Dark Prince - Feehan Christine. Страница 11

The shower felt good on her body, rinsing away the heavy, groggy feeling. She dressed carefully, in jeans, a turtleneck, and a sweater. Even with the sunlight, it was cold in the mountains, and she intended to go exploring. Her neck throbbed for a moment, burned. She peeled back her top to examine the wound. It was a strange mark, like a teenager’s love bite, but more intense.

She blushed at the memory of how he’d put it there. Did the man have to be sexy on top of everything else? And she could learn so much from him. She noticed that he was able to shield himself from the ever-present bombardment of emotions all the time. That would be such a miracle—to be able to simply sit in the middle of a crowded room and not feel anything but her own emotions.

Raven pulled on her hiking shoes. A murder in this place! It was a sacrilege. The villagers must be frightened. As she passed through the doorway she felt a curious shifting in the air. It felt as if she had to push through some unseen force. Mikhail again? Trying to lock her in? No. If he was capable of such a thing, the locks would stop her. More likely he was protecting her, locking others out. Torn by grief and rage at the senseless, hideous murder, Mikhail had still helped her go to sleep. The thought of him taking the time to protect and aid her made her feel cherished.

It was three in the afternoon—well past lunch but too soon for dinner—and Raven was hungry. In the kitchen the landlady obligingly fixed her a picnic dinner. Not once did the woman mention a murder. Indeed, she seemed totally oblivious of any such news. Raven found herself reluctant to broach the subject. It was strange; the innkeeper was so friendly and engaging—she even talked of Mikhail, a long-time friend of whom she spoke very highly—yet Raven could not bring herself to say a single word about the murder and what it meant to Mikhail.

Outside, she shrugged into her backpack. She couldn’t sense the horror of murder anywhere. No one at the inn, no one in the street seemed unduly upset. She couldn’t have been wrong; the images had been strong, the grief wild and very real. The images of the murder itself were very detailed, unlike anything her imagination could conjure up.

“Miss Whitney! It is Whitney, isn’t it?” A feminine voice called to her from several feet away.

Margaret Summers hastened toward her, anxiety on her face. She was in her late sixties, frail, with gray hair and a down-to-earth, sensible way of dressing. “My dear, you’re so pale this morning. We all were so afraid for your safety. That young man carrying you off the way he did was very intimidating.”

Raven laughed softly. “He is rather intimidating, isn’t he? He’s an old friend and overanxious about my health. Believe me, Mrs. Summers, he watches over me very carefully. He really is a respectable businessman; ask anyone in the village.”

“Are you ill, dear?” Margaret asked solicitously, moving closer so that Raven felt threatened. “Recovering,” Raven said firmly, hoping it was true.

“I have seen you before!” Margaret sounded excited. “You’re that extraordinary young lady who helped the police catch that murdering fiend in San Diego a month or so ago. What in the world would you be doing here of all places?”

Raven rubbed her forehead with the heel of her palm. “That type of work is very draining, Mrs. Summers. It sometimes makes me ill. It was a long chase, and I needed to get far away. I wanted to go somewhere remote and beautiful, somewhere steeped in history. Somewhere people didn’t recognize me and point me out like I was a freak of nature. The Carpathian Mountains are beautiful. I can hike, sit quietly, and let the wind blow all the memories of a sick mind out of my head.”

“Oh, my dear.” Margaret put out her hand in concern.

Raven sidestepped quickly. “I’m sorry; it bothers me to touch people after I follow a demented mind. Please understand.”

Margaret nodded. “Of course, although I noticed your young man thought nothing of touching you.”

Raven smiled. “He’s bossy, and he has such a flair for the dramatic, but he’s really good to me. We’ve known each other a while. You see, Mikhail travels quite a bit.” The lie seemed to roll easily off her tongue. She hated herself for that. “I don’t want anyone to know about me, Mrs. Summers. I dislike publicity and need solitude right now. Please don’t tell anyone who I am.”

“Of course not, dear, but do you think it’s safe to go wandering off by yourself? There are wild animals roaming these parts.”

“Mikhail accompanies me on my little jaunts, and I certainly don’t go poking around in the wilds at night.”

“Oh,” Margaret looked mollified. “Mikhail Dubrinsky? Everyone talks of him.”

“I told you, he’s overprotective. Actually, he likes the landlady’s cooking,” she confided with a laugh, holding up the picnic basket. “I’d better get going or I’ll be late.”

Margaret stepped aside. “Do be careful, dear.”

Raven gave a friendly wave and sauntered unhurriedly along the path that led through the woods, up the footpath into the mountains. Why had she felt compelled to lie? She liked her solitude, never felt the need to justify herself. For some reason she didn’t want to discuss Mikhail’s life with anyone, least of all Margaret Summers. The woman seemed too interested in him. It wasn’t anything she said; it was in her eyes and voice. She could feel Margaret Summers watching her curiously until the path made an abrupt turn and the trees swallowed her up.

Raven shook her head sadly. She was becoming such a recluse, not wanting to be close to anyone, not even a sweet older woman worried about her safety.

“Raven! Wait up!”

She closed her eyes against the intrusion. By the time Jacob caught up with her, she managed to plaster a smile on her face. “Jacob, I’m glad you recovered from that terrible choking spell last night. It was lucky the waiter knew the Heimlich maneuver.”

Jacob scowled. “I didn’t choke on a piece of meat,” he said defensively, as if she was accusing him of bad table manners. “Everyone thinks so, but it wasn’t that.”

“Really? The way the waiter grabbed you...” Her voice trailed off.

“Well, you didn’t stick around long enough to find out,” he accused sulkily, his brows drawing together. “You just let that... that Neanderthal carry you off.”

“Jacob,” she said gently, “you don’t know me; you know nothing about me or my life. For all you know, that man could be my husband. I was very ill last night. I’m sorry I didn’t stay, but once I could see you were fine, I didn’t think it would be appropriate to throw up all over the dining room.”

“How do you know that man?” Jacob demanded jealously. “The locals say he’s the most powerful man in this region. He’s wealthy, owns all the petroleum rights. Quite the businessman; very high-powered. How would you meet a man like that?”

He was crowding close to her, and Raven was suddenly all too aware of how alone they were, how secluded their surroundings. He had a spoiled, petulant look twisting his boyish good looks. She sensed something else—a kind of sick excitement in his guilty thoughts. She knew she was a big part of his perverse fantasies. Jacob was a rich boy thinking he could have any new toy he wanted.

Raven felt a stirring in her mind. Raven? You fear for your safety.Mikhail was heavy with sleep, fighting his way up through the layers to the surface.

Now she was worried. Mikhail was a question mark in her mind. She didn’t know what he would do, only that he felt protective toward her. For herself, for Mikhail, for Jacob, she needed to make Jacob understand that she wanted no part of him. I can handle this,she sent a sharp reassurance. “Jacob,” her voice was patient, “I think you should leave; go back to the inn. I’m not the kind of woman to be bullied by your attitude. This is harassment, and I’ll have no compunction about registering a complaint with the local police, or whatever they’re called.” She held her breath, feeling Mikhail waiting.