She felt the brush of strong fingers on her throat, curling around the fragile column. How did he do that? I’m so scared, macho man. Someone needs to drag you kicking and screaming into this century.

The fingers brushed her face, caressed her lower lip. You love me the way I am.

Love. The smile faded from her soft mouth at the word. She didn’t want to love him. He already had far too much power over her. You can’t hold me here, Mikhail.Obsession might be the right word, not love.

Little rabbit. There are no chains on the doors, and the telephone is in working order. And you do love me; you cannot help yourself. I am perfect for you. Hurry up; you need to eat.

You’re a pain in the neck.As she brushed out her hair, she realized how much easier their telepathic communication was. Practice? Her temples didn’t ache from the effort. She tilted her head for a moment, listened to the sounds of the house. Mikhail was pouring liquid into a glass; she could hear it clearly.

Raven dressed slowly, thoughtfully. Her telepathic abilities were increasing; her senses were more acute. Was it simply Mikhail’s company, or was it something in the herb concoctions he was always pouring down her throat? There was so much she wanted to learn from him. He had great psychic talent.

The skirt swung around her ankles with a sexy little swish, and the blouse clung to her curves. She had to admit that the outfit made her feel feminine, as did his choice of sheer lace panties and matching bra.

Are you going to sit there and moon about me all night?

Night! It had better not be night again, Mikhail. I’m turning into some kind of a mole. And don’t flatter yourself; I was not mooning over you.It took great effort to lie blatantly; she was proud of herself.

And you think I believe your nonsense?He was laughing again, and Raven found she couldn’t help giving in to her own sense of humor.

She found her way though the house, marveling at the artwork, the sculpture. Outside, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains. Raven gave a little resigned sigh. Mikhail had set a small antique, beautifully carved table on the porch outside the kitchen. He turned his head as she approached, a smile warming his eyes, chasing away the shadows. Heat pooled in her abdomen, ran liquid through her body.

Mikhail bent his dark head to hers, his mouth brushing hers tenderly. “Good evening.” He touched her hair, skimmed his fingers down the side of her face in a long caress. She allowed him to seat her at the table, marveling at his gallant, old-world courtesy. He placed a glass of juice in front of her. “Before I go to work, I thought we could collect your things from the inn.” His long fingers selected a blueberry muffin and transferred it to the antique plate. It was exquisite, but Raven was so shocked at his words, she could only stare at him for a moment, her blue eyes enormous.

“What do you mean, collect my things?” It hadn’t occurred to her that he might expect them to live in the same house together. His house.

His smile was slow, wicked, sexy. “I could keep providing you with new things.”

Raven’s hand trembled. She put it in her lap, out of sight. “I’m not moving in with you, Mikhail.” The idea was scary. She was a very private person, needing large amounts of time alone. He was the most overwhelming being she had ever encountered. How would she ever be able to sort things out with him so near all the time?

His eyebrow shot up. “No? You accepted our ways; we went through the required ritual. In my eyes, the eyes of my people, you are my lifemate, my woman. My wife. Is it the way of the American women to live apart from their husbands?”

There was that infuriating trace of mocking male amusement in his voice, the note that always made her want to throw something at him. She had an idea he was laughing at her secretly, amused by her caution.

“We aren’t married,” she said decisively. It was difficult to ignore the way her heart leapt with joy at his words.

Tendrils of fog were drifting into the forest, winding around thick tree trunks, spreading out to hover a few feet from the ground. The effect was eerie, but beautiful.

“In the eyes of my people, in the eyes of God, we are.” There was an implacable resolve, a my-word-is-law in his voice that set her teeth on edge.

“What about in my eyes, Mikhail? My beliefs? Do they count for nothing?” she demanded belligerently.

“I see the answer in your eyes, feel it in your body. You struggle needlessly, Raven. You know you are mine...”

She stood up quickly, pushed the chair out of her way. “I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you, Mikhail! You can’t just decree what will be in my life and expect me to fall in with your plans.” Raven ran down the three steps to the path winding into the forest. “I need some air. You’re driving me crazy.”

Mikhail laughed softly. “Are you so afraid of yourself?”

“Go to the devil, Mikhail!” Raven set her foot on the path and began walking quickly before he could charm his way around her. And he could; she knew it. It was his eyes, the shape of his mouth, the little grin he gave her when he was deliberately provoking her.

The fog was very dense, the air wet and heavy with it. With her acute sense of hearing, she could hear every rustling in the bushes, every swaying of the branches, the beat of wings in the sky.

Mikhail paced himself behind her. “Perhaps I am the devil, little one. I am certain that has crossed your mind.”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “Stop following me!”

“Am I not a gentleman, obligated to see his lady home?”

“Stop laughing! If you laugh at me one more time I swear I won’t be responsible for what I do.” Raven became aware of the slinking figures then, the burning eyes following her. Her heart nearly stopped, then began to pound. “Fine!” She whirled around and glared at him. “This is great! Just great, Mikhail. Call in the wolves to eat me alive. I find the idea so you.So logical.”

He bared his white gleaming teeth at her like a hungry-predator and laughed softly, teasingly. “It is not the wolves that would find you delicious.”

Raven picked up a broken branch and flung it at him. “Stop laughing, you hyena! This is not funny. Your arrogance is enough to make me want to throw up.” It took every ounce of self-control she had not to laugh. The beast; he was far too charming for his own good.

“Your American colloquialisms are very colorful, little one.”

She threw another branch, then followed it up with a small rock. “Someone needs to teach you the lesson of a lifetime.”

She looked like a beautiful little spitfire, all sparks and flame. Mikhail drew in his breath slowly, carefully. She was his, all fire and fury, all independence and courage, all heated passion. She melted his heart with it, entered his soul with her soft laughter. He felt it in her mind, although she was being extremely careful not to allow him to see it. “And you think you are the one to do this thing?” he teased.

Another rock came flying at his chest. He caught it easily. “Do you think I’m afraid of your wolves?” she demanded. “The only big bad wolf around here is you. Call all your wolves. Go ahead!” She pretended to glare into the secret, dark interior of the forest. “Come and get me. What did he tell you?”

Mikhail pried her fingers loose from the branch she held like a club, allowed it to fall. He curved an arm around her slender waist, brought her small, soft body up against his much larger, rock-hard frame. “I told them you tasted like warm honey.” He whispered the words with his black velvet sorcerer’s voice. Turning her in his arms, he cupped her small, beautiful face in his hands. “Where is all that marvelous respect a man as powerful as myself deserves?”