Dark Melody (16 page)

The jungle cat leapt easily to the ground, moving swiftly through the thick fog up the street toward the Wentworth residence. A man waited in Corinne's backyard for her to come home. He had a gun and a knife, and orders to bring her back to a laboratory or kill her. The cat could smell the man even through the thick fog. A second man was huddled in her doorway, with the same orders and the same determination. They were very alert, afraid even. Two of their friends had disappeared without a trace. The society wanted answers fast. The Wentworth women were going to provide them.

The leopard moved with the same calm confidence, the same silence as when it had begun to stalk its prey. The wrought-iron gate was cleared with one easy leap, and the animal landed softly on cushioned paws. The fog was moving now, small eddies at first, becoming a thick, swirling pudding with a life of its own. It brushed against the legs of the man in the yard. The man glanced wildly around, looking for something alive that might have touched him.

With an oath he paced from one side of the lawn to the other, peering down toward his feet. The fog moved again like a giant snake, wrapping loose coils around him from his feet upward. He was moving toward the house when he noticed the unusual phenomenon. With a pounding heart, he pushed at the vapor, and his hand traveled right through it. His relief was tremendous. "Mike?" He called out to his partner, suddenly wanting to get out of the oppressive fog. It was so thick, he felt as if he couldn't adequately breathe.

Mike, inside the doorway, heard the muffled call and turned, trying to see through the thick mist. "Drake?" He thought he saw a tall, pale figure moving in the fog, but it was vague and shadowy and not at all of the same build as his partner. Squinting, he leaned closer into the thick, soupy stuff, certain now there was more than one figure moving. He brought up his gun, trying to center on the amorphous, almost transparent shapes.

It was an animal, not a person, he decided, lowering the weapon. He was listening, but the strange fog cushioned the sounds so it seemed he was locked away from the rest of the world. Definitely not human, the shapes inside the white veil took on the forms of large cats. As he stared at them, nonplussed by the strange phenomenon, the cats seemed to turn to stare back, fixing glowing eyes on him. Red eyes. Eyes that flamed and seemed eerie and threatening in the midst of the fog. To reassure himself, Mike took a firmer grip on the handle of his gun even as he took a step backward to flatten his body against the wall, making himself as small as possible.

If it was an illusion, why was a cat moving forward, emerging out of the fog, staring intently, ferociously, at him? Its ropes of heavy muscle rippled like fluid beneath its mottled fur; its head was down, yet it never took its eyes off its prey. Mike tried to bring up the gun, his finger working at the trigger over and over in a desperate attempt to kill the thing, but his hand seemed paralyzed. The gun must have jammed. Nothing worked right.

He was still staring intently into the flame-red eyes when something hit him hard in the chest and he coughed once. It was the last sound he ever made. The leopard was so strong that when it attacked it crushed the man's chest even as its razor-sharp claws pierced his throat for the kill. The leopard dragged the body of the man out from the doorway and into the yard toward the other human.

Drake was fighting his way through the terrible bands of fog toward where he believed Mike was waiting. Coils of the stuff seemed to wrap around him as if he were a mummy. He thought he could feel the coils brushing here and there against his body, yet when he tried to shove them away, his hands went completely through the mist. It was a frightening feeling. He felt claustrophobic in the soupy stuff, and he hated the insidious whispers coming from inside the fog.

"Mike?" he found himself whispering, moving his feet carefully, cautiously, feeling his way through the grass. He was searching for the brickwork signaling he was close to the house. The toe of his boot hit something solid. It didn't feel like brick. Gingerly he felt around the object with his foot. A sick feeling began in the pit of his stomach. "Mike?" he whispered again as he bent down to feel with his hand.

Breath exploded from his lungs. It was Mike. Drake gasped aloud, swinging this way and that, his gun in his hand, his eyes wild as he searched for the enemy. With his free hand he explored the body, looking for a pulse. His palm landed in thick fur. He inhaled sharply, his hand moving of its own accord over the shape of a skull. The whiskers, the open mouth with sharp canines. Drake tried to scream, but the cat had already launched itself, burying its teeth deep in his unprotected throat before he could get off a warning. A sound gurgled deep, then died away.

