Dark Prince

Chapter Thirteen

Rudy Romanov was heavily drugged. The scent was a stench in Mikhail’s nostrils. The idea of taking contaminated blood into his body was repulsive to him, but it was necessary. He would be able to read Romanov’s thoughts at will. Raven had sent him off with complete trust and faith in his love for her. Though every cell in his body demanded Romanov’s death, Mikhail could not betray her confidence in him.

“Allow me,” Gregori said softly, easily reading Mikhail’s desire. “There is great risk to your soul,” Mikhail pointed out.

“The risk is well worth the continuation of our race. Romanov is a danger we cannot afford. We should be concentrating our efforts on finding women to continue our race, not fighting off vampire hunters. I believe it is only a handful of human women, women with great psychic ability who can mate with our males.”

“On what do you base this theory?” Mikhail asked softly, a thread of menace creeping into his tone. Experimenting with women was an unforgivable crime.

Gregori’s silver eyes narrowed, glittered. The black emptiness was growing in Gregori, a dark stain spreading over his soul. He made no effort to hide it from Mikhail. It was as if he wanted to show Mikhail just how desperate the situation was becoming. “I have done many dark, ugly, unforgivable things, but I would never use a female for experimental purposes. I must be the one to take Romanov’s blood if you insist on the continuation of his life.” Gregori was not asking.

The two Carpathians moved easily through the narrow halls of the psychiatric ward of the hospital. The humans experienced a cold sensation, nothing more, as the two passed unseen through the building. They streamed through a lock hole, a flow of vapor like a heavy tinted fog, swirling through the room to wrap around Romanov’s body like a shroud. Romanov cried out, fear gripping him as the mist wound around him like a snake, slithering over his ribs, his wrist, curling around his neck and beginning to wind tighter and tighter. He could feel it on his skin, a vice that continued to twist his body like a corkscrew, but as Romanov clawed at the vapor, his hands passed right through it. Voices hissed hideously, whispered, threatened, so quiet as to be mere threads of sound in his head. He clapped his palms over his ears in an attempt to stop the insidious murmuring. Saliva dribbled from his slack mouth; his throat worked convulsively.

The mist separated, one part trailing to a comer and hovering just above the floor. The other slowly thickened, shimmered, began to take shape, until it formed a muscular, broad-shouldered man with pale eyes of death. Rudy began to shake uncontrollably, backing into a corner, making himself as small as possible. The apparition was too vivid, too menacing to be anything but real.

“Romanov.” Gregori’s fangs gleamed white in the darkened room. “What are you?” The words came out a hoarse croak.

The pale eyes glittered, narrowed to unblinking slits. “You know.” The pale eyes stared into Rudy’s, stared deeply. Gregori’s voice dropped to a low black velvet assault. Hypnotic. Mesmerizing. Compelling. “Come to me; feed me. Become my servant until I see fit to give you the curse of darkness.”

There was dawning comprehension in Romanov’s eyes, horror, and what amounted to terror. But he inched closer, moving his shirt away from his jugular. Gregori whispered again, his voice so seductive, so compelling, a tool of power. “You will serve me now, come at my bidding, inform me when it is necessary.” He bent his dark head slowly.

Romanov knew his soul was lost. He could feel such power in the stranger, immense strength, and the ability to do things no human could imagine. Immortality. The seduction beckoned him. He went willingly, turning his head to expose his throat. Hot breath, piercing pain as the fangs sunk deep. Romanov could actually feel his life’s blood flowing like a river from his body. The pain was intense, a burning hell he was helpless to stop. Nor did he wish to. A curious languor swept over him; his eyelids were far too heavy to lift.

The mist thickened in the room, wrapped around Gregori, streamed between the Carpathian and his prey. Reluctantly, with a growl of protest, Gregori lifted his head from his feeding and contemptuously allowed the limp body to slump to the floor.

You nearly killed him,

Mikhail snapped.

He deserves death. He is rotten and empty inside, already corrupt. He wants endless nights, helpless women, the power of life and death over mankind. There is much in him like his grandfather and father. He is a hollow shell with worms eating what good is left in him. His mind is a maze of deviant desires.

He cannot die this way, Gregori.

It was a hiss in Gregori’s mind, a sign of Mikhail’s displeasure.

As it is, we have enough attention directed at our people. If Romanov dies from severe blood loss...

I am not so careless.

