Dark Illusion by Christine Feehan

arbitrarily rejected her. “Clearly that was not your desire, and it is my duty as your lifemate to give you what you wish.”
    “Maybe I just wished you wouldn’t spank me.” She rubbed her bottom as if she could still feel his hand smacking her.
    “I was careful not to hurt you.”
    “It hurt.”
    “It didn’t hurt more than your dignity,” he countered, uncertain why they were even discussing the subject. He thought that was already closed.
    “Perhaps you’re right. My dignity was very offended. You didn’t really hurt me.”
    The way she said it alerted him. He felt like he was feeling around in the dark for her and only getting the lightest of responses in return. “Has someone hurt you, Julija?” The thought tore at him. He gestured toward the two chairs.
    She sank into one of them and he produced a fleece blanket, so she could wrap herself in it. Her smile made him warm inside.
    She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I think we’ve all been hurt. I see scars all over you, and yet I was told Carpathians didn’t scar.”
    “Not usually. A mortal wound can cause scarring if we are spared. As the centuries go by and we are wounded over and over in the same places, scarring can occur.”
    He turned his chair around to face her rather than sit beside her where he would be tempted to touch her soft skin. Light was beginning to seep in through the slight crack in the granite. Soon, he would have to go to ground and leave her. In spite of the fact that he hadn’t bound them together, he hated leaving her. They’d only done one blood exchange, but he was totally addicted to her taste—to all of her. He wanted her with every breath he drew.
    Julija looked down at her hands. “I am afraid,” she admitted. “I can feel your power. You hold so much.” She twisted her fingers together. “I’m used to my father and brothers. Even my stepmother. They all have power, but yours . . .” She trailed off.
    “Would you hesitate to kill them if you had to?” He kept his tone mild, but he needed to know.
    She thought it over rather than answering him very quickly. “It’s possible. I would hope not. I’ve never killed anyone, but I believe I would to save myself or someone else.”
    “You hold the light in your soul for both of us, kislány hän ku meke sarnaakmet minan . It is no wonder that you would feel some hesitation. I do not like that you will be unprotected once I leave.”
    She swallowed hard and looked down at her fingers twisting together in the nervous habit she couldn’t quite stop. Her head shook, her glossy hair swinging a little. The candlelight put little gleaming lights in her dark hair. He had to resist reaching out to feel the silk of those strands.
    “Tell me about yourself, Isai. What you like and don’t like, that sort of thing.”
    He had been leaning toward her, but he sank back in the seat, steepling his fingers and regarding her over them. It was the first real interest in him as a person she had displayed, and he had no idea what to tell her.
    “I like ancient weapons. The feel of a sword in my hand. The way the vibration runs up my arm when the blades crash together. I find battle, hand-to-hand combat, fascinating. For me it is like a dance, the combatants each moving with grace as they watch their opponent for an opening.”
    “I never thought of it that way. You’ve hunted countless vampires. Do you get the same feeling when you fight them?”
    He gave that thought. “Not exactly. It is more a stimulation of the mind. A newly made vampire is generally easy to defeat because he does not have the discipline necessary to wait for an advantage. Vampires are vain and like their egos stroked, especially a master vampire. Someone like Sergey, or his brother Vadim, must have admiration. Deprive them of it and their calm façade of civility disappears.”
    “I can’t imagine what Elisabeta went through for all those centuries at his hands.”
    “The thought of a vampire having