“Perhaps I misread the situation. I could feel Destiny’s distress from across the room and I thought you were upsetting her.” Nicolae smiled at the woman, a show of elegant charm. He bowed slightly, his white teeth perfect, his sensual face without guile. He looked like a lord of old, at home in a palace. He leaned lower to brush a lingering kiss across the top of Destiny’s dark head. Strands of her hair caught for a moment in the stubble along his jaw, connecting them. “I cannot bear it when she is upset. Forgive me if I frightened you. I’m Nicolae Von Shrieder.”
“Mary Ann Delaney.” Mary Ann couldn’t take her eyes from Destiny’s pale face. For just a moment, she thought there were dots of blood on Destiny’s forehead, but Nicolae leaned over the younger woman, his head and shoulders blocking Mary Ann’s view, and with exquisite care seemed to press a small kiss on the spot. When he straightened, the tiny dots were no longer there, and MaryAnn was certain she had imagined them.
The swirl of Nicolae’s tongue was too much for Destiny to endure. In another minute she would lose control completely. She had no idea what she’d be capable of if she became hysterical, but control was everything to her. She was determined not to lose it. Destiny pushed her palms against the table, sliding her chair deliberately into Nicolae, and surged to her feet, certain she would catch him by surprise.
As if he had choreographed her movement, Nicolae turned her neatly into his arms, drawing her body into the shelter of his. “Excuse us,” he said to MaryAnn, and without missing a beat he whirled Destiny out onto the dance floor.
“What are you doing?” To her horror, her voice shook. Hunger was a craving now, a terrible, inevitable craving she couldn’t ignore. Her face was pressed into the warmth of the hollow of his shoulder. She remembered the taste of him. With his blood on her tongue, the insatiable hunger had been appeased for once and the continual torment inside her had lessened. She had never felt so sated by anything.
“I’m dancing with you,” he answered easily, pulling her closer to him.
Their bodies were pressed together, their clothing the only barrier between them. With each gliding step her breasts pushed into his chest, her nipples becoming sensitized from rubbing against his shirt. His muscles were taut and defined as he whisked her around the floor. More than anything, she was aware of the thick, hard part of him pressed against her stomach as they moved together. Floated together. It frightened her, yet fascinated her. Her own blood seemed to pool, low and thick, so that she throbbed and burned with an unfamiliar need.
Their feet barely touched the ground. She had never danced in her life, yet her body followed every movement of his flawlessly. As if she had been born to partner him.
“Close your eyes, give yourself up to the music.” To me. He whispered the temptation in her ear, his hand moving over her back, tracing her spine. You have not fed, Destiny. Why have you come to such a place hungry? Do you think to punish yourself?
It was too close to the truth. She had come to remove MaryAnn’s memories, to violate the trust of a woman who was inherently good.
You are not evil. He whispered the words against her skin, even as they brushed in her mind. His tongue swirled over her pulse. Tasted. Lingered. Her entire body clenched in reaction. You are Carpathian, a race in harmony with nature. A protector of mankind. You do not kill wantonly or lightly.
He was killing her. With hope. With dreams. With things she dared not reach for. Trust was something she could never give one of his kind. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. Made her long for things impossible for her to have. Every ounce of self-preservation shrieked at her to wrench herself out of his arms and run for her life. Instead, almost helplessly she nuzzled closer, found his beckoning pulse with her mouth.
I could kill you, she breathed. Drain the blood from your body right here. She wanted him to know she was undecided. His fate was undecided. That her fingers curling in the silk of his shirt meant nothing. That her body molding itself to his didn’t matter. That she had control. She had power. His voice was sheer magic. It washed over her, into her, wrapped itself around her heart and soul, but none of that mattered. It would never matter.