Dark Melody (6 page)

‘
I have already put out the word to the others. It will take us a few days, Dayan.'

'I thank you for your concern, Darius. I do not yet know if our enemy is her enemy, but I will find a way to keep Corinne safe. Should something happen to me
…"

'She will always be under my protection and the protection of your family. You will keep her alive until the healer arrives.'
It was a command.
'We will not lose either of you, Dayan.'
The voice spoke with utmost confidence.

With a small sigh Dayan turned his attention to the problem at hand. He had to remove the bodies of the intruders from Corinne's home. The leopard had crushed the throats of the two men, strangling them rather than ripping and tearing. There was very little blood where the puncture wounds were. He had been careful to keep the carpets clean. He wanted no signs that the two men had ever been in the house.

Dayan lifted the bodies easily, slung them over his shoulder and stepped out into the backyard. The night was waning, and he had much to do. He launched himself into the air, shape-shifting as he did so, taking the men with him as he winged through the sky, gathering dark clouds together to shield himself from any observers. He was moving fast, a dark shape streaking across the heavens with his burden.

Dayan, like all his kind, was enormously strong, and the dead weight of the two bodies meant nothing to him. He was enjoying the night, the sounds, the songs, the sheer beauty of it all. It surrounded him, enfolded him in its music. The stars glittered like diamonds, a brilliant display, and below him trees dipped and swayed in the wind. In the darkness the leaves appeared a gleaming silver. He flew over a small lake and the surface glistened like glass. The world had never appeared so beautiful to him. Laving so long without colors, Dayan found their return overwhelming. He wanted to take it all in, turning his head this way and that so he could see everything.

Far from the city he found what he was looking for, a deep forest. Dayan settled to earth, his wings dissolving as he took his own shape. With a wave of his hand he opened the earth and floated the bodies into the deep chasm, tossing the crushed guns on top of the remains. Overhead, he built a storm, gathering in dark clouds and roiling the air above him so that lightning arced, veins of white-hot energy leaping from cloud to cloud. The dancing whips were directed into the hole so that both bodies were incinerated quickly. No one would find this grave. With a wave of his hand, the earth settled back over the ashes. The wind scattered leaves and twigs across the grave so that it looked as if it had been undisturbed for years.

Dayan dispersed the storm and, in the shape of an owl, flew quickly back to the safe house where Cullen waited with Corinne and Lisa. He was eager to get back to her, to be in her company, to see that she was real and not a figment of his imagination.

Chapter 3

Corinne sat curled up in a deepcushioned chair, her feet drawn under her and her head resting on her arm. Her hair cascaded in a silken curtain around her face. She sat in the dark waiting, her heart tapping out an uneven rhythm. She was trembling inside, feeling very shaky.

Lisa and Cullen had talked quietly for some time in the small bedroom off the hall before Lisa had finally fallen asleep. Cullen eventually sprawled close to Lisa, nodding off himself, his arm flung protectively around Lisa's waist.

Corinne waited up, fear beating in her like the pounding of a drum, as irregular as her heartbeat. She had no idea how she had come to be so wrapped up in a virtual stranger. Every cell in her body needed to know that nothing had harmed him. She could remember every detail of his face, every fleeting expression. She felt alone and frightened without him, and that was totally out of character for her. Corinne was unsure what to do. She was the one who had always seen to the details of everyday life. She juggled appointments and paid bills, made certain Lisa was where she was supposed to be and that John's business ran smoothly. She didn't fall for tall, handsome strangers in bars, certainly not one who was famous. She wrote songs for many famous musicians, but it had never occurred to her to be impressed with any of them.

She heard nothing but her own heartbeat, yet when she looked up, Dayan was looming over her, tall and strong and alive. Air rushed into her lungs and she could breathe again. Corinne had an unexpected and entirely unacceptable desire to trace the angles and planes of his face with her fingertips. She needed to touch him, to assure herself he was unharmed. A small smile found its way to her soft mouth. "I was worried."

