Dark Fire by Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 6

“You are in so much trouble this time, Rusti,” she murmured softly. “I don’t even have a clue how I’m going to get you out.”

She attempted to eat cold cereal but found she was more lonely than hungry. She wanted to see his mouth, the way he quirked it, slow and sexy. She wanted to see the black burning of his eyes. The cereal tasted like cardboard. Why was it erotic when Darius took her blood, when the thought of any other doing such a thing sickened her? What made it repulsive when Barack had bent close yet made her entire body clench in anticipation of Darius? She touched the mark with a fingertip this time.

“You are not going to sit here daydreaming, Tempest,” she declared staunchly, vaguely wondering why she was calling herself the name Darius insisted upon. “Go do something, anything, but stop acting stupid.”

She took only a few minutes to clean up and, after petting the sleepy leopards, went outside. The heavy drapes at the windows had blocked the light out of the bus so that the day seemed brighter than ever, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut against its brilliance. The breeze was soft and playful, tugging at her hair and clothes, rustling leaves and blowing pine needles here and there about their new campsite.

The air smelled fragrant with both pine and wildflowers. Water bubbled somewhere close by. Tempest fiddled halfheartedly with the bus engine, fine-tuning until she was satisfied. The wind made her feel more lonely than ever. Colors seemed so much more vivid when Darius was around. Everything was more vivid when Darius was around.

Obsession. Was that what this was? Tempest filled a water bottle and slid it into her knapsack. She would go hiking, wade in the stream, and cool off. Wash him away. Whistling, she pushed her hands into her pockets and started off, determined that Darius’s presence was no longer going to haunt her. But a feeling of dark op­pression began to overtake her as she walked farther from the camp.

She tried singing, but her heart seemed heavy, her legs like lead as she took each step. A terrible sorrow was growing in her. She needed to see Darius, touch him, know that he was alive and well. She found the thin ribbon of a stream and followed it until it widened and poured in a frothy silver blanket over an outcropping of rocks. She took off her shoes and strode in. The icy cold cleared her head enough that she could reason again.

Darius was not dead or hurt. Nothing was wrong. The bond between them was growing because he merged his mind more often with hers. They shared an intense intimacy that was not meant for humans. Without his mind touching hers, she was feeling the loss. That was all. It was simple. She just had to learn to live with it.

Tempest waded farther out into the stream so that the water poured over her knees and the current urged her to follow its course. She became aware of the insects in the air, their constant hum, their buzzing about. They were darts of color, a whirring of gossamer wings. She listened in the way Darius had taught her, in utter stillness, with the water flowing around her and her mind centered on the tiny creatures teeming with life.

Tempest watched a brilliant blue dragonfly hover above the stream. Very slowly she looked around and saw butterflies gathering. So many beautiful colors, wings beating in the air. They came from everywhere, brushing up against her, landing on her shoulders, her arms. Entranced, she stayed attuned to them until she feared she was gathering too many. Abruptly she released them, and they gracefully began to take flight.

Musical notes seeped into her mind as the birds began a concert, a rivalry of sound. Various species vied for air waves and tried to outdo one another. She listened intently, repeating the sounds in her mind until she was certain she had each separate song, each meaning, before she answered them.

One by one she called them to her. Holding out her arms, she sang to them, coaxed them, her throaty warbling luring the birds from their branches and nests. They flew around her, circling low, dipping to inspect her warily before settling on her arm.