Dark Lycan (Dark #24)(43)
Author: Christine Feehan

"You are so beautiful, Tatijana," he whispered, "so sensitive to my touch."

His touch inflamed her. She couldn’t imagine being any more sensitive. She wanted his hands on her always. He was in her mind and knew exactly how every tug and roll of her nipples sent more heat coursing through her veins. She was all too aware of his fingers slipping lower, tracing the dragon over her ovary with a reverent fingertip before continuing the journey lower still.

She closed her eyes, gasping, arching her back when his fingers penetrated deep. Her muscles clamped around him and again delicious strong aftershocks shook her.

"Tied vagyok." He whispered the words against her neck, his teeth grazing over her pulse. "Yours I am."

She loved that he was hers. There could never be another. No other man would ever measure up to him. He reluctantly pulled his fingers from her body and carefully took the blossom he’d set aside earlier, and placed it tight into the junction of her leg so that the soft petals teased her ultrasensitive body. She knew her body was weeping and the flower collected every drop.

"Sivamet andam." His hands were at her breasts again. "My heart I give you, Tatijana."

He had all of her, heart, soul, mind and body. She felt almost as if she was melting with heat. She wanted him all over again. Whatever ceremony with the flower he was completing was a potent one. As she leaned her head back against his shoulder, her hair covered both of them, a long cascading waterfall of silk that felt sensuous against their bodies. Her skin was cool against the heat of his, only adding fuel to the fire of need.

"Te avio palafertiilam-you are my lifemate."

The way he said the words in his own language, a language so ancient and long gone from the world but for a very few, added to the mystique and beauty of the ritual.

"Now you place the flower, as a symbol of optimum fertility for me and say the words to me. We are bound and asking-pleading-with Mother Nature to bless us with our own children during our time in this world or the next."

Her hands shook as she carefully picked up the blossom and turned to face him. Kneeling up as he was, his body rock hard, his face carved so masculine, he was beautiful to her. The moonlight spilled over him, streaking his hair with dancing light. Moistening her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue, she placed their night star flower directly under his very heavy erection. Her hands brushed his sac, fingers lingering a little too long on his thick shaft while the back of her hands slid over the insides of his thighs.

"Tied vagyok." She placed her palms on his bare thighs and looked into his eyes. "Yours I am. Sivamet andam. My heart I give you." She meant every word. She couldn’t imagine anything more right than giving her heart into his keeping. "Te avio palafertiilam. You are my lifemate."

Chapter 9

The first few streaks of dawn’s light poured over the large field, turning haystacks into small hills of gold. The wind touched the sheaves still in the ground, setting them swaying gently, like a softly rolling wave. The air was crisp and cold, but the sky clear.

Costin Eliade yawned as he stepped outside onto his porch to look over his farm. Satisfaction appeared in every line of his body. His farm had been in his family for two generations, and his father as well as his grandfather had done their best to improve the conditions. He’d been the first to seek a higher education and put the procedures he’d learned into practice. He had been the first to bring cattle to the farm and successfully sell his beef to the outside world.

Farming was hard work, but he was a man who took great pride in doing for his family. His animals always had the best of care. His fields were planted with rotating crops, and his irrigation system was up to date and served him well. He was also proud of the house. Many farmers took great care of the land and the livestock, but neglected their dwellings. His wife had no complaints with her indoor bathroom and year-round running water. He made repairs instantly to anything that she pointed out.

In his area, he had become the first to introduce cattle and procure a large contract. His cattle made up most of their income and had elevated them to a decent living. Losing the steers would be devastating not only to his family, but to several other families who had thrown in with him as well. His dogs guarded the cattle, three of them, and they were fiercely protective.

Costin reached for the walking stick he kept on the porch just behind the column. It fit neatly into the palm of his hand, worn from use. The ground was uneven and being the sole provider for his family, he didn’t take chances on accidents. A turned ankle could mean no one feeding the livestock.

Two small goats bleated at him and raced each other around the yard. One leapt up on a small boulder and lifted his nose to the air. The other rushed toward the larger of the two goats, head down in an attempt to butt it off the boulder. The slightly larger goat sidestepped so that the smaller one was forced to jump playfully past. The smaller goat sent his brethren one laughing look and then lowered his mouth to snack on grass just to the left of the corral. Occasionally both looked toward the horses, and then back out to the field.

In the distance, several yards away, most of the cattle still lay in the cushioned grass, sleepy and not quite ready to face the day. A few birds circled above in the sky, a lazy early morning flight before settling in the field to catch any worms not burrowing into the earth.

Costin took a deep breath of the dawn air. This was the time he liked the best. Just between night and day. Everything was always peaceful. There was such beauty surrounding his farm and he was a man who most of the time was far too busy to notice such things, but not at dawn. Dawn was his time to relax and enjoy what he had.

He watched as the wind playfully tugged at the grass in the field, creating a rippling effect and pushing small tornadoes of dirt playfully into the air. The field rolled gently, the smallest of lifts, as if far below, the ground shifted. The soil lifted slightly almost in the middle of the field, no more than a couple of inches. He wouldn’t have noticed but for the horses.

He’d left his best four in the corral, close to the small covered shelter he’d built three winters ago. He had six horses, but two were older and he used them mainly for pulling the cart going into the village to the store. A neighbor had taken them for him, just in case his farm came under attack.

The chickens began to fuss. The horses stomped nervously, sensing something he didn’t. He stepped off the porch and walked a few feet away from the house, his eyes on the field. There it was again. A subtle movement beneath the soil, picking up speed and racing straight at the corral.