Dayan shape-shifted immediately, catching the man in his arms, placing the gun in his waistband as he collected the second body. He took two running leaps with the men slung over his shoulders. Their weight was nothing to him as he soared through the sky under cover of the thick fog. He took a moment to snag the third body from the rooftop and once again headed for the forest miles out of the city.

It took minutes to dispose of the bodies the same way he had the other two. He incinerated them with a lightning bolt before burying them deep and strewing vegetation over the site so that it seemed undisturbed. The guns were buried deep in the earth with the ashes. Then Dayan returned to Corinne, dropping silently out of the fog beside the car.

Chapter
7

'I am here with you, honey.'
Dayan made the calm announcement before he touched the door handle of the car, afraid of startling her. He was a shadow in her mind, knew she was already afraid, and worried about his safety. The fog was oppressive to her. He could feel how uncomfortable she was, sensed that the baby was kicking strongly, but her heart and lungs were laboring. He sent the warmth of his love into her mind, strong and intense, his reassurance that he was in good health.

Corinne reached for the door even as he opened it. At once she flung herself into his arms, uncaring what he might think. "I was so worried about you."

He held her tight, savoring the feel of her fragile body against his. "Breathe, honey. You scare me to death when your heart tries to work so hard. I was never in any danger. Never. I told you that. You need to listen to me when I say important things." He buried his mouth against her soft neck, inhaling her fragrance, breathing evenly, willing her lungs to follow the steady pattern of his.

Corinne rubbed her face against his broad chest. "I never know what is actually important and what is sheer nonsense," she admitted teasingly, trying desperately to lighten the mood when she really wanted to cry in relief.

Dayan laughed softly, obliging her. "You are so good for my ego. Everyone else obeys me; I think you should too."

She pulled reluctantly out of his arms and looked around in astonishment at the rapidly disintegrating fog bank. It was melting away as if it had never been. "I'm the one everyone listens to, Dayan," she pointed out, her mind puzzling over the peculiar phenomenon.

Dayan intertwined his fingers with hers to bring her back to him. He kept her locked firmly beneath his shoulder as they walked toward the house. "And I am certain we all obey." She fit perfectly, her smaller frame moving against his, soft and feminine, reminding him continually of their wonderful differences.

Corinne glanced up at him, studying his features, then ducked her head to hide her expression. His eyes held warmth when they looked at her, but they took on a merciless stare when he looked away. He seemed more animal than human. Even his movements, fluid and powerful, seemed inhuman. She struggled to understand exactly what it was about him that she found intimidating.

Her heart, instead of matching the rhythm of his, was pounding very hard and fast. Her mouth was dry. "Dayan."

"Why are you frightened of me when I treat you so gently?" His voice was soothing and tranquil. He never sounded annoyed or irritated by her thoughts. Dayan took the keys to the front door out of her hand and unlocked it.

Corinne thought a long time before she answered.

Just how afraid was she of Dayan? She looked up at him, at the rugged angles and planes of his face. At his strong jaw. At his sculpted mouth. "I don't think I am, really," she mused aloud. "There's something different about you, Dayan – something dangerous. But not to me. I don't think the threat is directed at me." Her chin went up. "You know, I've always detested the way everyone wanted to tell me what to do with my life because of my health. I have a good brain and I can figure things out for myself. If you choose to spend your time with me and you want to care for me, knowing full well the repercussions of what can and probably will happen to me, then so be it. It's your choice, Dayan." She reached up and framed his face with her hands. "Just know that if you care too much, death can be very painful to the one left behind."

"Would it stop you, Corinne?" he asked quietly, his dark gaze drifting broodingly over her face. "If I were the one with the bad heart, would you walk away from me?"

A slow smile curved her mouth, lit her face and dispelled the worry hidden in her eyes. "I love life, Dayan. I believe in living it. I would never pass up love or laughter or knowing you because I was afraid of pain. It would be a small price to pay for your company. But then, I've known pain and experienced things others haven't. I've learned the value of love and laughter."

