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Dark Fire by Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 6

Tempest didn’t look around to see Darius; she knew instinctively he was there. A small smile touched her mouth, revealing the intriguing little dimple that always drove him wild. She could feel his strength of will pouring into hers, doubling her control. It should have made her feel less confident in herself, but Tempest always knew when she had an animal in the palm of her hand. This cougar was receptive, and she laid a hand on its leg to allow it to get used to the feel of her.

She poured her reassurance into the mountain lion as she examined the vicious wound. The cat trembled beneath her ministrations, its fur darkening to a muddy brown. She breathed for it, for both of them, as she dug for the offending thorn. It was buried deep, the entire area swollen and angry-looking. It was more difficult to assert her domination over the cougar as she caught the end of the thick silver and began to extract it.

Darius watched the cat closely, its facial expression and the images in its mind. It wanted to strike out, end the terrible pain, but Tempest was in command. She pulled the thick thorn, a good inch in length and tapering to a nasty point, out of the paw. The cougar shook, howled, but remained still. Darius couldn’t help himself. Even though he knew Tempest was in complete control, he stilled the beast, capturing its mind and hold­ing it helpless with his merciless control.

Tempest glanced at him once, but she didn’t protest. She could feel Darius’s driving need to protect her. It would have been the same as asking him to put a gun to her head to ask him to back off and leave her to her task alone. She was grateful when he focused on the cougar’s paw and used his energy to draw out the poison until it boiled up and exploded out of the ugly wound. Tempest watched it run down the cat’s fur into the earth.

Back off now, Tempest, Darius commanded firmly. This was as much as his heart could take.

She’s very hungry. Can you find her some game?

Back off, Tempest. He bit the words out, a crisp, imperious order.

Tempest rolled her eyes in exasperation. The man was going to drive her crazy. She reluctantly backed away from the animal, very slowly, careful not to trigger the instinct to pounce in the cat. Try not to sound so much like the king of the castle. It’s very annoying.

She slipped into the brush and began to amble along the trail toward the top of the falls. Darius was summoning an old doe for the cougar. The animal was injured, its mouth filled with sores, rendering it unable to eat. She was glad he had managed to find something that was suffering rather than a young, healthy animal.

“Where are you going?” Darius materialized beside her, his stride slowing to match her shorter one. His body barely brushed hers, yet she was immediately, acutely aware of him.

“Back to the falls. Where do you think?”

Darius shook his head. “I think I am going to get you a compass.”

Tempest stopped abruptly, her smile mischievous. “I never quite got the hang of reading one. I mean, I know the needle points north and all, but where does that get you? I never know what’s to the north.”

His eyebrows shot up. “A map?” She was already shaking her head, her smile widening to a heart-stopping grin. “You cannot read a map?” He groaned. “Of course you cannot read a map. What was I thinking?” His hand found her elbow. “You are heading away from the falls, Tempest.”

“I can’t be. I’m following the stream,” she pointed out with her faintly haughty air.

Again one eyebrow shot up. He glanced around them. “The stream?”

She shrugged. “It’s around here somewhere.”

Darius burst out laughing, his arm circling her shoul­ders. “It is a very good thing you have me as your keeper.”

Her green eyes glinted at him. The night stars seemed to get caught there, sparkled and glowed. “So you say.”

His mouth found hers, a little roughly, a little tenderly, somewhere between laughter and a blatant brand. She melted into him, accepting his warring emotions. Her arms crept around his neck, her body, soft and pliant, pressed against his.

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Categories: Christine Feehan
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