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Includes a short story "Dark descent" p. There are no reviews yet. Be the first one to write a review.
Books for People with Print Disabilities. Internet Archive Books. Delaware County District Library Ohio. The first edition of the novel was published in March 8th , and was written by Christine Feehan. The book was published in multiple languages including English, consists of pages and is available in Mass Market Paperback format. The main characters of this romance, paranormal romance story are Mikhail Dubrinsky, Raven Whitney.
Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in Dark Prince may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them.
DMCA and Copyright : The book is not hosted on our servers, to remove the file please contact the source url. He settled on the balcony outside her second story window and became still, a part of the night. Her bed chamber was one of the rooms with a light still proclaiming she was unable to sleep. His dark, burning eyes found her through the clear glass, found her and claimed her.
She was small-boned, curvy, tiny waist and a wealth of raven hair tumbling down her back to draw attention to her rounded bottom. His breath caught in his throat. She was exquisite, beautiful, her skin like satin, her eyes incredibly large, intensely blue fringed with thick long lashes.
Not a detail escaped him. A white lace gown clung to her skin, hugged her high, full breasts, and bared the line of her throat, her creamy shoulders. Her feet were small like her hands.
So much strength in so small a package. She brushed her hair, standing at the window, looking out with unseeing eyes. Her face held a far-away expression, there were lines of strain around her full, sensuous mouth. He could feel pain in her and the need for sleep that refused to come. He found himself following every stroke of the brush, innocent, erotic. Imprisoned within the bird's form, his body stirred. He turned his face up to the heavens reverently in thanks. The sheer joy of feeling after centuries of enduring no emotion was beyond measure.
Every action with the brush lifted her breasts invitingly, emphasized her narrow rib cage and small waist. The lace clung to her body, revealing the dark vee at the junction of her legs. Talons dug deeply into the railing, left long scars in the soft wood.
Still Mikhail watched. Her movements were graceful, enticing. He found his hot gaze dwelling on her soft throat, the pulse beating steadily in her neck. Abruptly he pulled away from the thought, shook his head. Blue eyes.
She had blue eyes. It was only then that he realized he was seeing in color. Vivid, brilliant colors. He went utterly still. It could not be. Males lost the ability to see in other than drab grays and shadows about the same time they lost their emotions. Only a lifemate could bring emotions and color back into a male's life. Carpathian women were the light to the male's darkness. His other half. Without her, the beast would slowly consume the man until he was complete darkness.
There was no Carpathian women left to give birth to lifemates. The few remaining women seemed able to produce only males. It was a seemingly hopeless situation. Human women could not be converted without becoming deranged and having to be destroyed.
It had been tried. This human woman could not possibly be his lifemate. Mikhail watched as she snapped off her light, lay on the bed. He felt the stirring in his mind, the searching.
At first he refused to answer, not liking that he needed this so much. He couldn't afford to be out of control, he didn't dare. No one had power over him. Certainly not some slip of an American, a small woman with more strength than good sense.
He understood none of what was happening and with his new intense emotions, he feared for any coming near him, any opposing him until he was certain he was in complete control. I'm sorry I intruded. It was thoughtless of me, it won't happen again. But just for the record, don't try flexing your muscle on me again. She didn't know what muscle was. He had to answer, it was nearly compulsion. He needed the sound of her voice, the soft whisper brushing in his head like fingers on his skin.
She turned over, rearranged her pillow, rubbed at her temple as if she ached. One hand curled over the thin sheet. Mikhail wanted to touch that hand, feel her warm silky skin under his.
He sensed he had hurt her in some way, disappointed her. She moved restlessly as if waiting for her lover. The thought of her with another man enraged him. Feelings after hundreds of years. Sharp, clear, in focus. Real feelings. Power always needed control. The less emotion, the easier the restraint. And he knew he was. I'm as big as a house. I enjoyed talking with you. Mikhail took flight, soaring high above the forest.
It wasn't good-bye. He wouldn't allow it. He couldn't allow it. His survival depended on her. Something, someone had aroused his interest, his will to live.
She had reminded him there was such a thing as laughter, that there was more to life than existence. He had power beyond imagination, knowledge beyond imagination and as centuries passed, his nature had sharpened and defined, both sides of it, good and bad. It took tremendous control to walk the line, a lonely, sterile existence. He soared above the forest, for the first time in centuries marveling at the sights. The canopy of waving branches, the way the rays of the moon spilled over the trees and bathed the streams in silver.
It was all so beautiful. He had been given a priceless gift, a treasure unbelievable. A human woman had somehow managed to do this for him. He would have known instantly had she been of his race.
Could her voice alone do the same for the other males on the edge of despair? In the protection of his home he paced with a long forgotten restless energy. He thought of her soft skin, how it would feel beneath his palm, under his body, how it would taste. The thought of her mass of silky hair brushing his heated body, the line of her vulnerable throat exposed to him, excited him. His body tightened unexpectedly. Not the mild physical attraction he had felt as a fledging, but a savage, demanding relentless ache.