Dayan turned his head slightly even as his gaze remained fixed on her face, devouring her. He kissed her hand, drew her finger into the heat of his mouth.

At once her body clenched and a thousand butterflies brushed at the walls of her stomach. He made her feel beautiful, and sexy and very wanted. "What do you think you're doing?" She faced him with her heart in her eyes and her breasts rising and falling in anticipation.

His tongue did a slow, silky caress along her finger, then reluctantly released her. "Seducing you," Dayan admitted without remorse. He bent his head to find her mouth with his, kissing her leisurely, a long, slow kiss meant to tell her what he couldn't seem to convey with mere words. Poet or not, there were no words to say how much she meant to him. No words to say he would follow her anywhere. That she was life to him.

"You say it just fine." She whispered the words into his mouth, into his soul.

Dayan tensed, his arms imprisoning her, holding her tightly to him. There had been no blood exchange. Yet she was reading his mind. Slipping in like a shadow, with skill and ease, going where only those of Carpathian blood should go. Had she learned
too
much? Her heart wasn't laboring any more than normal. Carefully he touched her mind. Corinne hadn't even noticed what she had done.

She pulled away first, in a small, delicate retreat that made him smile even as he opened his arms to allow her escape. "What attracts you so much to music?" Dayan asked, surveying the neat stacks of music magazines on the coffee table.

"Music takes me to all the places my body will never let me go," Corinne told him, glancing up at him almost shyly. Her soft smile made his knees weak. "I'm able to feel the sensation of jumping out of an airplane or swimming beneath the ocean by just selecting the right piece. No matter where I am, or how difficult it is to breathe, if I can hear music, I know it will be all right." Her grin was self-conscious. "That probably sounds silly to you, but you're strong and free. I'm a prisoner trapped in this body. What my heart and soul and brain want are things I'll never experience, so I use music to soar."

Dayan said nothing. He couldn't speak; the lump in his throat was blocking his ability to breathe. It was the way she lived her life. Corinne accepted what had been given to her and lived wholly despite her limitations. She embraced life. Tasted it. Experienced it. He could imagine her flying as a bird in the sky, swooping through the treetops. He would always have to stay close to her, watch over her, or Corinne would go for the stars.

"Don't feel sorry for me, Dayan," she said softly. "You see, I've been incredibly lucky. I treasure each day I have." She turned to look around her home. "I've had so much in my life, so many unexpected things. Come with me, look at this. Lisa is an absolute cretin when it comes to musical instruments so she didn't appreciate this at all, but you will." She caught his hand and tugged. "I know you will."

He went with her because he had no other choice. He would have followed her to the ends of the earth. She took him through the hall to the open room with the piano, quickly exposing the ivory keys. Her fingers were tight around his as she pulled him to the bench, nearly pushing him onto it.

"Listen to this. Listen to the sound." Her hands skimmed across the keys, fluttered and settled to play a sonata he immediately recognized.

The sound was beautiful, the notes true. Dayan watched her fingers glide over the keys. She played effortlessly, with a certain abandon, losing herself completely in the music. She played the way she lived life. The way she would love him. Passionately, with everything in her. Giving freely, generously. A complete merging of her body and soul and heart.

She was so beautiful to him. Her head bent over the keys, her eyes closed, her hair tousled and tumbling around her face, her expression one of concentration and rapt enthrallment. Dayan reached around her, planted both hands on the piano so his arms created an effective wall. He bent to taste the temptation of the nape of her neck. Her natural fragrance drew him, assailed his senses so that he could think only of Corinne. Of her soft skin and inviting body. Of the passion in her, the magic.

Corinne's fingers stilled on the piano and she turned into his embrace, half rising to meet the heat of his mouth. She found fire and flames. A burst of sunlight and a shattering need more compelling than life itself. They fed off each other, devoured each other, unable to get close enough. His mouth was hot and commanding. Hers was silken and insistent. She lost herself in his mouth, in his masculine taste. He couldn't get enough, feeding on her, taking the sweetness she offered like a starving man.