Dark Fire

Chapter Two

Vampire.

Tempest sat up slowly, wiping at her mouth with the back of one trembling hand. She was in the Dark Troubadours’ touring bus, on the sofa bed, lost in a sea of pillows, a blanket covering her. The two leopards pressed close to her were sleeping. The sunlight was trying in vain to filter through the dark curtains covering the windows. It must be late afternoon, with the sun so low. She was weak, shaking. Her mouth was dry, her lips parched. She needed liquid of some kind, any kind.

When she tried to stand, she swayed slightly before finding her balance. She remembered every horrifying detail of the night before, even though Darius had commanded her to forget all of it. She had no doubt he was capable of commanding most human beings to do his bidding, but somehow he hadn’t managed to do so with her. Tempest had always been a bit different, able to communicate with animals, to read their thoughts as they could read hers. That trait must have provided her partial immunity to Darius’s mental push, though he likely thought he had successfully destroyed her memories of what he was and what he was capable of doing. She put a hand to her throat, searching for a wound, realizing that she wasn’t immune to his blatant sex appeal. She had never felt such chemistry in her life. Electricity had arced between them, sizzling and crackling. And it was humiliating to acknowledge that, however much she’d like to think so, he wasn’t completely to blame. She hadn’t been able to control herself around him either. Which shocked her. Terrified her.

So okay. The man was an honest-to-God vampire. She would scream and fall apart later. Right now the important thing to do was get out. Run. Hide. Put as much distance between herself and that maniac as she could possibly manage before nightfall, when vampires allegedly arose. Right now, he had to be sleeping somewhere. God help her if he was in a coffin somewhere in the bus. She wasn’t about to drive a stake through anyone’s heart. It wasn’t going to happen.

“Go to the cops,” she ordered herself softly. “Someone has to know about this.”

She lurched her way to the front of the bus. Glancing in a mirror to assure herself she still had a reflection, she winced at her appearance. The vampire had to be pretty hard up to come after someone who looked the way she did—like Frankenstein’s bride.

“Sure, Tempest,” she said to her image, “you tell the police. Officer, a man bit my neck and sucked my blood. He’s the guardian—uh, bodyguard—for a real popular singer and band. He’s a vampire. Please go and arrest him.” She wrinkled her nose at herself and deepened her voice. “Sure, miss. I believe you. And who are you, anyway? A homeless, penniless young woman with a record of running away from every foster home we ever put you in. Let’s say we take a nice ride to the funny farm. After all, you do spend a lot of time talking to animals.” She made a moue with her lips. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

She found the bathroom, which proved amazingly luxurious, but cleaned up quickly rather than admiring her surroundings, showering, gulping as much water as she could. She changed into faded blue jeans and a fresh cotton top from the small backpack she always had with her.

The moment she headed for the exit, however, both cats lifted their heads alertly and made sounds of protest. She sent them her regrets but slipped out before they could stop her by body-blocking the doors. She could feel their intentions, knew Darius had instructed them to keep her there should she awaken. Both snarled and screamed in anger as she made good her escape, but she didn’t hesitate, slamming the door behind her and running away from the bus.

She spent several minutes trying to locate the toolbox she always carried with her, but it was nowhere to be found. Cursing under her breath, she headed for the highway and began to jog. As soon as she put some miles between herself and that creature, she would be happy. Wouldn’t you know she would find a vampire? Probably the only one in existence.

She wondered why she wasn’t fainting with fright. It wasn’t every day a person met a vampire. And she couldn’t even tell anyone. Ever. She would go to her grave the only human being alive to know that vampires really existed. She groaned. Why was she always getting herself into trouble? It was so like her to go out on a simple job interview and manage to encounter a vampire.

She jogged for three miles, thankful that she liked to run, because not one single car had driven by in all that time. She slowed her pace and reached up to wrap her sweat-dampened hair into a ponytail again to get it off her neck. What time was it? Why didn’t she own a watch? Why hadn’t she checked the time before she took off?

After another hour or so of jogging and walking, she finally flagged down a car and managed to get a short ride. She felt abnormally tired and terribly thirsty. The couple who picked her up bubbled over with goodwill, but they wore her out with their energy, and she was almost glad to say good-bye and resume her jogging and walking.