Gregori shoved the body aside with his foot.

He will live. It was his grandfather that began this...

His name was Raul; do you remember him? He was demented as an old man, vicious as a young one. He beat his wife and went after young girls. I stopped him once.

Mikhail was suddenly thoughtful.

And earned not only his hatred, but also his suspicion. He watched you after that. Spied on you every chance he got, hoping to find something to condemn you. Something gave you away

—

a gesture, the way you spoke; who knows? He passed his suspicions on to Hans.

Gregori gave the body another push with his foot.

Romanov used a fax machine to send copies of the evidence to several individuals. The originals are in his house, under the floorboards in his parents’ bedroom.

Gregori watched as Rudy Romanov attempted to crawl away from him.

Sooner or later they will come.

Gregori’s body shimmered, dissolved, so that mist swirled in the room, long snakelike ribbons of fog where the Carpathian had been. The vapor approached Romanov where he cowered close to the floor, streamed close to his head, his throat; then the mist poured from the room, leaving Romanov sobbing helplessly.

Mikhail and Gregori glided through the corridor, swiftly, silently, hurrying into the night’s freshness. After the depravity of Rudy’s mind, they needed the connection with the earth again. Once outside, Gregori forced the drugs through his pores to rid himself of the poison. Mikhail watched him do it, marveling at his ease. Gregori was quiet on the journey to Romanov’s cottage. Mikhail respected his need to breathe in the night’s scents, to feel the ground beneath his feet, hear the music of the wolves, the night creatures calling with their soothing rhythms.

In the safety of the Romanov home, Gregori made his way unerringly to the papers crudely hidden beneath the floorboards. Mikhail took the old photographs and the bundle of papers without even glancing at them. “Tell me everything in his mind.”

Gregori’s silver eyes glittered dangerously. “A man named Slovensky, Eugene Slovensky, is a member of a secret society dedicated to wiping out vampires. Von Halen, Anton Fabrezo, and Dieter Hodkins are the so-called experts who investigate and mark victims for kills. Slovensky recruits, and confirms and records kills.”

Mikhail swore softly, eloquently. “Another vampire hunt will destroy our people.”

Gregori shrugged his massive shoulders. “I will hunt and destroy these men. You take Raven and go far from this place.

I feel your protest, Mikhail, but it is the only way, and we both know it.”

“I cannot trade my happiness for your soul.”

The silver eyes moved over Mikhail, then sought the night. “There are no other choices left to us. My only hope of salvation is a lifemate. I no longer feel, Mikhail; I fulfill my needs. There are no longer desires of the body, only of the mind. I cannot remember what it is to feel the things you feel. There is no joy in my life. I simply exist and do my duty toward our people. I must have a lifemate soon. I can only hold out a few more years; then I will seek eternal rest.”

“You will not seek the sun, Gregori, not without coming to me first.” Mikhail held up his hand when Gregori would have protested. “I have been where you are, alone, the monster in me struggling for dominance, the stain on my soul dark. Our people need you. You must remain strong and fight the monster crouching so close.”

Gregori’s silver eyes glittered dangerously in the darkened room, pale and menacing. “Do not overestimate my affection or loyalty. I must have a mate. If I feel something, anything—lust, possession,

anything

—I will take what is mine and dare anyone to take her from me.” Abruptly Gregori’s large frame shimmered, dissolving into water crystals, and streamed from the house out into the welcoming arms of the night.

Let us leave this house of madness and death. Perhaps it is the tainted blood I took into my body speaking.

With a sigh, Mikhail followed Gregori into the night. The twin ribbons of vapor glinted in the moonlight, joined the tendrils of fog rippling several feet above the forest floor. Anxious to return to Raven, Mikhail streamed through the trees toward the clearing that separated the houses from the deep forest. As he flowed past the priest’s cabin and into the meadow, his mind rippled with uneasiness. The warning jarred enough that he retreated back to Father Hummer’s home and, in the shelter of the trees, took back his human form. His mind touched Raven’s. Nothing threatened her.

“What is it?” Gregori materialized beside Mikhail.

They scanned the immediate area for danger. It was the soil that told of violence—trampling boots, droplets of blood.

Mikhail raised stricken eyes to Gregori’s pale ones, and they both turned simultaneously to look at the cabin of his old friend.

“I will go first,” Gregori said, with as much compassion as he was capable of interjecting into his voice. He stepped smoothly between Mikhail and the entrance to the priest’s home.

