Even though she was a mistress of illusion, Savannah’s eyes widened in wonder at Gregori’s feat, and her fingers curled around the thickness of his wrist. Gregori’s heart somersaulted at the touch of her fingers, her mixture of childlike awe at his magic and the stark fear of what his intimate touch was doing to her body. Every Carpathian worth his salt could perform the illusion of tears to diamonds, but Gregori’s gems were real, solid. He had used his enormous strength and the tremendous power of his mind to fashion the impossible for her, to make illusion reality.

Taking her hand, his eyes fastened to hers, Gregori allowed the diamonds to fall into her open palm, a shower of gems. Very carefully he closed her fingers around his gift to her. His eyes still holding hers, his tongue stroked along her bruised fist. Once, twice, a third time.

Darts of fire went racing into her bloodstream. Her body stirred, warmed in the cool of the night air. A little sound escaped when he bent his head to find a darkened smudge at the corner of her mouth. Her heart lurched crazily. She wanted to run, but her body was too heavy, the scent of the herbs drugging her senses. In her head, faint, far away, she could hear a chant in his low, smooth voice, the language centuries old. Her lashes drifted down. Fire and ice. Pain and pleasure. Rough velvet lapping at her sore mouth, taking away the sting.

Savannah closed her eyes against the torment of his masculine beauty, the tenderness etched in his sensual features. His tongue moved over her lips, then slipped inside to bathe a cut in her mouth. It felt so good.

He lingered over her neck, her throat, his tongue taking great care over torn flesh. The teeth marks on her shoulder where he had held her pinned beneath him required a slow, lazy swirl of his tongue, long, stroking caresses to remove the pain and replace it with a torturous heat.

Gregori’s body responded to every inch of her satin skin, the taste and feel of her, the sight and smell of her, but this time would be all hers. There would be no chance of hurting her; he was determined to replace every bruise, every scratch, every bad memory with healing pleasure.

Enough, Gregori.Her merged mind found his hungry and aroused, matching hers, without the fear clouding hers. Her breath was coming in short gasps somewhere between pleasure and terror.

“Every bruise, mon petit amour,no matter how small.” Deliberately he whispered the words, his breath warm against the roundness of her breast. He took his time, enjoying his work, tracing the soft fullness, his tongue rasping tenderly over her nipples, soothing the ugly marks marring the perfection of her skin. Each caress lingered, stroked, teased, and healed. He would never get enough of her, never get over the feel and perfection of her. He would never get over the fact that she had refused to condemn him, that she had tried to protect him from the terrible crime he had committed against her. It seemed impossible that she could care enough, that anyone, least of all Savannah, after what he had inflicted upon her, would care enough to do what she had done. Follow him to the depths of hell and drag him back to her.

He groaned at the thought of it, aching inside, weeping silently that he had committed such a horrendous act against his woman, the only woman courageous enough to follow him and drag his soul from hell into her light.

Savannah’s fingers tangled in his thick mane, weaving a kind of magic all their own. Stop tormenting yourself, Gregori. You knew the risk, and yet you still gave me my freedom. Those five years of freedom were precious to me. I thank you for them.

Gregori closed his eyes. She was turning him inside out, melting his coldness, his frigid existence, with the beauty of her nature. She was all that he was not. Compassion, forgiveness, light, and goodness, now wed to a demon with no knowledge of the things that made her what she was. If it was love for her that was growing in him, it was a powerful, dangerous emotion. You fear me now.His torment was in his mind.

She moved slightly so that he could attend the underside of her breast. He felt her shiver in response to the gentle lapping of his tongue, the heat rushing through her body, the pressure building slowly.

I always feared you, Gregori, feared your power over me, feared what you represented, the loss of my freedom. I feared so powerful a being and how you made me feel. Even if this had not happened, I would still fear you.

His mouth moved lower still, over her narrow rib cage, and the small span of her waist. He lingered over four long scratches across her stomach, his body aching, but he so enjoyed his work, it didn’t matter. Now you fear to join with me.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stilled beneath him, but the soothing chant went on, and the heavy scent of herbs combined with his gentle touch prevailed. She relaxed beneath him. I don’t want to be hard on your ego— men are so fragile— but sex is definitely overrated. We can refrain from that aspect of things.

He felt a tinge of amusement at her thoughts. He knew he was bringing a raging fire to her blood, that waves of heat were beating at her. He could easily smell her scent calling to him with her readiness. But she wasn’t going to fall into his trap. He had been too big for her small frame, and far too rough. His mouth trailed fire across her stomach to the silken triangle at the junction of her legs. She jumped, her fingers twisting in his hair. “No, Gregori, I mean it.”

Her voice was husky, and her small hands were trembling again, the feel against his scalp turning his heart over. His palms moved in gentle caresses over her thighs, and his tongue found the crease of one hip. I know of only one way to heal you.He stroked the center of her heat with infinite tenderness.

She cried out, her hips jerking, trying to squirm away from the swirling vortex of flames he was creating. Her muscles clenched. Tremors started in her stomach. Pressure built. There was such need building, heat raging at her innermost core. Gregori!It was a helpless plea—of wanting, of fear, of confusion.

The psychic connection between them was so strong, it was easy for him to read her every conflicting emotion, her burning need. His soothing chant never faltered, and he was careful to keep his own raging body under control along with his wild, passionate thoughts. For her sake he merged, created pleasure without fear, a healing to replace the brutal taking of her innocence.

On some level Savannah knew he was in her head, directing her emotions away from fear, heightening her pleasure until she thought she might die with the intensity of it. His touch was so gentle, easing her terrible soreness until the pressure building inside her became nearly unbearable.

Let go, mapetite. I am here to catch you.The voice was a spell compelling her compliance. She wanted to obey, to give herself into his care. She wanted him to extinguish the waves of flames beating at her.

Her soft keening, the little whimper escaping her throat, nearly tore him up. Her release was shattering, shocking her as her body seemed to fragment and dissolve, as the earth moved and colors burst all around her, through her, in her.

Gregori held her while her body rippled with pleasure, while aftershocks shook her. He dragged her close, pulled her into the shelter of his body, desperately needing to be close to her. He was bathed in sweat, his muscles taut and rigid with his own hunger for release. If the cycle of mating heat was anything like the desire clawing at him, he and Savannah were in for either a difficult time or a glorious one.

She could feel the urgency of his need beating at him, tearing at his very soul. “I’m sorry, Gregori.” Savannah’s voice was soft, filled with guilt, a mere thread of sound, her face buried against his silk-covered ribs.