Dark Prince. Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 1

She pulled on faded jeans and a crocheted sweater in defiance. She had sensed he was Old World and would frown on her American clothes. She packed quickly, haphazardly, tossing clothes and makeup as fast as she could into the battered suitcase.

She read the train schedule in dismay. There was no service for two more days. She could use charm to beg a ride from someone, but that meant being in the small confines of a car for an extended period of time. It probably was the lesser of two evils.

She heard male laughter, low, amused, mocking. You would try to run from me, little one.

Raven sank down onto the bed, her heart beginning to pound. His voice was black velvet, a weapon in itself. Don’t flatter yourself, hotshot. I’m a tourist; I tour. She forced her mind to be calm even as she felt the brush of his fingers on her face. How did he do that? It was the lightest caress, but she felt it down to her toes.

And where were you thinking of touring? He was stretching lazily, his body refreshed from his sleep, his mind once more alive with feeling. He was enjoying sparring with her.

Away from you and your bizarre games. Maybe Hungary. I’ve always wanted to go to Budapest.

Little liar. You think to run back to your United States. Do you play chess?

She blinked at the strange question. Chess? she echoed.

Male amusement could be very annoying. Chess.

Yes. Do you?

Of course.

Play with me.

Now? She began to braid her heavy mass of hair. There was something captivating in his voice, mesmerizing. It tugged at her heartstrings, put terror in her mind.

I must feed first. And you are hungry. I can feel your headache. Go down to dinner and we will meet at eleven tonight.

No way. I won’t meet with you.

You are afraid. It was a clear taunt.

She laughed at him, the sound wrapping his body in flames. I may do foolish things occasionally, but I am never a fool.

Tell me your name. It was a command, and Raven felt compelled to obey it.

She forced her mind to go blank, to be a slate wiped clean. It hurt, sent darts of pain through her head, made her stomach clench. He was not going to take what she would have given freely.

Why do you fight me when you know I am the stronger? You hurt yourself, wear yourself out, and in the end 1 will win anyway. I feel the toll that this way of communicating takes on you. And I am capable of commanding your obedience on a much different level.

Why do you force what I would have given, had you simply asked?

She could feel his puzzlement. I am sorry, little one. I am used to getting my way with the least amount of effort.

Even at the expense of simple courtesy?

Sometimes it is more expedient.

She punched the pillow. You need to work on your arrogance. Simply because you possess power does not mean you have to flaunt it.

You forget, most humans cannot detect a mental push.

That isn’t an excuse to take away free will. And you don’t use a push anyway; you issue a command and demand compliance. That’s worse, because it makes people sheep. Isn’t that closer to the truth?

You reprimand me. There was an edge to his thoughts this time, as if all that male mockery was wearing thin.

Don’t try to force me.

This time there was menace, a quiet danger lurking in his voice. I would not try, little one. Be assured I can force your compliance. His tone was silky and ruthless.

You’re like a spoiled child wanting your own way. She stood up, hugging the pillow to her protesting stomach. I’m going downstairs to dinner. My head is beginning, to pound. You can go soak your head in a bucket and cool off. She wasn’t lying; the effort to fight him on his level was making her sick. She edged cautiously toward the door, afraid he would stop her. She would feel safer if she was among people.