Dayan reached down to lay his hand against her satin cheek. Her stomach did a funny little flip, his touch bringing a strange craving for more. "There was no need, Corinne, but I thank you for your concern." He said her name like a caress.

She shook her head, astonished at her reaction to him. He was truly lethal. No one had ever looked at her as he did. His eyes were intense, fathomless, dark and dangerous and mysterious, moving over her possessively. So
hungry.
Could anyone ever refuse such longing? Such intense need? "I should have called the police," she confessed in a little rush. "I don't know why I listened to Cullen. I
never
listen to anyone when they aren't being logical, but he was so adamant."

"It is just as well you did not," Dayan said softly.

She looked up at him from under long lashes. "You aren't a criminal of some sort, are you? It seemed the only explanation for Cullen to carry on so."

Again he smiled, a slow, sexy curve accenting the sensual line of his mouth. He hunkered down beside her chair so that his head was level with hers. "Do I look like a criminal?" His voice held that strange black magic, whispering over her skin so that she shivered, but deep inside her a flame began to burn hotly and spread liquid heat like molten lava throughout her body.

"Even if you're not, you should be totally outlawed," she blurted out before she could censor her words.

Those black, black eyes glittered with male humor. "I will take that as a compliment. You did not say if you liked my playing."

She lifted her head, tossing her abundance of hair over her shoulder, the gesture purely feminine, entirely sexy. "You know very well you're phenomenal, I don't have to tell you. Everyone says so."

"But then, not everyone's opinion counts to me. Only yours." He was perfectly serious, as if she were the only one in his world. His deep black eyes did not leave her face. Did not even blink.

Corinne wanted to look away, afraid he was capable of mesmerizing her, but instead she felt herself falling into the depths of his eyes. They were so beautiful, unlike any eyes she had ever seen. He was compelling her to answer him. She
had
to answer him because it was necessary to him. He made her feel that way. "You play absolutely beautifully. I've never heard anything like it. I want to hear you sing again."

"You are C. J. Wentworth. You did not whisper a word about the famous C. J. who can make someone's career with one of her songs."

Color crept into her face again, and for a moment it was all he could do not to lean down and fasten his mouth to hers. She looked shy, yet so enticing he wanted to gather her to him and shelter her against his heart.

Corinne shrugged modestly. "I've had luck with my songs, but they're nothing like the ones you and Desari compose. Your music and lyrics linger in the mind."

"You have tapes of our gigs," he accused, a faint grin stealing into his eyes.

She flashed a saucy little smirk at him. "They didn't come cheap, either. I had to pay a fortune. The strange thing is, a few years ago I came across an old record. The band is called the Dark Troubadours, but the recording was made in the 1920s." She studied his face, feature by feature. It was a handsome mask, giving nothing of his thoughts away. "Most of the dealers know I love rare recordings and that I'm willing to pay for them. When one of them sold me that record, I became obsessed with the music. Its different, incredibly beautiful, almost haunting. You should hear it, Dayan. When I first heard the name of your band, I thought there might be some connection and I had to hear your music. It took a long time and a great deal of money to acquire the black-market tapes. I know you aren't the same band, but I swear, the similarities are amazing. The music is different, of course, of a different era, but the style, the way of playing is so like yours. I've listened to that record over and over, and I'd swear the musicians are the same. You know how you can listen and know who is playing just by the sound?" The words tumbled out of her in her excitement. She was speaking musician to musician.

He raked his hand through the dark silk of his hair, his intrigued gaze on her face, drinking her in. Devouring her with his eyes. That recording had been their one mistake. It had not occurred to them that technology would one day be able to identify individuals by voice. Fortunately, few of the records had been produced. They had quietly set about tracking down and destroying every copy. Obviously, they hadn't succeeded. "Well, have you heard of them? Did you use their name deliberately?" Corinne demanded, the mystery uppermost in her mind. "You have to hear this recording, Dayan. I've studied music all my life and I have a great ear. I'd swear it was you playing lead guitar."

