Heat flooded her cheeks with the realization that he was reading her mind.
"Stop that!"
"I want only what you want," he said with a roguish grin. "You, naked in my arms. You, naked in my bed."
His bed, or his coffin? She grimaced at the thought, her desire extinguished like a flame drenched in cold water.
"Go back to what you were doing," she said, moving toward the stairs. "I'm going to change my clothes and then get something to eat."
She hurried up the steps, every fiber of her being acutely aware that Rourke was watching her every move.
He stared after her. She was unlike any woman he had ever known. She was afraid to fly, yet she had agreed to accompany him to Romania so he could free Ana Luisa. She was afraid of him, of what he was, yet she had offered him a place to stay. She wanted him as deeply as he wanted her, yet she clung to her principles of right and wrong as fiercely as any ancient warrior. He admired her for that most of all.
Rourke shook his head. What was he to do with her? The smart thing would be to move on. He had familiarized himself with this century. He had freed Ana Luisa from her painting. As far as he was concerned, his debt to Ana was fulfilled. It was time he fulfilled the oath he had made to himself time and again in the last three hundred years.
Rourke dragged a hand over his jaw. He should bid Karinna farewell, go after Vilnius, retrieve his father's sword, and find a place for himself in this new world.
He glanced at the staircase as Karinna descended, a raven-haired angel in a pair of faded blue jeans and a red sweater that lovingly hugged every curve. What man in his right mind, dead or Undead, would leave such a delectable creature?
He had waited three hundred years to avenge himself on Josef Vilnius. What difference would another year or two or even ten make?
Kari paused at the foot of the stairs, trapped by the intensity of Rourke's gaze. She didn't have to be psychic to know what he was thinking. It was evident in the taut line of his body, in the fire blazing in the depths of his hooded eyes. She could feel the heat arc across the distance that separated them. If he moved toward her, if he touched her, she knew she would go up in flames....
Feeling as though she were rooted to the spot, she shook her head, silently pleading with him to go away and leave her alone because she was afraid, so afraid, that her ability to deny him, to deny herself, wouldn't last much longer.
Step by slow step, he moved toward her like some wild jungle cat stalking its prey.
She stared up at him, unable to speak, unable to move. His preternatural power washed over her, leaving her feeling vulnerable, helpless. Doomed.
"Karinna." His voice poured over her, warm and sweet, like melted chocolate. His knuckles caressed her cheek. "What am I to do with you?"
She blinked up at him. She was at his mercy. He could do anything he desired; there was nothing she could do to stop him, and they both knew it.
"You are so lovely." His fingertip moved back and forth over her lower lip. "Your skin is like fine silk, your eyes as blue as the sky I have not seen since I was a young man. Your body..." His gaze slid down, lingering on her breasts, her belly, her hips, before returning to her face. "Your body is like a symphony waiting to be played."
Lowering his head, he kissed her. He didn't close his eyes, and neither did she. She saw him then, saw him as he truly was, a man who possessed unbelievable power, who could easily take her against her will, a man who could devour her body and soul. She knew a moment of stark, unreasoning fear, and then it was swept away in the sure knowledge that he would never do anything to hurt her.
She saw something else, as well, a soul-deep loneliness unlike anything she had ever imagined. The depths of it, the pain of it, brought tears to her eyes.
Rourke drew back, a frown creasing his brow as he caught one of her tears on the tip of his finger. "Why do you weep?"
She shook her head, afraid he would laugh at her. After all, it was ludicrous that a mere mortal should shed tears for someone such as he, a being of untold power, one who had lived for hundreds of years and would live for hundreds more. What was a little loneliness compared to the centuries of discovery that lay before him? And yet, how much longer must the years seem when you had no one to share them with, when you were doomed to lose everyone you knew, everyone you loved, over and over again?
Unaccountably touched by her tears, he said, "You need not weep for me, sweeting."
"I can't help it."
With a sigh, he drew her into his embrace, his hand running lightly up and down her back. Though he could easily bend her will to his, or take her by force, he wanted her to surrender willingly, to give herself to him because it was what she wanted.
"Ah, Karinna," he murmured. "You tempt me almost beyond my control."
She clung to the word almost, knowing it was her salvation, even as she wondered if she really wanted to be saved.
