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him with the need for rich, hot blood. Sharp teeth pushed against the inside of his mouth and saliva gathered in anticipation of the feast.
    It wouldn\'t take much to let himself taste-just for a moment, one time-the hot rush of adrenaline-laced blood that would give him a glimpse of lost emotion. And a woman... He would love to feel a woman\'s soft skin, inhale her scent, pretend for just a moment he had someone who belonged to him, would look at him with love-genuine love-not that greedy heat that came the moment a woman knew his material wealth.
    If he could feel regret, it would be not for the countless times he had to destroy an old friend, not for the many souls he\'d freed and laid to rest, but that he\'d never felt the true need for a woman. He\'d never held a woman he loved in his arms and worshipped her with his body.
    The whispers in his mind grew stronger, tempting him with the things he had never known in his long life.
    Women had been attracted to his looks, his power and his money. He had used them for sustenance, but he\'d never been able to know what it was like to feel the pleasures a woman could bring his body, the peace she could bring to his mind. One taste. Just one. He could sink his teeth into soft skin and feel the flow of life, hear the quickening rhythm of her heart beating in tune with his. She would fear him, his domination, his complete supremacy over her. Life or death. He had that power.
    His heart slammed hard in his chest. His body stirred to life. He scented prey. A fragrance beckoning to him.
    Calling out from the beauty of the night. He had only to take that one last taste and he could experience everything before the sun rose and burned him clean. He turned his head and saw her standing in the shadows.
    The breath left his body in a rush.
    Her skin was pale and flawless. Her hair was pulled back in a long, thick braid. Her eyes were wide, large and sparkling, glowing slightly. She seemed to be waiting for someone. A man? A low growl rumbled in his chest and he felt his body react to the thought. Detached as he was from his actions, he found it all interesting. He had never felt threatened by man or beast or monster, yet looking at this young woman, he knew he would fight to the death for a chance to taste her blood, to feel the softness of her skin, to hear her heart match the rhythm of his.
    For the first time in his long life, he actually had erotic images of his own, not drawn from someone else\'s mind. They rose up to taunt him. This woman writhing and moaning, pleading with him to give her everything. He wouldn\'t feel a thing when he took her offering, but maybe, if he took her life at the same time, he would have that one moment...
    Page 17

    Christine Feehan: Dark Curse
    Her head snapped around and her gaze locked on him. There wasn\'t the instant look in her eyes he had come to expect-woman spotting attractive male. She looked like a predator, gaze burning, mouth firm. Her body was all woman, dressed in layers of clothing, a high-necked dark sweater with long sleeves that covered her wrists.
    A pair of dark leggings that ran into serviceable boots covered shapely legs. A wraparound skirt was cinched at her small waist with a wide leather belt and hugged the fitted leggings but gave her ease of movement and a long, warm cloak hung from her shoulders to her knees.
    There was something familiar about her, as if they may have met before. Try as he might, he could not look away from her. Always with women he had the upper hand, drawing them to him with his looks and dangerous air, yet he had the feeling this woman wasn\'t at all consumed with desire for him.
    Again he had a visceral reaction deep in his gut. A need for her to want him. Come to me now. Offer yourself to me . There was shame in using the gift of his voice to entrap and enthrall her, it would have made the fantasy better to have her come to him of her own accord. Afterward he might even be able to convince himself she