Raven found herself holding her breath, heat coiling deep within her. She pressed her forehead against the heavy muscles of his chest so that he couldn’t see the answering flare in her eyes. “Mikhail,” she warned, “there is no way you can change what I feel by seducing me. I know I cannot handle this.”
“I hear your thoughts, little one. You have closed your mind to all possibilities.” He whispered the words like a terrible seduction. “I will give you what you wish. I no longer can bear your unhappiness.” His hand moved up to his chest, right below her chin, hovered over his heart.
Her stomach clenched at the sudden knowledge of his intention. The sweet odor of hot blood mingled with his wild, masculine scent. Before she could stop him, before she could voice a protest, his life’s blood was streaming freely down his chest. Instinctively she clamped both hands over the wound, applied pressure.
Eyes wild with fear, Raven cried out frantically. “Stop, Mikhail. Don’t do this.” Tears welled up, spilled over. “Please tell me what to do to save you.” There was desperation in her voice.
“You can stop it.”
“I can’t, Mikhail. Stop this; you’re scaring me!” She pressed as hard as she was capable, but the blood continued to flow between her fingers.
“Your tongue has the power to heal; so does the saliva in your mouth.” His voice was dark, hypnotic. He leaned back as if his strength was waning. “But do not counteract my choice unless you live also, because I refuse to go back to a world of darkness.”
Frantically she bent her head to his chest, swept her tongue over the edges of the wound, sealing the gap as if it had never been. The revulsion was in her brain, but not in her body. Something wild lifted its head; her eyes went slumberous and sensual. Heat coiled, spread. Her body hungered, craved. The call was so strong within her. She wanted more, needed the erotic ecstasy only he could provide.
Mikhail’s hands were in her hair, bunching, dragging her head back, exposing her throat. His mouth moved over her soft skin, her frantic pulse. “Are you sure, Raven?” He whispered it so sensually her body went liquid in answer. “I want you to be completely sure. You must be certain this is your choice.”
She circled his neck with her arms, cradled his head. “Yes.” The memory of his mouth moving against her, the white-hot pleasure piercing her very soul made heat pool low and wicked in her abdomen. She wanted this, even needed this.
“You give yourself to me freely?” His tongue tasted the texture of her skin, flicked across her pulse, and traced down the valley between her breasts.
“Mikhail.” His name was a plea. She feared that he was waiting too long and might not be able to live, to breathe, to merge completely with her.
He lifted her easily, cradled her in his arms. His tongue lapped her nipple, once, twice. Raven gasped, arched closer to him, her body scenting the wildness in him rising to match, to conquer the wildness in her. She seemed to float through the air, every nerve ending raw with hunger and need. The sweet scent of blood called to her.
She smelled fresh air and opened her eyes to discover the night. It whispered to her with the same sensual power as the ebb and flow of Mikhail’s blood. Trees swayed overhead; the wind cooled her body, yet fanned her need.
“This is our world, little one. Feel its beauty, hear its call.”
It was all like a dazzling dream, as if they were drifting with the faint mist, a part of the night itself. The stars overhead played hide and seek through the canopy of leaves and branches. The moon was elusive, wandering behind floating clouds. Everywhere Raven heard the sounds of life. It was in the sap of the trees, the rustle of small animals, the beat of wings, the echoing, savage cry of a night hunter as it missed its prey.
Mikhail raised his head and called, a wild sound of joy. It was answered. Raven could feel the rapture in the wolves’ rejoinders. It filled her heart and in her, the wildness grew.