The neat little cabin, so comfortable and homey, had been destroyed, ransacked. The simple furniture was broken, the curtains askew, old pottery dishes smashed. The priest’s precious books had been torn, his pictures slashed to ribbons. Father Hummer’s herbs, so carefully kept in tins, lay in a heap on the floor of the kitchen. His thin mattress was in scraps, his blankets shredded.

“What were they looking for?” Mikhail mused aloud, wandering around the room. He stooped to pick up a rook, curling his fingers around the familiar chess piece. There were bloodstains on the floor, on the old carved rocking chair.

“There is no body,” Gregori pointed out unnecessarily. He reached down and picked up a very old leather-bound Bible. The book was well worn, the leather shiny where the priest’s fingers had so often held it. “But where there is stench, there is a trail.” Gregori handed Mikhail the Bible, watching as their prince wordlessly slipped the book under his shirt, against his skin.

Gregori’s broad, muscular frame bent, crackled. Glossy fur rippled along his arms, claws burst from his fingernails, and fangs exploded into a lengthening muzzle. The huge black wolf was already springing for the window, changing on the run. Mikhail followed, leaping through the trees, circling back, nose to the ground. The scent led away from town toward the deep forest. The trail climbed higher and higher into the mountains. The direction took them away from Raven and Jacques. Whoever had taken Father Hummer wanted to be alone with him to do his dirty work.

Mikhail and Gregori raced at a ground-eating run, shoulder to shoulder, dark deadly purpose in their hearts. They ran noses to the wind, lowering their muzzles occasionally to the trail to assure themselves that they were following the priest’s scent. Their powerful muscles rippled along their backs, their hearts and lungs working like well-oiled machines. Animals scurried out of their path, hunkered down in terror at their passing.

A pungent, unfamiliar odor marked a tree on their present course. Mikhail broke stride. They had crossed the boundaries of Mikhail’s wolf pack and entered another’s territory. Wolves frequently attacked intruders. Mikhail sent out a call, allowing the wind to carry their message in an attempt to locate the dominant pair.

With the smell of the priest’s blood, it was fairly easy to follow the trail. But a strange uneasiness began to grow in Mikhail. Something was eluding him. They had covered miles at a dead run, yet the trail never changed. The scent was not fresher, not fading, simply the same. A slight noise above them was their only warning, a curious grinding like rock against rock. They were in a narrow ravine, with steep walls rising on either side. Both wolves immediately dissolved, became tiny droplets of fog. The shower of rocks and boulders from overhead pelted uselessly through the insubstantial mist.

Simultaneously, Mikhail and Gregori launched themselves skyward, bodies forming as they landed with catlike grace on the cliff above them. There was no priest and certainly no attacker. Mikhail glanced uneasily at Gregori. “No human could have done this.”

“The priest did not walk this distance, and no mortal carried him,” Gregori said thoughtfully. “His blood was used as a trap then, to draw us here.” Both were scanning, using every natural weapon they possessed. “This is the work of a vampire.”

“He is clever enough not to leave his own scent for us,” Mikhail observed.

A pack of wolves boiled from the trees, red eyes fixed on Mikhail. Snarling and snapping, the animals sprang for the tall, elegant figure standing with casual grace so close to the edge of the cliff. Gregori was a whirling demon, flinging animals down the ravine, snapping bones as if they were match-sticks. He never made a sound, and his speed was supernatural—so fast he seemed to blur.

Mikhail never moved from his spot, sadness filling his soul. Such a waste of life. A tragedy. Gregori was able to destroy life so easily, with no feeling, no regret. That told Mikhail, more than anything, just how desperate his people’s plight really was.

“You take too many chances,” Gregori growled in reprimand, materializing beside Mikhail. “They were programmed to destroy you. You should have made certain you removed yourself from harm’s way.”

Mikhail surveyed the destruction and death surrounding him. Not one body had gotten within ten feet of him. “I knew you would never allow such a thing. He will never rest now until he destroys you, Gregori.”

A faint, wolfish grin touched Gregori’s mouth. “That is the idea, Mikhail. This is my invitation to him. He has the right to challenge you openly if he so desires, but he is betraying you to mortals. Such treachery will never be tolerated.”

“We need to find Father Hummer,” Mikhail said softly. “He is too old to survive such a brutal attack. The vampire will not keep him alive once the sun begins to rise.”

