Raven felt the sudden tensing of his body. He lifted his head alertly, as if scenting the wind, as if listening to the night. She found herself doing the same, inhaling deeply, striving to hear deep into the forest. Far away, the faint, distant howls of the wolf pack floated on the breeze as they called to one another, called to Mikhail.
Shocked, Raven flung back her head. “They’re talking to you! How do I know that, Mikhail? How could I possibly know such a thing?”
He ruffled her hair lightly, affectionately. “You hang out with the wrong crowd.”
He was rewarded with a bubble of laughter. It tugged at his heart, left him open and vulnerable. “What is this?” she teased. “Lord of the manor picks up nineties slang?”
He grinned at her boyishly, mischievously. “Maybe I am the one hanging out with the wrong crowd.”
“And maybe there’s hope for you yet.” She kissed his throat, his chin, the stubborn line of his blue-shadowed jaw.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look in that outfit?” His arm curved around her shoulders, turned her toward the table. “We are about to have company.” With unhurried movements he poured half a glass of juice into the goblet on his side of the table, crumbled a small piece of pastry to dust between his fingers, and sprinkled it over both of their plates.
“Mikhail?” Raven’s voice was wary. “Be careful if you use mental contact. I think there is another person besides me who has telepathic abilities.”
“All of my people have this ability,” he answered carefully.
“Not like you, Mikhail.” She was frowning, rubbing her forehead. “Like me.”
“Why did you not mention this to me?” he asked softly, his voice a whip of demand. “You know my people are being stalked, our women murdered. I tracked three of the assassins to the very inn where you are staying.”
“Because I don’t know for certain, Mikhail. I try never to touch people. Over the years I’ve taught myself not to have contact, not to allow anyone to touch me.” She speared her hand through her hair, a little frown creasing her forehead. “I’m sorry. I should have said something about my suspicions, but I wasn’t certain.”
Mikhail smoothed the line on her forehead with a gentle fingertip, touched her mouth tenderly. “I did not mean to jump down your throat, little one. We need to discuss this at our first opportunity. Can you hear it?”^
She reached out into the night. “A car.”
“A mile or so away.” He dragged the night air into his lungs. “Father Hummer and two strangers. Women. They wear perfume. One is older.”
“There are only eight guests besides myself staying at the inn.” Raven was finding it hard to breathe. “They came in on a tour together. An older couple from the States, Harry and Margaret Summers. Jacob and Shelly Evans are a brother and sister from Belgium. There were four men from different places, somewhere on the Continent. I really haven’t spoken much to them.”
“Any of them could be with the assassins,” he said grimly. He was secretly pleased that she hadn’t paid much attention to the other men. He didn’t want her looking at other men, not ever.
“I think I would have known, don’t you?” she asked. “I deal with killers more than I would like to admit. Only one of these people has telepathic abilities, and certainly no stronger than mine.”
She could hear the car easily now, but the dense fog prevented them from seeing it. Mikhail tipped up her chin with two fingers. “We are already bound together in the way of my people. Will you speak vows in the way of yours?”
Her blue eyes widened with shock, eyes a man could drown in. Eyes a man could spend eternity staring into. A small, very male smile tugged at his mouth. He had succeeded in shocking her.
“Mikhail, are you asking me to marry you?”
“I am not really certain I know how it is done. Should I be on my knee?” He was grinning openly at her.
“You’re proposing to me with a carload of assassins approaching?”