Free Dark Fire by Christine Feehan Page B

jagged edges sealing perfectly together. He knew her body was made for his, that he would find in her the same fire that smoldered within him.
    Sleep deeply, honey, with no bad dreams. I will watch over you. He murmured the words softly in her mind, filling her head with pleasant dreams, with things he remembered from his childhood. The beauty of the savanna, the mystery of the monsoon, the abundance of colors, of animals. He conjured up the excitement of his first hunt with the leopards. He had tried to drop from the branches of a tree as he had seen the older animals doing but had landed feet in front of his intended victim, inadvertently sending it scurrying out of reach. He found himself smiling at the memory, smiling as she was doing in her sleep.
    His hand closed over hers. Waterfalls, the magnificence of frothy, foaming water cascading hundreds of feet. Crocodiles, antelope. A pride of lions. With the details came the smells and feel and lulling heat of Africa. He shared it all with her, replacing the terrible events of her day, of her past, replacing her nightmare with something beautiful.
    You're a remarkable man, Darius .
    He went still. Not a muscle in his body moved. Even his breathing ceased. He examined her face. She had spoken to him telepathically. It was not on the same path used among his family. It was different, more intimate. But it was her voice; there was no mistaking that. Somehow, in her compulsion-and-herb-induced sleep, she was still aware of his presence in her mind. It was unbelievable that a human could have such powers.
    He examined her mind again. It was nothing like the human minds he was accustomed to. It intrigued him, its layers and compartments, as if she had things neatly filed and locked away. Perhaps he had been too complacent about her.
    You can hear me? he asked in her mind.
    Don't you want me to hear you? Why else are you telling me of all these wonderful places and exciting memories if you didn't want me to hear you?
    He again noticed the velvet huskiness of her voice, like a drowsy caress, a lover turning her body mindlessly into his. Did she always sound that way? Did the others hear that sexy, erotic note in her voice?
    This way of communicating does not frighten you? he asked.
    I'm dreaming. I don't mind dreaming about you. You're sharing my mind; I'm sharing yours. I know your only wish is to help me sleep without nightmares.
    Could it be that simple? Did she believe she was dreaming the whole thing? Darius brought her hand to the warmth of his mouth. He was smiling as he kissed her knuckles. Her hand was still bruised from her fight earlier in the day. Without conscious thought, he stroked his tongue over the dark purple-and-blue mark. Sleep, baby. Sleep deep, and worry about nothing . Allow your body to heal.
    Good night, Darius. Don't you worry so much about me. I'm like a cat: I always land on my feet.

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    Chapter Four
    Tempest woke slowly, as if emerging through a layer of hazy clouds. She was sore, every muscle protesting when she moved, yet not nearly as much as she had expected. She sat up, looking warily around her. Her body was alive with feeling, her skin sensitive beyond belief. She remembered the horror of the attack on her like a vague nightmare. What was vivid and sharp, every detail imprinted forever in her mind, was the memory of Darius's tongue caressing every bruise, taking away her pain and fear, replacing it with erotic, burning pleasure. She wanted to believe that one was a nightmare and the other a romantic dream, but Tempest always looked reality in the face. It was how she lived, how she survived. She might lie to someone else if it was necessary but never to herself. The things Darius had done in her dream world were all too real. She had been in some kind of a trance, half awake, half asleep. And they had talked to one another using only their minds, in much the same way she communicated with animals, only using words, not just images.