“But why this elaborate plot?” Gregori mused aloud. “He must have known you would not be caught in the ravine or by the wolves.”

“He delays me.” A flicker of fear touched Mikhail’s black eyes. Once more his mind sought Raven’s. She was teasing Jacques.

Suddenly Mikhail inhaled sharply. “Byron. It is well known in the village that he is Eleanor’s brother. If Eleanor, her child, and Vlad were targets, it stands to reason that Byron is also.” Even as his body bent, contorted, and feathers sprouted, shimmering iridescent in the faint light beginning to streak across the sky, he was already sending a sharp warning to the young Carpathian male. The powerful wings beat strongly as he raced the sun to go to the aid of his brother’s best friend.

Gregori surveyed the mountains, his pale eyes moving along the shadowed cliffs above the forest. He stepped off the edge of the cliff, his body shape-shifting as he plummeted toward earth. Wings beat strongly, lifting him into the sky, straight for the jutting rock surface rising above the treetops. The entrance to the cave was a mere slit in the rock wall. It was easy enough to unravel the safeguards. In order to squeeze through the narrow opening, Gregori dissolved into mist and streamed through the crack.

The passage began to widen almost at once, twisting and turning through rock. Water trickled from the walls on either side. And then he was in a large chamber: the vampire’s lair. He had the scent now. A glint of satisfaction appeared in Gregori’s silver eyes. The vampire would find no resting place here. The undead would find that no one made a threat against the prince without merciless retaliation from Gregori.

Raven paced restlessly across the floor of the cabin, sending Jacques a little self-mocking smile. “I’m very good at waiting.”

“I can see that,” Jacques agreed dryly.

“Come on, Jacques”—Raven made the length of the room again, turned to face him—”don’t you find this even a little bit nerve-wracking?”

He leaned lazily back in his chair, flashing a cocky grin. “Being caged up with a beautiful lunatic, you mean?”

“Ha, ha, ha. Do all Carpathian males think they’re stand-up comedians?”

“Just those of us with sisters-in-law who bounce off walls. I feel like I am watching a Ping-Pong ball. Settle down.”

“Well, how long does something like this take? Mikhail was very upset.”

Leaning back with studied casualness, Jacques tipped his chair to a precarious angle and raised an eyebrow. “Women have vivid imaginations.”

“Intellect, Jacques, not imagination,” she corrected sweetly.

He grinned at her. “Carpathian males understand the fragile nature of women’s nerves. They just cannot take the adversity that we men can.”

Raven hooked her foot around his chair and sent him crashing to the floor. Hands on hips, she regarded him with a superior glint. “Carpathian men are vain, dear brother-in-law,” she proclaimed, “but not too bright.”

Jacques glared up at her with mock ferocity. “You have a mean streak in you.” He suddenly came to his feet; his dark eyes were instantly sober, restless. “Put this on.” Out of nothing he fashioned a heavy cardigan.

“How do you do that?” It seemed like magic to her.

“A Carpathian can make anything natural of the earth,” he informed her in a slightly distracted tone. “Put it on, Raven. I am beginning to feel trapped in this cabin. We need to get out into the night where I can smell trouble coming.”

Raven pulled the warmth of the cardigan close around her and followed Jacques out onto the porch. “The night is almost over,” she observed.

Jacques inhaled sharply. “I smell blood. Two humans; one is familiar to me.”

“Father Hummer,” Raven said anxiously. “It’s his blood.” She started down the stairs, but Jacques, more cautious, caught her arm.

“I do not like this, Raven.”

“He’s hurt, Jacques. I feel his pain. He is not a young man.”

“Perhaps. But how is it he is up here? This cabin is very remote; few know of its existence. How does the priest come to us nearing our weakest hour?”

“He could be dying. Mikhail trusts him,” Raven said staunchly, her heart already going out to the priest. “We have to help him.”

“You will stay behind me and do as I say,” Jacques commanded, forcing her resisting body behind him. “I gave Mikhail my word that I would guard you with my life, and this I intend to do.”

“But...” Raven swallowed the rest of her protest, easily reading his resolve.

“Scent the wind, Raven. You are Carpathian. Do not always believe the obvious. See with more than your eyes and your heart. I have called Mikhail. He is far from us but will return with all speed. And the dawn approaches.” Jacques had moved off the small porch to the grove of trees, turning slowly in a full circle. “There is another.”

