newly awakened emotions ping-ponging between hatred and a need to touch her that tore at every shred of control he possessed.
Closing the distance between them, he watched her, noting the shadows of thoughts and emotions she tried to hide. Her breathing was as unsteady as his own, a pulse kicking at the base of her throat. Though her anger was written all over her face, in her eyes he saw worry, dark hunger, and rank exhaustion. But no true fear. Which told him that pounding pulse was all for him. That the need he felt to touch her wasn't one-sided.
Which was good, very good, since the only way he knew to force her to turn to mist was to arouse her to it. To make her lose all control.
He grabbed her jaw, and his cat made a low growl of approval.
"Let go of me," Ariana hissed, her eyes flashing like those of a cornered beast ready to strike.
"No."
His hand shook as he held her jaw, her scent rising to ensnare him in sensual memories and painful longing. She was turning him inside out. His Ariana, yet not. She smelled the same, looked the same--or she would once she took those contacts out. She felt the same beneath his hand. But she wasn't the woman he'd loved.
Goddess, he needed to get away from her. To forget her.
But first, she was going to save his friends.
He tightened his grip. "Why do you think you can't turn to mist? What's the matter with you?"
She jerked her chin as if trying to dislodge his grip, her eyes flashing at him. "Dark spirit slowly eats away an Ilina from the inside out. Didn't you know?"
Kougar studied her. Melisande had said as much, but his instincts now, as then, told him there was more to it.
"You can turn to mist, Ariana. You're going to."
"No."
Again that flash of . . . defiance? Desperation?
He didn't want to see it.
Her mouth tightened, the full, unpainted mouth he'd dreamed of for a thousand years. His arms ached to pull her closer, yet his mind rebelled. She wasn't the woman he'd loved!
His cat clawed at him, urging him to claim her.
Ariana stared at him, flaying him with her gaze even as she began to tremble beneath his hand. Her nostrils flared as she took a shuddering breath. Heat sparked in her eyes, igniting an inferno inside him.
He was losing the battle. "I have to taste you."
Her jaw tightened as if part of her wanted to object, but another part wouldn't let her say the words.
It wouldn't have mattered anyway. He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. The feel of her lips against his, the achingly familiar taste of her released a floodgate of need and grief and desperate longing. At that moment, it didn't matter who she was, what she was. Ariana was back in his arms, her mouth opening beneath his, her tongue welcoming the desperate stroke of his own.
Her taste wasn't quite right. How he knew that after all this time, he didn't know, but didn't question. She still tasted as she always had, of crystal streams and summer nights, but overlying the sultry sweetness was another taste. A taste of darkness, and darkness had a taste all its own. A sharpness, a tang that was not unpleasant. But then darkness was often all too seductive.
His hands framed her face, his fingers weaving into her hair as he feasted on her mouth. His senses swam, his heart breaking. The feel of her beneath his hands, the taste of her kiss, the scent of her hair all rushed together, swamping him with memories, pummeling him with so many emotions he couldn't make sense of any of them.
His hands began to shake, a deep quaking setting up inside him. How many times had he dreamed of having her in his arms again, of feeling her lips against his, her small breasts pressed against him? How many times had he longed to taste her kiss just one more time? To watch her spread her thighs and welcome him into her body? His Ariana. His woman. His mate.
But she wasn't, was she?
His Ariana--his bright, beautiful Ariana with the shining soul was not in his arms.
He tore his mouth from hers, released her,
Closing the distance between them, he watched her, noting the shadows of thoughts and emotions she tried to hide. Her breathing was as unsteady as his own, a pulse kicking at the base of her throat. Though her anger was written all over her face, in her eyes he saw worry, dark hunger, and rank exhaustion. But no true fear. Which told him that pounding pulse was all for him. That the need he felt to touch her wasn't one-sided.
Which was good, very good, since the only way he knew to force her to turn to mist was to arouse her to it. To make her lose all control.
He grabbed her jaw, and his cat made a low growl of approval.
"Let go of me," Ariana hissed, her eyes flashing like those of a cornered beast ready to strike.
"No."
His hand shook as he held her jaw, her scent rising to ensnare him in sensual memories and painful longing. She was turning him inside out. His Ariana, yet not. She smelled the same, looked the same--or she would once she took those contacts out. She felt the same beneath his hand. But she wasn't the woman he'd loved.
Goddess, he needed to get away from her. To forget her.
But first, she was going to save his friends.
He tightened his grip. "Why do you think you can't turn to mist? What's the matter with you?"
She jerked her chin as if trying to dislodge his grip, her eyes flashing at him. "Dark spirit slowly eats away an Ilina from the inside out. Didn't you know?"
Kougar studied her. Melisande had said as much, but his instincts now, as then, told him there was more to it.
"You can turn to mist, Ariana. You're going to."
"No."
Again that flash of . . . defiance? Desperation?
He didn't want to see it.
Her mouth tightened, the full, unpainted mouth he'd dreamed of for a thousand years. His arms ached to pull her closer, yet his mind rebelled. She wasn't the woman he'd loved!
His cat clawed at him, urging him to claim her.
Ariana stared at him, flaying him with her gaze even as she began to tremble beneath his hand. Her nostrils flared as she took a shuddering breath. Heat sparked in her eyes, igniting an inferno inside him.
He was losing the battle. "I have to taste you."
Her jaw tightened as if part of her wanted to object, but another part wouldn't let her say the words.
It wouldn't have mattered anyway. He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. The feel of her lips against his, the achingly familiar taste of her released a floodgate of need and grief and desperate longing. At that moment, it didn't matter who she was, what she was. Ariana was back in his arms, her mouth opening beneath his, her tongue welcoming the desperate stroke of his own.
Her taste wasn't quite right. How he knew that after all this time, he didn't know, but didn't question. She still tasted as she always had, of crystal streams and summer nights, but overlying the sultry sweetness was another taste. A taste of darkness, and darkness had a taste all its own. A sharpness, a tang that was not unpleasant. But then darkness was often all too seductive.
His hands framed her face, his fingers weaving into her hair as he feasted on her mouth. His senses swam, his heart breaking. The feel of her beneath his hands, the taste of her kiss, the scent of her hair all rushed together, swamping him with memories, pummeling him with so many emotions he couldn't make sense of any of them.
His hands began to shake, a deep quaking setting up inside him. How many times had he dreamed of having her in his arms again, of feeling her lips against his, her small breasts pressed against him? How many times had he longed to taste her kiss just one more time? To watch her spread her thighs and welcome him into her body? His Ariana. His woman. His mate.
But she wasn't, was she?
His Ariana--his bright, beautiful Ariana with the shining soul was not in his arms.
He tore his mouth from hers, released her,
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