Dark Carousel (Dark #30) - Christine Feehan Page 0,66

worked with the block of wood, his knife moving in soft, gentle strokes, his hands caressing the wood with care and love.

The men spoke in Tariq’s ancient language. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but she heard the teasing notes of laughter in their voices. They were giving the carver a hard time. She found them interesting. All were of the same race. Tall, wide shoulders, long black hair, stunning men with muscular physiques that would set them apart easily. Two of them practiced sword fighting, going at each other repeatedly, but they seemed evenly matched, so much so that they were involved in the conversation with the others gathered around the wood-carver.

“Which part of ‘Don’t touch that until I check it out’ didn’t you understand?” Tariq snarled the question from behind her.

Charlotte jumped, still in the past, a little disoriented. The wood-carver turned his head and looked directly at her. He had the same wide shoulders as the others. The same long black hair. The same powerful muscles rippling over his tall frame. But his eyes were vivid blue. Intense blue. Eyes she’d looked into when he’d made her come apart in his arms.

She gasped and jerked her hand away, feeling the sting of a splinter biting at her finger as she did so. It couldn’t be Tariq. Maybe an ancestor. That was why he collected carousel horses. He knew someone in his family had carved these horses. She put her finger to her mouth to soothe the tiny wound, staring at the carver.

He stared back at her, his face totally exposed under the light of a full moon. He was . . . gorgeous. There was no mistaking him. He looked no more than thirty or thirty-five, just exactly like Tariq. Exactly like Tariq because it was Tariq. It wasn’t possible. It didn’t make sense. But she knew absolutely that the man staring at her was the same man snarling at her, revealing the true predator he actually was.

9

Oh. My. God.” Charlotte whispered each word. Shocked. Knowing. Trying to tell herself it was impossible. She couldn’t look away from the man from another time crouched in front of the block of wood, staring at her with his beautiful blue eyes, watching her intently, utterly focused on her as if even then he could actually sense her presence, see her.

Tariq Asenguard had been the wood-carver. Her Tariq. The man she had given her body, heart and soul to. She’d entrusted her niece and her best friend to him. Her brother’s throat had been torn out. His blood had been taken. The three men in the bar, the ones that had driven a stake through another man’s heart, they had to have believed they killed a vampire.

She touched the soft swell of her breast. His mark. His brand. Just touching with her fingers through the thin material of her blouse caused her sex to clench. Remembering the feel of his bite. The most erotic thing she’d ever experienced. She touched her mouth, remembering it being on his chest.

“Oh. My. God.” She whispered it a second time, tasting him in her mouth. On her tongue. Hot. Spicy. Wholly hers. All for her.

The walls around her curved. Went dark. She could only see those blue eyes watching her without blinking. She shivered, the cold seeping into her body. She raised her hand to her throat defensively, unable to look away. Suddenly she was back in the present, looking right into Tariq’s eyes. He was only a foot or so from her, watching her carefully.

Charlotte backed away from him, taking a step to the side to try to get an angle on the stairs. “You took my blood.” She blurted it out, just like an idiot in a horror film, not playing it all cool and smart.

“Is that a question?”

He didn’t sound remorseful. Not in the least. She wanted to glare at him but she was too scared. “Yes.” The single word was spoken so low she was surprised it came out of her mouth.

“Yes, I took your blood.”

She nodded as if in agreement with him. She took another cautious step toward the stairs, making certain to keep a distance between her and Tariq. He didn’t appear to move and the expression on his face never changed, yet he was blocking her escape and his blue eyes were more predatory than ever.

“Charlotte, your heart is beating too fast. Take a deep breath and hear my heart. Let yours slow to the rhythm