Raven tried, inhaling the night air, scanning in every direction to find hidden danger. She felt uneasy, but she could only detect the slow approach of the priest and his human companion. “What am I missing, Jacques?” Then she felt it, too, a feeling of disturbance in the natural harmony of things, a power that was out of balance with the earth.

She saw Jacques catch his breath sharply; his black eyes, so like Mikhail’s, glittered with sudden menace. “Get out of here, Raven. Run. Get out fast. Do not look back. Find shelter from the sun and wait for Mikhail.”

“I can help you.” Terror was rising. Something terrible threatened them, something Jacques feared. Raven could not find it in herself to run away and leave her brother-in-law to face danger alone. “I can’t go, Jacques.”

You do not understand. You are more important than I am, than the priest, than any of us. You are our only hope for the future. Leave this place. Do not make me fail my brother.

Indecision warred with her conscience. Father Hummer limped into view, far more frail than she remembered him. His face was battered and swollen almost beyond recognition. For the first time he looked every one of his eighty-three years.

“Go, Raven!” Jacques hissed, again making a slow circle, never once looking at the advancing priest. His eyes were restless, moving constantly, searching, always searching.

You must leave now.

Another man came into view. He looked remarkably like Eugene Slovensky, but his hair was blonder and he was obviously younger. He moved up behind the priest and with the flat of his palm on Edgar Hummer’s back, shoved viciously.

The priest stumbled forward, fell on one knee, tried to rise and fell full length, his face in the dirt and vegetation. The blond viciously kicked him. “Get up, damn you, old man. Get up or I’ll kill you where you lie.”

“Stop it!” Raven cried, tears glistening in her eyes. “Father Hummer!” Impetuously she rushed down the stairs.

Jacques sprang forward and cut her off, intercepting her so fast that he was merely a blur. He shoved her roughly back toward the porch.

It is a trap, Raven. Get out of here.

But Father Hummer!

she cried to Jacques in protest.

“Come here, lady,” growled Slovensky’s look-alike. He bent, grabbed the priest by the collar, and dragged him to his knees. A wicked-looking knife gleamed at the priest’s throat. “I’ll kill him right now if you don’t do what I say.”

Jacques turned then, red lights beginning to glow in the depths of his dark eyes. He growled a low rumble of warning that sent shivers along Raven’s spine and drained the color from the priest’s assailant.

Around them the wind picked up, hurtling leaves and twigs against Jacques’s legs. A creature seemed to materialize from nowhere, hit him hard in the chest, picked him up and drove his body into a tree trunk.

Raven screamed.

Mikhail! Where are you?

I am coming. Get away from there.

Jacques and his undead attacker crashed from tree to tree. Claws slashed; fangs ripped and tore.

Branches cracked under the weight of their bodies. The two locked in mortal combat were shape-shifting continually. The vampire, strong and high from a fresh kill, flung himself at Jacques, beating him down, inflicting draining cuts all over his body.

Run, Raven. It is you he wants,

Jacques warned.

Go while you can

.

She could hear Jacques breathing heavily, see his growing weakness. Raven had never actually attacked another human being in her life, but it was clear Jacques was in trouble.

Hurry, Mikhail.

There was desperation in her message. Dawn was streaking across the sky when she leapt on the vampire’s back, trying to drag him from Jacques.

No, get back!

Jacques’s cry was sharp, imperious, and laced with terror.

No, Raven!

Mikhail echoed the command from a distance.

No, woman, do not!

Gregori’s voice whispered fiercely in her head.

Not understanding, but certain she was in deadly peril, Raven tried to jump off. The vampire clamped one hand around her wrist in a viselike grip and turned his head, triumph in his glowing eyes. Sharp teeth bit into her wrist, and he was gulping dark, rich blood. It burned and hurt like a red-hot brand. Her flesh was ragged and gaping, his fangs tearing at her.

Mikhail and Gregori mentally struck together at the vampire’s throat. Although such an attack was not very successful against one of Carpathian blood and they were still some distance away, their combined assault closed off the undead’s air momentarily. Jacques struck the vampire with renewed ferocity, driving him backward, dislodging Raven so that she fell free. Blood sprayed in a shower of crimson droplets across the forest floor, and for one moment both fighters froze, distracted by the red shower, turning almost in unison toward her.

“Close that wound!” The vampire snarled, his voice gruff.

