrected, his voice black velvet.

Just the sound of his voice sent a rush of heat coursing through her bloodstream. It required tremendous effort to pull her gaze away from the burning intensity of his eyes. And God would have to save her himself if she looked at his perfect mouth. It all added fuel to the fire. "You think you can get your way by seducing me, Darius, but it won't work. I don't much like myself right now, and I know it wasn't all you, but let me tell you before you get too puffed up with your own ego, I don't respect you nearly as much right now as I did yesterday." She paused. "If it was yesterday."

"You can bathe in the pool." He tried not to make it an order. His body seemed to respond to the merest touch of hers. He didn't dare start anything with her green eyes blazing fire and her red hair sparking flames.

"Are you giving me your permission?" she asked sarcastically.

He bent his head to hers because she had made that little moue with her lips he could never pass up. His mouth found hers and tasted the warm honey of her even in her anger, capturing it forever in his heart. "No wonder you are always in trouble," he murmured, his kiss sliding over the corner of her mouth to her dimple, lower still to find her chin, then her throat. Her pulse beat beneath his mouth, igniting his hunger. It came out of nowhere, rushing at him with the same speed and intensity as his body hardened, urging him to take her again and again.

Tempest pulled away, her emerald eyes all at once wary. He was so strong, his power overwhelming, when she had no control at all in the situation. She was his captive, hidden beneath the earth, his to keep for a time if he desired. The idea had not occurred to her until that moment, and it leeched the color from her face instantly. "Darius?" His name came out strangled, a plea for reassurance.

He touched her mind, found her fear easily. His arm encircled her, drew her close to his protection. "As soon as you bathe, we will go to the surface. I need to hunt. You need food."

The relief was tremendous, and she believed the purity of his voice. Despite her anger at him, she clung to him for just a moment, waiting for her heart to stop pounding so violently. "Darius," she confided, "I really am afraid down here."

Darius tightened his hold on her, crushing her slender body against his. He had not known the real meaning of fear until she had come into his barren existence. She brought that definition to life for him. He feared he would lose her, feared someone or something would harm her. Fear made him edgy and dangerous, like on of the cats in their most unpredictable, moody states.

"All of these things are minor differences we can work out, Tempest," he assured her. "No obstacle between us is insurmountable."

She took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, Darius, I'm all for that. Just don't be so in control of me. I like my freedom. It's who I am."

"Who you are is my other half, as I am yours," he said She pulled out of his arms and rose, turning away from him so that she didn't give in to the urge to kick his shins. He was so arrogant, spouting his Old-World nonsense, that she wanted to push him into the pool and watch him lose his magnificent and oh, so irritating cool Darius hid his smile. He couldn't help saying things just to get under her skin. He liked to watch her eyes glitter like gems, the flash of fire that inadvertently exposed her deeply passionate nature as well as her anger.

Tempest stepped into the pool and found the clear water on her skin more erotic than she would have liked. She knew his black eyes were burning over her as she swam, and something feminine and wild in her seemed to take over. She rinsed her hair out slowly, turning so that her profile was to him, so that the water lapped at her waist and ran down her exposed breasts. Beckoned to him. Taunted him.

With her increased hearing, she caught his muffled swearing. A smile curved her soft mouth, all anger disappearing as she caught sight of his body making demand on him, his arousal impossible to hide from either of them. Deliberately she bent over, rinsing her hair a second time, giving him a good view of the curve of her hips and buttocks. He deserved a little suffering. And she was enjoying herself.

Little red-haired witch. She was deliberately driving him crazy. He knew it. He also knew she was having fun, getting back her feeling of control and power. Darius let out a low, husky groan of frustration. Her answer was a stifled laugh, hastily drowned out by the splashing water. Little minx. A man could take only so much. In any case, hunger was clouding good judgment, and nothing tasted like the rush he got from their erotic encounters. Still, he could not afford to take too much of her blood. Replacing hers with his was a dangerous pastime, altering her in ways he was not completely certain of. The few times over the centuries when he had encountered human women converted, they had become vampire and deranged, feeding on children. He had been forced to destroy them.

The thought terrified him. What if he was somehow bringing Tempest to that very edge? Their minds were already continually reaching for each other. Could he be placing her in danger? Would Julian have the answer to that? Distasteful as it was, he would have to ask Desari's lifemate for his knowledge in this matter. Pride meant nothing if Tempest was in harm's way.

He turned to look at her again. She was exquisite Everything about her touched him, brought out intense feelings, whether protective, sexual, or emotional. He found himself fascinated by the line of her throat, the span of her waist, the curves of her breasts and rib cage and bottom.