But this time she didn’t cover much ground. She was so tired, her body felt like lead, and each step she took felt as if she were wading through quicksand.

She sat down abruptly on the side of the road. Her head was beginning to pound with alarming force. She rubbed her temples and the nape of her neck, hoping to alleviate the pain.

A small blue pickup truck pulled up beside her. It was a measure of her weakness that she could barely find the strength to get to her feet and go to the driver’s window.

The man was about forty, compact, and muscular. He smiled at her, his eyes holding a hint of worry. “Something wrong, miss?”

Rusti shook her head. “I need a ride, though, if you’re going any distance.”

“Sure, hop in.” He pushed a pile of clutter from the seat to the floor. “The truck’s a mess, but what the heck?”

“Thanks. The weather looks like it’s going to turn nasty.” And it did. Unexpectedly, dark clouds began to float across the sky.

The man glanced up through the windshield. “Crazy. The weather reports said clear and sunny. Maybe those clouds will just drift on by. I’m Harry.” He stuck out his hand.

“Tempest.” She slipped her hand into his for a brief shake, but the moment she touched him, her stomach lurched and her skin crawled.

His thumb brushed the back of her hand just once, sending a chill down her spine. But Harry released her immediately and put the truck back into gear, his eyes on the road. Rusti huddled as far from him as possible, fighting her rising nausea and wild imagination. But the moment her head was against the back of the seat, tiredness overtook her, and her lashes kept drifting down.

Harry glanced at her with obvious concern. “Are you sick? I could take you to the nearest doctor. I think there’s supposed to be a small town a few miles up this road.”

Rusti tried to rally. She shook her pounding head. She knew she was pale, and she could feel small beads of perspiration dotting her forehead. “I jogged for several miles. I think I just overdid it.” But she knew that wasn’t the problem. For some reason every cell in her body was protesting the distance she was putting between herself and Darius. She knew it. Felt it.

“Go to sleep, then. I’m used to driving alone,” Harry advised. “I usually have the radio on, but if it bothers you, I can do without it.”

“It’s not going to bother me,” she replied. Her lashes would not stay up no matter how hard she tried to stay awake. She was exhausted. Had she picked up a bug?

Suddenly she sat up straight. Could vampires have rabies? They turned into bats, didn’t they? And couldn’t bats carry rabies? She was okay with bats, but that didn’t mean she liked vampires. What if Darius had infected her with something?

She realized Harry was staring at her. He was probably thinking he had picked up a nutcase. Deliberately she settled back against the seat and closed her eyes. Could a person become a vampire with one bite? One little bite? She squirmed, remembering the dark, sensual heat burning through her body. So okay. Maybe a big bite. The memory, the feel of his mouth on her neck, made her throb and burn, flooding her with flames all over again. She found her hand creeping up to her throat to cover the spot, to hold the erotic memory in the palm of her hand.

She nearly groaned aloud. Darius definitely had infected her with something, but it wasn’t rabies. Weariness continued to invade her body, deadening her limbs, so she gave up the fight and allowed her eyes to close.

Harry drove for fifteen minutes, casting quick, covert glances at his hitchhiker. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest. She was small and curvy and had fallen right into his lap. He never looked a gift horse in the mouth. Glancing at his watch, he was satisfied to see that he was ahead of schedule. He was meeting his boss in a couple of hours and had time enough to indulge his fantasies with the little redhead.

The ominous clouds had thickened and darkened, occasionally issuing small veins of lightning and a rumble of thunder. But it was still early evening, around six-thirty, and Harry watched for a grove of trees where he could pull off the road into a private area and remain undetected by any passing cars.

Rusti jerked awake when a hand fumbled clumsily at her breast. Her eyes flew open. Harry was leaning across her, tearing at her clothes. She slugged him as hard as she was able to in the small confines of the truck. But he was a big man, and his fist clipped her behind her ear, then smashed into her left eye. For a brief instant she saw stars, then everything went black, and she slid farther down into the seat.

Harry’s mouth covered hers, wet and slimy. Again she struggled wildly, raking at his face with her fingernails. “Stop! Stop it!”