Raven, you will bleed to death.

Jacques struggled for calm, wanting her to understand the seriousness of the situation.

The vampire struck, claws ripping at Jacques’s stomach so that he was forced to bring his hands down to protect himself. The vampire’s head contorted, lengthened to a long muzzle, and lunged like a wolf at Jacques’s exposed throat, ripping and tearing.

Raven screamed and threw her body at the vampire, beating wildly at his head and shoulders. Contemptuously he dropped Jacques’s body so it lay broken like a rag dell in the rotting vegetation. He dragged Raven’s wrist to his mouth, his eyes smiling into hers, and deliberately ran his tongue across the wound to close it. Her body and mind rebelled at the hideous contact, her stomach heaving and protesting the unclean touch.

“Remember, mortal, she is mine,” he commanded Slovensky. “I will come for her this night. Get her out of the sun.” The vampire released her and launched himself skyward.

Raven spit into her hands and stumbled forward toward Jacques’s motionless body. “That vampire killed him,” she screamed hysterically. As her hands touched the forest floor she scooped up handfuls of dirt. “Oh, God, he’s dead. You let that thing kill him!” Using her slender body as a shield so no one could see what she was doing, Raven packed the wounds in Jacques’s throat with the soil and her healing saliva.

Drink, Jacques, now, so that you can last until Mikhail and Gregori arrive.

Her wrist over his mouth, Raven continued to sob dramatically, thankful for once that men often thought women hysterical in a crisis.

Mikhail! Jacques is mortally wounded. He is in the sun.

She sensed the approach of the human male and twisted her wrist gently in warning. Jacques was so weak; feeding blindly, he nearly missed the signal. His loss of blood was enormous.

With great dignity Raven covered his head and her handiwork with her cardigan and bent as if kissing him good-bye.

Don‘t let me down, Jacques. You must live. For me, for Mikhail, for all of us. Don’t let them win.

Even as she sent the words to him she could detect no pulse, no hint of his heart beating.

Slovensky gripped her shoulder and yanked her to her feet. She was deathly pale, dizzy, very weak. “Enough crying. You give me any trouble and I’ll kill the priest. If you harm me, the vampire will kill the priest.” He shoved her down the trail.

Raven lifted her chin, regarded him coolly with red-rimmed eyes. “Then I guess, for your sake, it’s imperative you keep Father Hummer in excellent health, isn’t it?” Raven knew from touching the man that he didn’t believe for one moment that the priest was an advocate of the devil or one of Mikhail’s servants. He had seen the vampire’s power and craved it, believed he would soon be rewarded.

James Slovensky could easily see the contempt and the knowledge in her large blue eyes. He didn’t like the picture reflected there and gave her a shove toward the trail.

It took every ounce of her control and determination to make her way over the uneven ground. She had never known such weakness. She couldn’t even help Father Hummer. It took total concentration to put one foot in front of the other. Once she sat down hard, shocked to realize she hadn’t tripped over anything. Her legs had simply given out. Not looking at her captor, Raven pushed herself up again. She didn’t want him touching her. She was cold, inside and out, afraid she might never be warm again.

Feed on the priest,

the vampire ordered, rage smoldering in his tone.

Raven blinked, finding herself looking around even though the voice was in her head. The vampire had established a blood bond with her, could monitor her at will.

Go to hell.

She contended herself with the childish retort.

His laughter taunted her.

You gave your blood to Jacques. I should have guessed. He will not live; I made certain his was a mortal wound.

Raven summoned up contempt, flooding her mind with it. It was becoming difficult to think clearly, and she had fallen too many times to count. Her captor thrust her into the back seat of a vehicle beside the priest and began to drive at breakneck speed down the mountains. Raven rolled over, grateful that the windows had been blackened and the interior was dark. Lethargy was taking over; her body felt like lead.

Feed!

The vampire was sharply imperious.

Raven was thankful that she could defy him. She couldn’t sleep, didn’t dare until she knew Jacques was safe. Mikhail and Gregori were racing the sun, powerful wings beating strongly as they flew toward the old cabin. They would burrow deep into the soil the moment they were able, taking Jacques with them.

Raven.

The call was closer, filling her mind with love.

You are so weak.

Save Jacques. Come to me tonight, Mikhail. The vampire knows my thoughts. He thinks he is safe, that I can be used to trap you. Don’t let him be right.

