Dark Carousel - Christine Feehan Page 0,9

hot blood through his veins. He leaned out farther over the rail.

“It’s elusive. Faint. Barely there.”

The smile faded from Maksim’s rugged face. “What scent, Tariq? Vampire? There’s been no hint of activity since we discovered the underground lair. We’ve been patrolling . . .”

Tariq shook his head. “No. Orange blossoms and vanilla and something else. It is faint but it is there. You can’t smell that? Somewhere . . .” He broke off again, searching each individual floor for the source of that extraordinary fragrance. He inhaled again and caught the elusive scent, drawing it into his lungs. Instantly his body reacted of its own accord, something that had never happened. A stirring. His blood hot. Thick. Beginning to pool low and wicked.

He stilled as only a predator could, letting the wonder of feeling wash over him. Absorbing the shock of it. He didn’t feel. He couldn’t. He was ancient and long ago had lost all ability to feel anything. His body didn’t react to a scent. To anything at all. And yet . . .

Maksim inhaled deeply. He nodded slowly. “I can’t tell which floor she’s on. A woman.” He narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp on his partner. “Interesting that the scent intrigues you when there are so many. Why focus on just that one?”

Tariq knew the answer, but he was afraid to voice it aloud after hunting for hundreds of years. His lifemate. The woman. His personal miracle. The fragrance wouldn’t leave him alone. He had exceptional hunting skills, well proven over the centuries, yet the woman, a human, time and time again managed to escape him. More than once in these last few weeks, he’d felt her close, a ripple in the universe, the ground moving beneath his feet, or the air around him suddenly coming alive with electricity, yet she had managed to slip away. Not this time, woman. I have you now.

He inhaled again . . . and knew for certain. That scent . . . Orange blossoms and vanilla continued to slip past his guard, until his blood thundered in his ears and rushed hotly through his veins. Until he felt obsessed with finding its owner. He didn’t feel emotions like obsession. He didn’t feel. It was impossible for an ancient Carpathian male to experience emotion unless he found his lifemate. Until he heard her voice.

“She’s here. In this club. Right now. I know she is. My lifemate.” He whispered it aloud. In awe. Knowing it was the truth. She was there, in the building somewhere. There was no other explanation. He had to be hearing a whisper of her voice. A thread among all the others. She was there. That close. The one woman he’d searched centuries for. The one woman who would restore color to his life, ending his gray world. She would return his lost emotions after his centuries of feeling nothing. He had searched the long, endless years, every continent, but she had remained elusive. At last he was close to her, feeling her, his soul, his lifemate, his other half.

His fingers gripped the thick, hand-carved banister, the enormous pressure leaving indentations in the hard wood. He leaned down to survey the dancers pressed so closely together on the various floors. His patience was growing thin. She was defying him. He knew she felt his calls. How could she not? He whispered to her night after night, soft words to draw her to him. He allowed the beat of the music to pulse into the air, sending a web of notes to lead her back to him, yet she eluded his every net.

“She has to be close, Tariq,” Maksim said, joining him at the railing. He gripped the wood as well, leaning down to listen, as if he could find her in the mass of bodies as they danced, drank and had numerous conversations.

There was the clink of glasses. The sound of laughter. Of arguments. Of flirtations. The whisper of lovers coming together in the dark. Both men tried to hear that one voice. The voice that would restore color and emotion back into Tariq’s life. He’d waited centuries for her, and still she eluded him.

She could be on any floor and they would hear that whisper. She could be in the underground “cave” club. They could hear the conversations from there as well. They’d designed the club to make the occupants feel safe. Secure. The underground club had separate entrances and exits. The music loud, the place dark

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