Dark Song

The two women were modern-day examples of what Ferro knew Elisabeta would be comparing herself to and most likely aspiring to be. While he wanted that self-confidence for her, he knew he was not a man who would be compatible with either Julija or Lorraine, as much as he might respect them.

The way her mind moved in his was delicate, feminine, wholly beautiful, a whisper of a touch rather than a bold demand. It was unexpected, her soft, womanly presence that seemed to fill every lonely place in his mind. The experience of her sharing his mind was beyond intimate. He had spent centuries alone, lost in that gray void of nothing.

She brought life to him. Scent. He could inhale and bring her into his lungs. He would know her anywhere. Her scent was distinct. Exotic and rare. She had a faint fragrance of orange, the Italian bergamot he had encountered but never thought about. The orange held a note of lime, and the two citrus fragrances mixed with rare camellias, adding just a touch of spice to the blend. The scents mixed with sandalwood and vetiver, an Indian grass root. For Ferro, that scent would always be associated with Elisabeta.

Color. She brought vivid, bright color into a world of gray. He hadn’t known there were so many shades of green. Or blue. Just looking at her hair, that dark silk, shining in the moonlight, he could see so many colors, and she had given him that. The garden, the lake, the sky, the birds and even the ground itself. She had made him see the world again in an entirely different light.

Touch. He had never allowed anyone to touch him unless he planned to use them for sustenance, or he planned to kill them. Elisabeta showed him that touch could be something different, something warm and gentle. Tender even. Touch could mean so many things other than the precursor of death. Then, there was the feel of her skin, like the finest satin. Her hair, like silk. In a very short amount of time he had learned the beauty of touching.

Sound. Her voice was like music to him. Soft. Intimate. Pouring over him like a gentle summer breeze. When she spoke, her voice was pleasing, moving through him, equally as effective as the touch of her fingers on his skin. That soft sound was that potent. He could almost feel the notes dancing over him, brushing his skin intimately, first there and then here, stroking and caressing, one moment soothing him, the next making him want to go up in flames.

Ferro had lived centuries, much longer than most, and yet he had not tasted many things. Blood was blood. One needed it to survive. There was no taste. No rush. Nothing whatsoever other than when he was wounded and starving that made him crave or need more blood. Until he had tasted his lifemate’s blood. It was exquisite. Almost beyond comprehension. He could barely make himself stop feeding once he’d started. Her taste was some kind of aphrodisiac, something beyond description he would always crave. He thought about it, and the taste would come to him, vivid in his memory and then in his mouth.

“I do not like you feeling sad . . . Ferro.” She stumbled a little over using his name but was brave enough to say it. “We are both changed. You have been very kind to me, more than I imagined anyone would ever be. I have never had a rising such as this one. For that I have to thank you.”

The pads of her fingers swept over his jaw, her touch light, sending ripples of heat moving through his veins. Her voice was very sincere. He had merely taken her across the healing grounds and into the gardens. The kindness he had shown her was so basic that he wanted to weep for what little she expected. She was more concerned with his sorrow than what she was feeling. In fact, she was completely focused on him now, all thoughts of herself and her fears were gone. She had immersed herself completely in him, in an attempt to find a way to ease his sadness.

Carpathian healers shed their bodies to become wholly spirit, losing all ego, all sense of self, in order to heal. In a sense, Elisabeta, while retaining her body, did something very similar. She lost all ego, all sense of herself, and thought only of Ferro, moving gently through his mind, seeking ways to brighten his spirit.

Those gentle fingers of hers on his jaw, stroking heat into his veins, wreaked havoc with his emotions, with his physical control, when for centuries he had always been completely disciplined. Abruptly, he rose, taking her with him, setting her onto her feet, giving his body some respite, a little shocked that he would need that.