He slapped her over and over, his other hand squeezing her breast hard, hurting her. “You’re a whore. Why else would you get in here with me? You wanted this. You know you did. That’s okay, honey, I like it rough. Fight me. It’s great. It’s what I want.”

His knee pressed hard against her thigh, holding her down so that he could tear at the waistband of her jeans. Rusti’s hand found the door handle, and she wrenched at it and jackknifed out onto the ground. Scrambling on all fours, she tried to get away.

Overhead the skies unexpectedly opened up, and the dark clouds emptied onto them like a waterfall. Harry caught her ankle, dragging her back over the gravel toward him. Grabbing her other ankle, he flipped her over so hard it drove the air from her lungs.

Lightning flashed, sizzled, and arced from cloud to cloud. She saw it clearly as she stared up at the sky. Rain fell in silver sheets, drenching her. She closed her eyes as Harry struck her repeatedly with his clenched fist. “Feels good, feels real good, doesn’t it?” he rasped. His eyes were ugly and hard, glaring down at her with hatred and triumph.

Tempest fought him with every ounce of strength she possessed, kicking at him when she could draw her legs up, beating at him until her fists were bruised and aching. Nothing seemed to help. The rain poured down on them both, and thunder growled, shaking the ground.

There was no warning whatsoever. One moment Harry’s weight was pressing down on her body, the next he was jerked backward by some unseen hand. She heard the thud as her attacker landed hard against his truck. She tried to roll over, sick to her stomach. Every muscle hurt. She managed to make it to her knees before she vomited violently, again and again. Her eye was swelling shut, and with the rain, wind, and abruptly falling darkness, it was hard to see what was happening.

She heard an ominous crack, the sound of a bone breaking. She crawled almost blindly toward a tree and dragged herself unsteadily up to brace herself on the trunk. Then arms surrounded her, drew her toward a solid chest. Instantly she erupted into a fighting, struggling wild thing, screaming and blindly flailing.

“You are safe, now,” Darius crooned softly, battling down the beast raging in his body. “No one is going to hurt you. Be calm, Tempest. You are safe with me.”

At that moment she didn’t care what Darius was; he had saved her. She clutched his jacket and burrowed close, trying to shrink from the terrible brutality and disappear into the shelter of his body.

Tempest was shaking so hard that Darius was afraid she would collapse. He lifted her into his arms, holding her close. “See to the mortal,” he snapped over his shoulder to Dayan, his second in command.

Darius carried Tempest’s small, battered body into the comparative shelter of the trees. She was a mess, her face swollen and bruised, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was hunching into herself, rocking back and forth, far too reminiscent of Syndil after Savon’s attack for Darius’s comfort. He simply held her, allowing her to cry, his arms strong and comforting.

Before he had risen, the warning of the cats had reached him that Tempest was fleeing. He had slowed her down as much as he could, making her exceedingly tired. Then he sent the clouds to darken the skies so that he might rise early without the sun hurting his sensitive Carpathian eyes, without burning his Carpathian skin. The moment he could, he had launched himself skyward, commanding Dayan to follow him. Together they streamed across the night toward her, Barack racing after them in the sports car at Darius’s command.

Now each tear she shed tore at him, ripping into his soul as nothing else had ever done. “You have to stop, baby,” he whispered softly into her hair, “you will make yourself sick. It is all right now. He is gone. He will never touch you again.” Or

anyone eke.

Dayan would destroy any evidence that Tempest had ever been in that blue pickup. Her attacker would drive himself into a tree and break his neck farther down the road.

Darius found his own hand trembling as he stroked her hair, his chin rubbing the silkiness just because he had to. “What made you leave? We offered the perfect job for you. And you will have me to look after you.”

“Lucky me,” Rusti said wearily. “I need some aspirin.”

“You need sleep and time to heal,” he corrected gently. “Come home with us, Tempest. You will be safe there.”

Tempest clutched her head, but every single place Harry had punched her throbbed and hurt, each worse than the other. She hated that anyone should see her like this, and she certainly had no intention of going anywhere with Darius, especially when his sister and the rest of his group would witness her humiliation.