She tried desperately to send the words clearly to him, but her brain was sluggish.

“Raven?” Edgar Hummer touched her forehead, finding her ice cold. Her skin was so pale, she seemed nearly translucent, her blue eyes sunken, like two bruised flowers pressed into her face. “Can you talk? Is Mikhail alive?”

She nodded, surveying his swollen face with dismay. “What have they done to you? Why would they beat you this way?”

“They say they’re certain I know where Mikhail keeps all of his spare coffins. According to Andre...”

“Who is Andre?”

“The treacherous vampire in league with these killers. He is a true undead, feeding on children, destroying all that is holy. His soul is lost for all eternity. As far as I can tell, Andre appears to be deliberately perpetuating the vampire myths. He claims that Mikhail is the head vampire and if they succeed in killing him, those under his influence will be returned to mortal existence. He must have established a blood bond without their knowledge and he uses it to give them orders.”

Raven closed her eyes weakly. Her heart was struggling to pump without necessary blood; her lungs cried out for oxygen. “How many of them are there?”

“Three that I’ve seen. This one is James Slovensky. His brother Eugene is their supposed leader, and their muscle man is Anton Fabrezo.”

“Two of them stayed at the inn with the American couple. We thought they had left the country. This Andre must be a lot more powerful than anyone suspects.”

Her voice was fading, her speech slurring. Father Hummer watched as she tried to lift her arm to push her hair away from her face. Her arm seemed too heavy; her face seemed too great a distance away. He did it for her with gentle fingers.

Raven!

There was anguish in Mikhail’s voice.

It was too difficult to answer him; it required far too much strength. The priest shifted so that her head could fall against his arm. Raven was shivering with cold. “I need a blanket back here for her.”

“Shut up, old man,” Slovensky snapped. His eyes continually searched the sky through his windshield. The sun was up, but heavy clouds dimmed the sky, hiding the light.

“If she dies, Andre will make you wish you had died too,” Edgar Hummer persisted.

“I need sleep,” Raven said softly without opening her eyes. She didn’t even wince when Slovensky’s jacket landed on her unprotected face.

Mikhail had to get out of the sun. Without dark glasses or any substantial protection from the rays, his skin and eyes were burning. He landed on the low branch of a tree and changed to human form as he jumped the remaining seven feet to earth. Jacques’s body lay in the sun, a cardigan covering his neck and face. Without looking to see the extent of his brother’s injuries, Mikhail lifted him and glided above ground toward the network of caves a mile away.

A huge black wolf burst from the clearing to join him, loping easily beside him, pale silver eyes gleaming with menace. Together they raced through the narrow passages until they found a large, steaming chamber. The black wolf contorted, fur rippling along muscular arms as Gregori shape-shifted to his true form.

Mikhail laid Jacques’s body gently on the rich soil and lifted away the covering. He swore softly, unshed tears burning in his throat and eyes. “Can you save him?”

Gregori’s hands moved over the body, the vicious wounds. “He stopped his heart and lungs so that he could conserve his blood. Raven is weak because she fed him. She mixed her saliva and the soil and packed it in tight. It is already beginning to heal the wounds. I will need your herbs, Mikhail.”

“Save him, Gregori.” Mikhail’s body rippled with thick, glossy fur, bent, stretched, took shape as he ran along the maze of passages upward out of the bowels of the earth. He dared not think of Raven and how weak she was. The heaviness was invading his body already, demanding he go to ground, that he sleep.

Summoning his immense strength and a will honed to iron over hundreds of years, Mikhail burst into the open at a flat run. The wolf’s body was built for speed and he used it, running flat out, eyes narrowed to tiny slits. Paws hit the ground; back feet dug into soil to leap rotting logs. He never slowed, racing through ravines and over rocks.

The overcast sky helped to ease the effects of the sun, but his eyes were streaming as he approached the cabin. The wind shifted, bringing the foul stench of sweat and fear.

Man.

The beast snarled silently, all the pent-up rage in him exploding into white-hot fury. The wolf skidded to a halt, body low to the ground, once more the predator.

The wolf kept downwind, gliding through thick brush to creep up on the two men waiting in ambush. A trap for him. Of course the betrayer would know Mikhail would rush to aid his brother. The vampire was cunning and willing to take chances. The betrayer had lain in wait, feeding Hans Romanov’s fanaticism. It was probably the undead who had commanded Hans to murder his wife. The wolf slunk low on its belly, crawled forward until it was within feet of the larger of the two men.