His hand stroked her hair. "What do you want of me?"
"What do you mean?"
"I want you," he said. "In my life, in my bed. What do you want? Are we to remain strangers to each other? Do you wish me to leave? Tell me what you want."
She gazed up at him. What did she want? Slowly, she shook her head. "I'm not sure."
"Perhaps it would be best for me to leave."
"No!"
"You do care, then?"
"You know I do." She frowned at him. "How can you say we're strangers?"
"Are we not?"
"I don't think so."
His knuckles slid down her cheek. "I do not know you nearly as well as I want to."
His words made her stomach quiver. "I'm just not ready for that. I mean, it's a big step and we're...we're so different."
He pulled her closer. "Not so different. Feel how your body molds itself to mine, as if we had been designed for one another."
She nodded, too breathless to speak.
"I feel your yearning, your hunger. It is the same as mine." His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom, drawing her up against him, leaving no doubt that he wanted her. "You hesitate because of what I am, do you not?"
"Yes." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"But I am still a man, sweeting, capable of loving you, of protecting you, if need be. Be my woman." His lips brushed hers. "Be my wife."
"Wife? Are you asking me to marry you?"
"So it would seem."
Caught by surprise, she stared up at him. She had been expecting a completely different kind of proposal. She knew he wanted her. She had been on the brink of surrendering to the desire she saw in his eyes, to the need she heard in his voice. If she was totally honest with herself, it was what she wanted, as well. But to be his wife? Who would have thought that the Undead got married? What would it be like to be married to Rourke? Would she even survive the honeymoon? Mrs. Jason Rourke. It had a nice ring to it, but what would it be like to have a vampire for a husband, a man who could share only half of her life, who would be forever young and virile? What would her life be like without him?
"You need not answer now," he said.
"I never thought...I don't know...are you sure this is what you want?"
"I would not have asked otherwise." He brushed a kiss across her lips. "It is a big decision for you, I know."
That was the understatement of the year!
He laughed softly when her stomach growled. "You need to eat," he said, "and so do I." He kissed her again. "I will not be gone long."
She nodded, blatantly reminded yet again of the vast gulf between them.
Chapter 21
Vilnius closed his traveling bag, then took a last turn around his dwelling place. He had taken care of everything here at home. Tomorrow, he would go after his daughter. It was time to bring her home, time to avenge himself once and for all on the vampire who had despoiled his only child. He intended to destroy Rourke this time, thereby ensuring that Ana Luisa would never again succumb to the creature's lust. As for Luisa, he would be generous this time. He would forgive her for her past sins and bring her home. He would allow her to take her place at his side once again, and he would continue her education. She was a powerful witch, far more powerful than she knew. He had been careful to keep such knowledge from her and would continue to do so until she was older, wiser. Until she had her emotions under control. Until she knew her place.
He had but one more thing to do before he left home.
At midnight, he went down into the basement, where he practiced his magick, and closed the door, figuratively shutting out the distractions of the world. Magick could be done by day or by night, but late at night was the most opportune time for scrying, since it was easier to avoid the excessive psychic vibrations generated by the confusion of everyday living. Not only that, but he preferred the darkness.
Scrying was an ancient method of divination often used by witches and magicians. An old legend stated that the goddess Hathor had carried a shield that reflected all things in their true light. From this shield she had purportedly fashioned the first magic mirror.
The Ancient Greeks and Celts had used beryl, crystal, black glass, polished quartz, and water. Gypsy fortunetellers generally used a crystal ball, but the purpose was the same: to see into the future, or to find that which was lost. Other objects had been used through the ages. The Egyptians had used fresh blood or ink, the Romans had used shiny objects or stones. Mirrors were often used, as well, but Vilnius preferred living water.
He opened the cupboard where he kept his magical implements and the tools of his trade and withdrew several fat white candles, which he placed on the altar located in the center of the floor. He waved his hand over the wicks and the candles sprang to life, filling the room with iridescent light.
After drawing a piece of black chalk from his pants pocket, he drew a circle on the floor. Next, he filled a large black cauldron with water and placed it on the table between the candles.
Head bowed, he summoned his power, felt it gathering around him like a dark shroud. When the water settled, he focused his gaze on the mirror-like surface.