She pushed ineffectually at the solid wall of his chest, wincing when even her palms hurt. Darius caught her hands and examined them carefully, then brought each to his mouth. His tongue moved over her fingers in a rasping caress that sent a shiver through her body but, oddly enough, soothed the pain. “I can’t go back there, not like this.”

He could hear the anguish in her voice, the degradation and shame she felt. He realized she had not even looked up at him.

“This was not your fault,” he said. “You know that, Tempest. This man tried to rape you because he is depraved, not because you did anything to incite him.”

“I was hitchhiking,” she confessed in a low voice. “I never should have gotten into his truck.”

“Tempest, if he had not found you, he would have found another girl, perhaps one without anyone to look after her. Now let me see your face. Do you think you could take it out of my shirt long enough for me to assess what damage he has done to you?” Darius made an effort to lighten his tone to help put her at ease.

She could not believe how gentle he was. She could feel his enormous strength, his tremendous power, yet even his voice was tender. It brought fresh tears to her eyes. She had run away from him thinking him a monster, yet it was he who had saved her from a real monster. “I just can’t face anyone yet.” Tempest’s voice was muffled against him, but he could hear her determination. She was getting ready to make her next bid for freedom.

Darius turned then, with her cradled in his arms, and began striding back toward the road. The rain beat down on them relentlessly, but he didn’t seem to notice. He took her a distance away so that she wouldn’t have to see the horror of what he had done to her attacker.

“I need to sit down,” she finally objected, “on solid ground.” Suddenly she realized her shirt was in tatters and her bare skin exposed. She gasped out loud, attracting his instant attention, his black gaze moving broodingly over her.

Then he laughed softly to calm her anxiety. “I have a sister, honey. I have seen the female body before.” But he was already lowering her feet to the ground and shrugging out of his jacket. Very gently he enveloped her in it, taking the opportunity to look at her more closely. Already dark bruises were marring the perfection of her fair skin, and a faint trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Darius had to look away from that temptation. He caught a glimpse of more bruises on the creamy swell of her breast, along her narrow rib cage, and on her smooth stomach.

Rage swept through him, turbulent and unfamiliar. He wanted to kill the man over and over, to feel his neck snap beneath his hands. He wanted to rend and tear like the leopards he had spent so much time studying, so much time learning from. He fought down the killing rage until it simmered and seethed just below the surface but where she could not possibly see it.

His natural instinct was to heal her, using the curative agent in his saliva, but he refrained, not wanting to alarm her further. There would be time enough when he got her home and could put her to sleep.

Tempest was aware that Darius could see her, even in the dark. Curiously, she was no longer afraid of him. She stared at the toes of her dirty running shoes, uncertain what to do. She was sick and dizzy, she hurt everywhere, and she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. She had no money, nowhere to go.

Darius reached out, ignored the way she flinched from his hand, and wrapped his long fingers possessively around the nape of her neck. “I am going to take you home. You can soak in the tub, I will fix you something to eat, and no one will see you but me. Since I have already seen you, it is all right.” His tone seemed to request agreement, but she heard command in his voice. “We have to call the police,” she said softly. “I can’t let him get away with this.”

“He will not commit such an atrocity again, Tempest,” he murmured softly. He could hear the engine of a car speeding toward them, and he identified it as their own. “Has my sister introduced you to any of the other band members yet?” he inquired, deliberately distracting her so that she wouldn’t ask any questions.

Tempest sat down right where she was, on the side of the road in the pouring rain. Furious at himself for acceding to her demand to stand when he knew she was too weak, Darius ignored her protest and swung her back into his arms as if she were a child. For once, she didn’t protest, didn’t say anything. She turned her face into the warmth of his chest, burrowed close to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, and lay passively in the safety of his arms, shivering from shock and the cold rain.

Barack had made the drive in record time. He liked the speed of modern cars and took every opportunity to hone his racing skills. He stopped exactly in front of Darius, his face, through the windshield, a mask of darkness. The youngest of the men, he had retained remnants of the easygoing boy they had all been so fond of until Syndil was attacked and they began to trust no one, not even themselves.

