His voice tugged at her heartstrings. “I don’t fear you, Mikhail,” she denied gently, tipping her face up to study his in the moonlight. “I fear for you. So much power leads to corruption. So much responsibility leads to destruction. You make life-and-death decisions that only God should make.”
His hand caressed her silken skin, moved to trace the fullness of her lower lip. Her large eyes were enormous in her small face, her feelings naked to his mesmerizing gaze. There was concern, compassion, the beginnings of love, and a sweet, sweet innocence that shook him to his very core. She worried for him. Worried.
Mikhail groaned aloud, turned from her. She had no idea what she was offering to one such as he. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to resist it, and he loathed himself for his selfishness.
“Mikhail.” She touched his arm, sending flames licking along his skin, heating his blood. He hadn’t fed, and the combination of love, lust, and hunger was explosive, heady, but very, very dangerous. How could he not love her when he was in her mind, reading her thoughts, knowing her intimately? She was light to his darkness, his other half. Forbidden though it might be, mistake of nature probably, he could not help loving her.
“Let me help you. Share this terrible thing with me. Don’t cut yourself off from me.” Just the touch of her hand, the concern in her eyes, the purity and truth in her voice, brought out an unfamiliar softness in him.
He dragged her to him, all too aware of the urgent demands of his body. With a low, animal growl he lifted her, whispered a soft command to her, and moved with all the speed of which he was capable.
Raven blinked and found herself in the warmth of Mikhail’s library, with the fire throwing shadows on the wall, unsure how she had gotten there. She didn’t remember walking there, yet they were within the walls of his home. Mikhail’s shirt was open, exposing the heavy muscles of his chest. His black eyes were steady on her face, watching her with a stillness, a watchfulness reminiscent of a predator. He made no attempt to hide his desire for her.
“I will give you one last chance, little one.” He spoke the words in a harsh, hoarse voice, as if they tore painfully at his throat. “I will find the strength to let you go if you say it. Now. Right now.”
The length of the room separated them. The air stilled. If she lived to be a hundred, that moment would be etched forever in her mind. He stood waiting for her decision to share herself with him or damn him to eternal isolation. His head was held up proudly, his body fiercely hard, aggressively male, his eyes burning with hunger.
He drove every sane thought from her head. If she condemned him, wasn’t she condemning herself to the same fate? Someone needed to love this man, care for him just a little. How could he continue so alone? He waited. No compulsion, no seduction, just his eyes, his need, his total isolation from the rest of the world. Others relied on his strengths, demanded his skills, yet they didn’t show him affection, didn’t thank him for his unceasing vigilance. She could sate his hunger where no other could. She knew it instinctively. There would be no other woman for him. He wanted her. He needed her. She could not walk away from him.
“Take off your sweater.” He said it softly. There was no other path for him now. He had read the decision in her eyes, in the soft trembling of her mouth.
She stepped back, her blue eyes widening. Very slowly, almost reluctantly, she pulled off the sweater, as if somewhere deep inside she knew she was giving him more than her innocence. She knew she was giving him her life.
“The shirt.”
Her tongue touched her lips, moistened the satin finish. The answering jolt in his body was savage, primitive. As she drew off the turtleneck, his hands went to the buttons of his pants. The fabric was stretched taut and confining, hurting him. He was careful to use the human form of disrobing, not wanting to frighten her any further.