Tempest wrung out her hair carefully and waded out of the pool. She was within a couple of feet of Darius before she scented the husky call of his body, felt the heat rising from his skin. She grinned at him, teasing challenging, a faint, derisive quirk of her lips at his obvious discomfort. "Having a problem?" she taunted aloud.

He was magnificent. There was no other word for his body. And it amazed her that she could produce such a reaction in him, in a creature so powerful and controlled as Darius almost always was. That she could send him so out of control mystified yet excited her. It was exhilarating, like leaping onto the back of a tiger and hanging on for dear life.

Darius waited until she sashayed past him before reaching out to claim what was his. He merely caught her arms from behind, then moved them forward to place her hands on the flat surface of an accommodating rock. At once his body trapped hers, pushing aggressively against her bottom while his seeking fingers assured him that she was creamy with her own need of him. He caught her hips firmly and surged into her tight, moist sheath. It was slick and hot, waiting for him. Darius allowed himself the natural instinctive domination of the males of his race. His teeth found her shoulder and pinned her in place while he buried himself again and again with hard, long strokes.

Tempest felt the sweet rush of fire consuming her, the strength in his hands gripping her hips, the hard thickness of him plunging deep within her, only to withdraw and return. She felt his mouth on her skin, the white heat as his teeth pierced deep and he held her in a submissive position. A part of her felt intensely vulnerable, but he was adjusting his position to accommodate the tightness of her feminine sheath, and all the time he was building the fire higher, ever higher. She could feel her body tightening, gripping his, beginning to spiral outward. She didn't want it over so soon, so fast. She wanted this time with him, afraid it might never happen again once they were back in her world, the world she knew she belonged in. This was too much. Too much of everything. Too much fire and too much feeling.

"Darius." She breathed his name in a whisper, somewhere between agony and ecstasy.

"Only Darius," he growled against her skin. "You are mine." Somewhere deep in his heart he knew she still thought of them separately. That he wouldn't stay with her, that she could walk away, would

walk away at some point. She wanted him yet was terrified to need him, to be part of him, no Darius without Tempest, no Tempest without Darius. He, on the other hand, had accepted that almost from the first moment he laid eyes on her. His body swelled, hot and slick, velvet steel, and still he moved, wanting to prolong the moment, wanting to bring her to a fever pitch.

He wanted to hear those soft little sounds she made in her throat, the ones that melted his heart and sent arrows piercing his soul. Those sounds drove him crazy. In his mouth was the delicious taste of her, and against his skin was the feel of hers, bare and soft and so vulnerable, all for him. He savored the moment, prolonged it, reaching higher and higher until her body was gripping and clenching around his, wringing his very essence from him, milking an explosion of heat and flame, a firestorm of ecstatic pleasure that consumed them both.

Her breath was coming in little gasps, and he had to hold her up to prevent her shaky legs from giving way. She turned her head to look at him, her green eyes glittering jewels. "I had no idea it could be like this, Darius. You're incredible." She meant it sincerely. She had read books - who hadn't? She'd lived on the streets, grown up around hookers. Naturally she'd asked a few questions. No one had described anything like the feelings Darius produced in her. The graphic mechanics, perhaps, but not the beauty and passion of what they did together.

"It is us together," he explained patiently, wanting her to understand. Tempest was so programmed to be alone, to live her a solitary existence, that her mind refused to comprehend the true meaning of their joining.

"You don't feel this way when you make love to other women?" she asked, struggling to believe that a man as virile, a man who made love as often and as vigorously as Darius did, had not needed hundreds of partners in the past. How could any one woman possibly keep up with his demands, possibly satisfy him? She had no real experience. How could she keep him happy?

He found himself frowning as he read her thoughts. Darius swept her into his arms and waded back into the pool to rinse her off one more time. "You keep up with my every demand," he pointed out. "And you satisfy me perfectly. There can be no other woman, Tempest. You can touch my mind with yours. I cannot lie to you. Read my thoughts. I speak the truth. There is only you in my heart. It is only you my body will accept. There will never be another. It is for all time."

"I will grow old and die, Darius," she pointed out. "In another hundred years you will find someone else." She laughed softly at her own ego. "Notice I gave you plenty of time to grieve for me."

"Put your arms around my neck. Look at me." He commanded it, wanting her complete attention. "I love you, Tempest, not any other woman. It is not the love of humans; it is more encompassing and violent than that, yet more pure and cherishing."