Darius pulled open the car door and slid in, never relinquishing his hold on Tempest. Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge the vehicle. It worried him.

She is in shock, Barack. Thank you far getting here so quickly. I knew I could count on you. Get us home with

the

same speed.

Darius spoke to his friend on their mental pathway rather than aloud.

Shall I wait for Dayan?

Barack inquired, using the same mental path that was familiar to all five of his people.

Darius shook his head. Dayan would make better time flying, even in the storm. As would he, if he were willing to frighten Tempest to death by whisking her through the air. He was not. Indeed, he knew that his unfamiliar emotions were feeding the intensity of the storm he had created.

Tempest didn’t speak on the long drive back to the campsite, but Darius was aware that she was awake. Not once did she doze off. Still, her hold on her self-control was tenuous at best, so he stayed quiet to avoid saying or doing the wrong thing, anything that might make her want to run away again. He couldn’t let her go. The attack had only proved to him how much she needed him, too, and the last thing he wanted to do was create a situation where she feared him or challenged his authority.

Julian Savage was lounging lazily against the motor home as they drove up. He straightened with his casual strength, a ripple of muscles that revealed his power, as Darius slid from the seat of the car, the small, red-haired woman held unbelievably protectively in his arms.

“I know something of the healing arts,” Julian offered softly, although he strongly suspected that Darius would refuse his help. The man’s hold on the woman was fiercely possessive; Darius would never turn her over to another man.

Darius flicked Julian a smoldering black glance. “No thank you,” he answered tersely. “I will see to her needs. Please ask Desari to bring Tempest’s knapsack to the bus.”

Julian was careful not to allow a glint of humor to show in his eyes. Darius had a soft spot after all. And she had red hair. Who would have guessed? He couldn’t wait to tell his lifemate. With a slight salute, Julian sauntered away.

Darius jerked open the door to the motor home, entered it, and gently placed Tempest on the couch. She rolled into a ball, facing away from him. He touched her hair, his hand lingering, trying to convey comfort. Then he turned the tape player on low, so Desari’s haunting recorded voice could fill the silence with healing, shimmering beauty. Next he filled the tub with hot, scented water and lit special candles, their aromas also designed to promote healing.

Darius didn’t turn on the overhead lights. He could see perfectly without them, and Tempest wouldn’t want them. “Come on, baby, into the bath,” he said, lifting her tenderly but quickly, giving her no chance to protest. “The herbs in the water will sting at first, but you will feel better afterward.” He seated her on the edge of the huge tub. “Do you need help with your clothes?” He kept his voice strictly neutral.

Rusti shook her head quickly, then regretted it when her head pounded and her eye throbbed. “I can take care of myself.”

“I do not think we will get into that right now. You are not up to a sparring match.” The slight teasing note in his voice surprised him even more than it did her. “Get into the tub, honey. I will be back with your clothes and a robe. You can eat when you get out.” He bent to light two more aromatic candles and let their flames flicker and dance on the water and walls.

Rusti undressed slowly, reluctantly. It hurt to move. She was numb inside, too worn out and shell-shocked even to worry about what Darius was or what he wanted from her. She knew he believed he had successfully erased her memory of what he had done to her the night before. Even now, with the horror of

this

night surrounding her, she still felt the burning heat of his mouth on her neck. She slipped into the steamy tub, gasping as the water lapped at her sore body.

Why did strange things always happen to her? She was careful, wasn’t she? She slid beneath the water, the stinging from her eye and mouth taking her breath away. When she came up, she lay against the sloped side of the tub and closed her eyes, resting. Her mind stayed mercifully blank. She couldn’t think about Harry or what she might have done to bring on his vicious attack. He had wanted to hurt her, and he had.

“Tempest, you are falling asleep.” Darius didn’t mention that she was moaning softly in distress.

She sat up quickly, arms covering her breasts, water sloshing out of the tub. One eye, a vivid green, stared up at him in alarm, the other swollen and purple. She had quite an interesting array of colors sweeping across her face and body, proof of her vulnerability, yet she still managed to look defiant. “Get out,” she demanded.

Darius smiled, a flash of white teeth. It reminded her of a predator’s silent challenge. He held up both hands, palms out. “I am only trying to help you not to drown. Dinner is ready. Here is a robe.”