Shocked at the erotic twist his thoughts began to pursue, Mikhail imposed rigid discipline. He could not afford to arouse real passion. He was shocked to find he was a possessive man, deadly in his rages and protective beyond measure. This kind of passion could not be shared with a human, it was far too dangerous. This was a woman of freedom, strong for a mortal and she would fight his nature at every turn. He was not human. His was a race of beings with animal instincts, imprinted before birth.
Better to keep his distance and satisfy his curiosity on an intellectual level. He meticulously locked every door and window, safeguarded every point of entry with impassable spells before descending to his sleeping chamber.
The room was protected with even greater threats. If he gave up his existence, it would be of his own choosing. He lay down on the bed, there was no need of healing soil deep within the earth, he could enjoy mortal comforts.
He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing. Mikhail's body refused to obey. His mind was filled with pictures of her, with erotic taunting scenes. A vision of her lying on her bed, her body naked beneath white lace, her arms out-stretched to greet her lover. He swore softly. Instead of his body taking hers, he pictured another man.
Rage shook him, raw and deadly. Skin like satin, hair like silk. His hand moved. He built the picture with deadly precision and purpose in his mind.
He paid every attention to detail, even to the silly polish on her toenails. His strong fingers circled her small ankle, felt the texture of her skin. His breath caught in his throat, his body tightening in anticipation.
He slid his palm up her calf, massaging, tantalizing, moved up farther, her knee, her thigh. Mikhail knew the precise moment she awakened, her body on fire. Her alarm slammed into him, her fear. Deliberately, to show her what she was dealing with, his palm found the inside of her thigh, stroked, caressed. He could hear the frantic pounding of her heart, feel the strength of her mental struggle with him.
I said I was sorry. His palm covered the triangle possessively, pushed into the moist heat. There is still time for me to come to you, to put my mark on you, for me to own you,' he warned silkily. His fingers moved, probed, found her most sensitive spot.
He closed his eyes, was able to calm the raging demons knifing pain through his body. It was far too late to stop the beast in him from breaking free.
He was burning with hunger, consumed with it, jackhammers beating at his skull, flames licking along his skin and nerve endings. The beast was unleashed, deadly, hungry. He had been more than gentle. She had inadvertently released the monster. He hoped she was as strong as he believed her to be. Mikhail closed his eyes against self-loathing. He had learned centuries ago there was little point. And this time he didn't want to fight it.
This was not simply a strong sexual attraction he felt, it was far more than that. It was something primal. Something deep within him calling to something deep within her. Perhaps it was his self-imposed isolation for so long, perhaps she craved the wildness in him as he craved the laughter and compassion in her. Did it matter? There would be no escape for either of them. He touched her mind gently before closing his eyes and allowing his breath to cease. She was weeping silently, her body still in need with the effects of his mind touch.
There was hurt and confusion in her, and her head was aching. Without thought, without reason, he enveloped her in the strength of his arms, stroked her silky hair and sent warmth and comfort to surround her. Go to sleep now and be safe. He could feel the curious fragmentation in her mind, as if she had been using her mental capabilities to follow some sick and twisted path.
It was as if she had raw, gaping wounds in her mind that needed to heal. She was too worn out from their previous mental battle to fight him. He breathed with her, for her, slow and even, matching her heartbeat until she relaxed, drowsy and worn. He sent her to sleep, a whispered command, and her lashes drifted down.
They fell asleep together, yet apart, she in her room, Mikhail in his sleeping chamber. The pounding on her door penetrated the deep layers of sleep. Raven Whitney fought the thick fog forcing her eyes closed, making her body heavy. Alarm spread. It was as if she had been drugged. Her gaze found the small alarm clock on the bedside table. Seven o'clock in the evening.
She had slept the day away. She sat up slowly, feeling as if she was wading through quicksand. The pounding on her door began again. The sound echoed in her head, thundered at her temples. She was in trouble. She needed to pack quickly, run. She knew how futile it could be. Wasn't she the one who had tracked four serial killers following the mental path of their thoughts? And this man was a thousand times more powerful than she. The truth was, she was intrigued that another person had psychic abilities.
She had never met anyone like herself before. She wanted to stay and learn from him, but he was far too dangerous in his casual use of power. She would have to put distance, perhaps an ocean between them to be truly safe. She had met Jacob and Shelly Evans, a brother and sister, last night in the dining room when they had first come in off the train.
They were traveling with a tour group of about eight people. She had been tired and the conversation was a blur. Raven had come to the Carpathian Mountains to be alone, to recover from her last ordeal of following the twisted mind of a depraved serial killer. She had not wanted the company of the tour group, yet Jacob and Shelly had sought her out.
They had been wiped from her thoughts very efficiently. She shoved a shaky hand through her hair. I came here to rest. She didn't want any demands on her and the last thing she needed was to be in a crowded dining room surrounded by a lot of people. How could she have made such a mistake as she had last night? She was always so cautious, avoiding all contact, never touching another human being, never getting close.
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