"That's because it is me," he answered truthfully, allowing a mischievous smile to light the dark depths of his eyes.

Corinne blinked up at him. "So that would make you at least a hundred years old. You're so very well preserved, Dayan."

"Thank you." He bowed slightly from the waist with a curiously Old World elegance that suited him.

"You're welcome, although if you're thinking of a relationship, I'm afraid it's out of the question. I can't possibly go out with a man who's a hundred years old."

His smile widened until his white teeth gleamed at her, taking her breath away. He reached out to brush a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering against her skin in a light caress. "When I look at you I can barely breathe," he admitted starkly, melting her heart. "You are so beautiful."

Corinne took a deep breath, trying hard not to allow the wild color to creep up her neck into her face. Someone had to be sensible. She tried not to look at him so she could think more clearly. "Dayan, I'm very pregnant."

"You should be bigger." He spoke gently, but it was clearly a reprimand. "Now I will have to add that to my growing list of things to worry about where you are concerned." He reached out with lazy ease and caught a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger as if he couldn't help himself.

"The baby is perfectly healthy," she said defensively, trying desperately not to be affected by the intimacy of his touch.

He tugged at her hair. "What has the doctor said about your health?"

Corinne tried to duck her head, but Dayan's hand caught her chin, his black eyes capturing her gaze, refusing to relinquish his control. "Answer me, honey."

It was odd, but she could feel his voice brushing at the walls of her mind, compelling her to answer him. She
wanted
to tell him despite her natural inclination to keep certain parts of her life private. She shrugged. "Well, you know. Doctors have a way of making everything seem like a worst-case scenario. I'd rather talk about what you found at our house."

Dayan moved, a menacing ripple of muscles that had her heart pounding in her throat again, but he was just standing, stretching like a large jungle cat before reaching for her. He picked her up easily, as if her weight were that of a small child, and glided through the hall to a bedroom.

Corinne closed her eyes tightly for a moment, her hand creeping around his neck. "What are you doing?"

"If we are to talk, honey, I thought it best you be somewhere comfortable. I will not deny it is in my mind to make love to you all night, but I am fully aware of your pregnancy and the difficulties it presents, so I promise to behave myself." There was a slightly humorous drawl to his voice, as if he knew that just saying the words, admitting his desire for her, would send heat coursing through her body. As if he knew his desire was contagious.

Dayan placed her in the middle of the large double bed and bent over her, his black eyes moving over her face intently. Her palm pushed against his broad chest in alarm, an effort to restrain him. Her eyes were enormous in her face, apprehensive. The ritual words beat in Dayan's head; his very body strained with the need to bind her to him. She was his lifemate, she belonged with him, and he needed her desperately. He had been alone for so long, so many centuries. She was here. In the same room with him.
Corinne.

She lay very still, like a small wild thing caught in a predator's stare, afraid to move. She couldn't look away from those black eyes, the intensity, the terrible naked need. She wanted to hold him, to banish that stark, lonely look for all time. Her palm, the tiny barrier between them, trembled as she stared up at him, mesmerized by his vulnerability when he seemed so invincible. "Dayan." She whispered his name – a soft sigh really, or was it an invitation? She didn't know, so how could he?

Dayan captured her hand, brought her fingers to the warmth of his mouth. "You have nothing to fear, Corinne. I would never do anything that might harm you or the child. I cannot help wanting you, but until it is safe, I think we will both have to suffer."

She found herself smiling as she moved over to allow him to stretch out beside her. Why she trusted him so much, so quickly, she couldn't fathom, but it didn't matter. She liked being beside him, felt comforted by his very presence. He was solid and warm, his arms strong as he pulled her to him, fit her into the curve of his body. She shivered, more from his close proximity than the cool night air, but she liked the way he instantly drew a comforter over them even though she knew he wasn't cold.

"Are you going to tell me what you found at our home?"