“Whose is it?” she asked, suspicious.

“Mine.” It was the truth and yet not the truth. He had created it easily, instantly, from natural fibers, a trick learned over the centuries. “I will close my eyes if it makes you happy. Come out of there.” He held up a huge towel for her.

“You aren’t closing your eyes,” she accused him as she stepped into it. He was staring at a particularly nasty bruise on her rib cage. It embarrassed her that he could see the damage her attacker had inflicted; she didn’t stop to think why it didn’t embarrass her that he was seeing her naked.

Obediently he closed his eyes, but the vision of her—small, forlorn, hurt, and so alone—stayed with him. He felt her slender form enclosed in the towel beneath his hands before he allowed himself to look at her. She appeared more childlike than ever. And for the moment Darius treated her that way, drying her shivering body impersonally, pretending not to notice her soft, satiny skin, her curves, her tiny rib cage and narrow waist. He toweled the red-gold strands of hair, dark now with moisture.

“I can’t stop shaking,” Tempest said, her voice a mere thread of sound.

“Shock,” he said gruffly. He wanted to hold her in his arms, take away what had happened to her. “You are in shock. It will pass.” He quickly wrapped her in the warmth of the robe because he couldn’t stand seeing her skin so bruised and swollen. He hated the way her eyes avoided his, as if she had something wrong and was ashamed.

“Put your arms around my neck, Tempest,” he ordered softly, his voice a blend of huskiness and hypnotic power.

Rusti reluctantly complied, and he lifted her up, forcing her to look into his black, burning eyes. She almost groaned. She could get lost in his eyes. No one should have those eyes.

“I want you to hear me this time, Tempest. This was not your fault. You did nothing wrong. If you need to place blame on someone other than the man who attacked you, place it where it belongs: squarely on my shoulders. You would never have left if I had not frightened you.”

She made a sound of protest, of fear. She told herself it was because the candles suddenly went out, leaving the bathroom in darkness, but she knew it was more than that.

He held her gaze, not allowing her to slip from his mesmerizing possession. “You know it is true. I am used to telling everyone what to do. And I am very attracted to you.” He winced inwardly at the understatement of that particular comment. “I should have been more gentle with you.”

Darius carried her into the dining area and placed her in a chair at the table. A bowl of steaming soup was waiting for her. “Eat it, honey. I slaved over this for you.”

Tempest found herself attempting a smile. It stung her mouth, then she felt it inside her, spreading warmth. No one, as far back as she could remember, had ever treated her with so much caring. No one had ever made her a bowl of soup.

“Thanks for coming after me,” she said, stirring the broth, trying, without seeming to, to see what was in it.

He sat opposite her, took the spoon from her with a little sigh, dipped it into the soup, and blew on it. “You eat this stuff, not play with it,” he reprimanded, and he held the spoon to her mouth.

Reluctantly she complied. Astonishingly enough, it was good. Who would have suspected a vampire could cook? “It’s vegetable soup,” she stated, pleased. “And it’s very good.”

“I do have my talents,” he muttered, remembering all the various broths he had concocted for the baby girls, trying to keep them alive. Since Carpathians did not eat meat, he had worked with roots, berries, and leaves, trying everything on himself first, poisoning himself more than once.

“Talk to me,” Tempest pleaded. “I don’t want to start shaking again, and I can feel it coming on.” Darius held another spoonful of soup to her mouth. “Has Desari told you much about us?” She shook her head, concentrating on the warmth the soup provided.

“We travel a great deal, giving concerts, you know. Dayan and Desari are our singers. That is Desari’s voice you are listening to on the tape. She is very good, is she not?” There was pride in his voice.

Tempest liked his way of speaking, an Old World, old-fashioned manner she found oddly sexy. “She has a beautiful voice.”

“Desari is my younger sister. Recently she found her—” He broke off, then tempted her with another spoonful of soup before continuing. “She found a man she loves very much. His name is Julian Savage. I do not know him very well, and we sometimes have trouble

getting

along

.

I suspect we are rather alike, and that is the problem.”