She shook her head. "You haven't known me long enough to feel real love. You're attracted to me sexually, that's all." She sounded desperate even to her own ears.

"I have been inside your mind countless times, Tempest. I know everything about you. Every childhood memory, good and bad. I know your secret thoughts, thoughts humans never share with anyone else. I know the things you do not like about yourself. I know your strengths and the things you consider weaknesses. I know more about you in the time we have had together than any human male could know in a lifetime. I love you. The entire you."

His hand moved to wash the evidence of their love-making from between her legs, his fingers soothing, gentle. "I know you think I am the sexiest man you have ever met. You think I am handsome. You love the sound of my voice. You particularly like my mouth and my eyes and the way I look at you." His black gaze moved over her face, the faint humor fleeting as he continued. "You fear my powers, yet you accept them and the differences in me with surprising ease. I make you feel safe and protected, and you fear that feeling because you do not trust such a concept. You do not want to tie yourself to me fully because you do not trust that you could ever hold a man as powerful as myself, and you cannot allow yourself the pain of losing me."

She was attempting to pull out of his arms, but he held her tightly to him, so she glared at him instead. "While you were inspecting the inside of my head, did you find out just what I want to do to you half the time?"

His mouth softened with mocking male amusement. "You mean when you are not wanting my body in yours?"

Furious, she nodded. "Like now, for instance."

His palm stroked back wet strands of hair from her forehead. His eyes burned into hers. "You have an astonishing penchant for feminine-style violence," he commented drolly.

"I'm beginning to think violence might be the only way to handle you." Tempest inserted a hand between herself and the wall of his chest and steadily increased the pressure until she lost her own strength. If he didn't notice subtle hints to let her go soon, she would resort to violence, and then he'd be sorry. A serious dunking just might do his inflated male ego some good. She glared at him again, hoping to wither him on the spot. "I don't believe in love. It's a myth. People use it to get their way. There isn't any such thing. It's mere physical attraction."

Darius practically tossed her out of the pool. "You actually believe the nonsense you spout? I am the darkness. You are the light. I am a predator. You hold compassion and goodness within you. Yet I must teach you about love?"

"Your ego is showing again," she declared, a faint haughtiness in her voice. "You know, Darius, it isn't necessary that we think or believe alike all the time. I don't have to see everything your way."

Something deep and dark and terrifying flickered in the depths of his eyes, and she held her breath. He blinked, and the illusion was gone, leaving her wondering if she had seen only the flames of the candles reflected in his eyes.

"You have clothes on the sheet. Get dressed, Tempest. I must feed."

The moment he uttered the words, she became aware of her heart beating strongly. It sounded overly loud to her, like the beat of a drum. Worse, she could hear his heartbeat. The water pouring from the walls, too, was nearly deafening, whereas the night before she had hardly noticed it. And she heard something else - a high-pitched, far-off sound ominously like what she imagined a great number of bats might make.

Tempest took a deep breath, her teeth biting nervously at her lower lip. She didn't like Darius's using the word feed.

She didn't like the fact that her hearing had suddenly become so strangely acute. What did it all mean? He had bitten her several times. Could he infect her with whatever made him the creature that he was? Slowly she pulled on the clothes he had supplied -  something else she didn't want to examine too closely. They weren't her clothes. Just where had they come from? "You're in way too deep this time, Rusti," she murmured aloud.

Darius was beside her, immaculate, elegant, powerful.

He ruffled her hair affectionately. "Stop talking to yourself."

"I always talk to myself."

"You are not alone anymore. You have me, so there is no further need to continue this habit. Are you ready?" His black eyes flicked over her pale face, settling for a moment on her trembling mouth. It amused him somewhat that periodically she scared herself with her own rousings and anxieties. It amazed him that she wasn't always terrified of him, that she accepted his difference: the same way she accepted differences of skin color or religion. The same way she accepted animals.

Tempest unexpectedly reached out and took his hand "Even if you are the most arrogant being I've ever encountered, thank you for last night. It was beautiful, Darius."

It was the last thing he'd anticipated, and it moved him as nothing else could. He turned his head away from her so that she would not catch the shimmer of tear; that suddenly touched his eyes. That in itself was a small miracle. He had not believed himself capable of tears yet he wanted to weep because she had thanked him Despite her anger at him, her fears of his powers am this place, their night had meant enough to her that she had thought to thank him.

As he took her toward the surface of the mountain he realized it was the first time anyone had thanked him for anything. His role as his family's provider and protector had been established long ago and was thus now taken for granted. This small woman, so delicate yet so courageous, made him remember the reason he had chosen the role of provider and protector.