Free Dark Secret by Christine Feehan Page A

photograph of the harpy eagle. The eyes were round and shining with intelligence, but they were not black. The eyes in the picture were a bright amber with a black pupil. She let out her breath slowly. Something was wrong with her bird.
    You aren’t blind, though, are you? She sent the words,images to the creature. It was watching her too closely to be blind.
    It stirred then, almost in triumph. Colby’s heart jumped in response. For one moment she felt threatened in some undefined way. She thought she caught a fleeting expression in the eagle’s eyes and then it hopped back onto the windowsill and launched itself skyward. For such a large bird, it amazed her how perfectly silent it was. It circled for a moment, climbing higher and higher until it was a mere speck. She watched it until it was gone.
    Colby felt inexplicably lonely as she climbed back into her bed. Her fingers plucked at the quilt, seeking comfort. The book lay on the bed beside her. She tapped on the cover with her fingers before waving it back to the shelf. Telekinesis was a very handy talent. She had discovered it at an early age. She had often set her toys dancing around her room when she was alone. Once, she had shown her mother, proud of her ability. Her mother had seemed delighted, yet Colby could read the worry in her mind. She learned at a young age she was “different” and people didn’t tolerate differences very well. She stared at the open window sadly. I am so alone. She sent the heartfelt cry winging into the night.
    She had other things she could do. Not nice things. Things her mother cautioned her over many times. Colby was older now and knew control was very necessary. She never had taken a drink of alcohol in her life and never would. She couldn’t afford to allow some of her unusual gifts to erupt unbidden.
    She sighed and turned her face into the pillow. It would have been nice to have someone to talk with. To be herself with. Just once. Just one time, to be who and what she was, instead of so afraid of betraying herself. She missed her mother. Tears were welling up out of nowhere and Colby hated that.
    Querida, why are you so sad this night? The voice was heavily accented, musical, a whisper of enticement. She heard it as clearly as if the words were spoken aloud.
    Colby stiffened, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She opened her eyes, searching the shadows of her room. It appeared empty at first, but then she felt a hand brush a lingering caress over her face, the fingertips trailing over her skin as itremoved silken strands of hair from her forehead. She sat up, pushing at the shadowy figure bending over her. The broad chest was real and very solid. How could she have missed his presence?
    “What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” She hissed the words very quietly, afraid if Paul heard he would rush in with a gun.
    You called me to you. Deliberately Rafael used the more intimate method of telepathic communication, determined to strengthen their bond. I heard your call. Felt your tears. Why are you so sad this night?
    He was too real and solid in the confines of her small bedroom. His masculine scent clung to the corners, his voice brushed over her skin, at her insides like black velvet. It wasn’t just his words, it was literally the sound of his voice. A seduction, an intimacy stolen in the night. He washed over her and into her so that she was at a loss. No one had ever made her feel so aware of her body, so feminine, or so blatantly sexual.
    She blinked to keep him in focus. He seemed substantial to the touch, yet in the dark room, his shadowy figure blurred as if he was a part of the night itself. Not real. Colby had the good sense to be afraid. It was so dreamlike she dug her nails into her palm to ensure she was awake. “How did you get in here?” The moment she spoke aloud, she wished she hadn’t. Her voice was husky, sexy, not entirely hers. An invitation. Her heart thundered out a fast rhythm. The heat of