“Bossy,” Tempest supplied knowingly.

The black eyes rested possessively on her face. “What was that?”

This time she did grin. It hurt, but she couldn’t stop herself. She suspected no one ever challenged or teased this man. “You heard me.”

His eyes burned suddenly with an intensity, with a dark, dangerous hunger that took her breath away, that made her think of the leopards he kept as companions. She pulled her gaze from his. “Keep talking. Tell me about everyone.”

Darius slid a hand over her damp hair and found the nape of her neck. His fingers curled around the slender column, liking the way she fit into his palm. Desire slammed into him, hard and unexpected, even as he was deliberately trying to view her as a child in need of his protection. He had touched her only to comfort her, but he didn’t let go. He cursed himself for his lack of control. He needed the contact with her, needed to feel her, to know she was real and solid and not some figment of his imagination.

“Barack and Dayan also play in the band. Both are talented musicians, Dayan a guitar player without equal. He writes many of our songs as well. Syndil—” He hesitated, unsure what to reveal about Syndil. “She plays the organ, the piano, just about any instrument. She recently suffered a trauma, however, and has not gone up on stage for a while.”

Tempest’s gaze jumped to his. She caught his sorrow before he had time to conceal it. “Something happened to her like what happened to me.”

His fingers tightened around her neck. “But I did not get there in time to stop it—something I will regret for all eternity.”

She blinked and looked away from him quickly. He had said “for all eternity.” Not “until I die” or any of the other expressions a human might use. Oh,

Lord.

She didn’t want him to guess that her memory of what he had done to her hadn’t been erased, as he’d wished. But what if he intended doing it again, and this time it worked?

A knock on the door had Tempest jerking around, her heart pounding. Darius rose gracefully, fully aware of Syndil’s presence outside the mobile home. He moved with fluid grace toward the door.

Tempest couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He was incredibly graceful and supple, sinewy muscles rippling beneath his silk shirt. He walked silently, like one of his great cats.

“Darius.” Syndil refused to meet his eyes. She was staring at her shoes. “I heard what happened and thought perhaps I could help in some small way.” She handed him Tempest’s toolbox and backpack. “Perhaps you would allow me to see her for a moment?”

“Of course, Syndil. Thank you for your concern. I appreciate any aid you can render.” Darius stepped back to allow her entry. He didn’t allow the hope for her recovery to flare even for an instant in his eyes. He followed the woman he regarded as another younger sister to the table. “Tempest, this is Syndil. She would like to speak with you if you are feeling up to it. I will clean the kitchen. The two of you will be more comfortable in the sleeping quarters.”

Tempest managed a small smile. “That’s his nice way of ordering us out of here. Everyone calls me Rusti,” she told Syndil, oddly without shame before this other wounded woman.

As she slipped past Darius, he reached out to catch her hair and give a small tug. “Not everyone, honey.”

She sent him a quelling glance over her shoulder, forgetting for a moment her swollen eye and bruised mouth. “Everyone

else”

she corrected.

Darius allowed her hair to slide through his fingers, savoring the contact with her, however slight it was.

Tempest walked carefully, not wanting to jar her bruised ribs. Syndil gestured to the couch, and Tempest sank into the soft cushions. Syndil examined her face. “Did you allow Darius to heal you?” she inquired.

Her voice was beautiful, satin soft, haunting and mysterious. Tempest knew immediately that she, too, was a creature like Darius. It was in her voice and eyes. But as hard as she tried, she could detect no evil in Syndil, just a quiet sadness.

“Is Darius a doctor?” she asked.

“Not exactly, but he is talented at healing others.” She looked down at her hands. “I did not allow him to help me, and that hurt both of us more than I can say. Be stronger than I was. Allow him to do this for you.”

“Darius arrived before I was raped,” Tempest said bluntly.

Syndil’s beautiful eyes filled with tears. “I am so glad. When Desari told me you had been attacked, I thought...” She shook her head. “I am so glad.” She touched a swollen bruise with a gentle fingertip. “But the man hurt you. He hit you.”

“It’s far worse to be hurt on the inside,” Tempest said, pulling the throw pillows around her as if fashioning them into walls to keep her safe.