“We’re too late,” Anton Fabrezo whispered, half rising to stare down the trail in front of the cabin. “Something sure happened here.”

“Damn truck, it would have to overheat,” Dieter Hodkins complained. “There’s blood everywhere and smashed branches. There was a fight, all right.”

“Do you think Andre killed Dubrinsky?” Anton asked.

“That’s our job. But the sun’s up. If Dubrinsky’s alive, he’s somewhere sleeping in his coffin. We can check the cabin, but I don’t think we’re going to find anything,” Dieter said with irritation.

“Andre isn’t going to be happy with us,” Anton worried aloud. “He wants Dubrinsky dead in a big way.”

“Well, he should have provided us with a decent truck. I told him mine was breaking down,” Dieter snapped impatiently. He believed in vampires, and that it was his holy duty to exterminate them.

Dieter stood up cautiously, surveying the landscape carefully. “Come on, Fabrezo. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Dubrinsky will be in the cabin already laid out in his coffin.”

Anton laughed nervously. “I’ll drive in the stake; you cut off the head. This vampire-killing stuff is messy.”

“Cover me while I scout it out,” Dieter ordered. He took a step through the thick foliage, his rifle cradled in his arms. The bushes directly in front of him parted and he was face to face with a huge, heavily muscled wolf. His heart nearly stopped, and he froze, unable for a moment to move.

Black eyes glittered malevolently, streaming and red-rimmed. Sharp white fangs glinted, glistened with saliva. The wolf held him with those black eyes for a full thirty seconds, striking terror in Dieter’s heart. Without warning it lunged, jaws wide, head low, caught one booted ankle and crushed down with incredible power, breaking through leather and bones with a loud, sickening snap. Dieter screamed and fell. The wolf instantly released him and sprang back, regarding him with impersonal eyes.

From his position in the bushes, Fabrezo had seen Dieter Hodkins go down screaming, but he couldn’t see why. The terror in Hodkin’s tone sent fear spiraling through him. It took a minute for Anton to find his voice. “What is it? I can’t see.” He didn’t try to see either, sliding further down in the bushes, holding his gun up and ready, finger on the trigger ready to spray anything that moved. He wanted to yell at Dieter to shut up, but he remained quiet, his heart pounding in alarm.

Dieter tried to bring his rifle into firing position. Between the pain and the terror those black, venomous eyes were inducing, he couldn’t quite get the barrel around fast enough. Those eyes were far too intelligent, held rage and fury. That death stare was very personal. And it was the eyes of death that mesmerized him. He couldn’t look away, not even when the wolf lunged for his exposed throat. At the last he didn’t feel a thing, suddenly welcoming the end. The deadly eyes staring into his changed at the last moment, suddenly saddened as the wolf made the kill.

The wolf shook its shaggy head and eased into the bushes behind Anton Fabrezo. He could hear the heart thudding with terror, bursting with life. He could hear the blood rushing hotly through the body, smelled fear and sweat. Joy washed over the wolf, the need for blood, for the kill. Mikhail pushed it down, thought of Raven, her compassion and courage and the need to kill vanished. The sun broke through a small hole in the heavy cloud cover and a thousand needles pierced his eyes.

I need those herbs, Mikhail. The sun is climbing and time is running out for Jacques. Finish it now.

The wolf waited for the clouds to move back in place and then it walked boldly into the open, deliberately keeping his back to Fabrezo. Anton’s eyes narrowed, and an evil smile twisted his mouth. His hand raised the gun, his finger finding the trigger. Before he could pull the trigger the wolf whirled in midair and smashed into Anton’s chest, driving through bone, ripping straight for the heart.

The wolf leaped over the body, his manner contemptuous as he loped to the cabin. His eyes were tearing continually, streaming water no matter how narrow the slits. The heaviness spreading through his body was far more difficult to ignore. Aware of time passing, the wolf sprinted up the stairs to the door. One claw contorted, lengthened to fingers so that he was able to grasp the doorknob and push the heavy door open. The need for sleep was almost overpowering and Jacques was waiting for the herbs.

Distorted, clawed hands hung the bag of precious herbs around the thick, muscular neck, and then the wolf was in a dead run, racing the climbing sun as it burned away the thick cloud covering.

Thunder cracked unexpectedly. Thick black clouds, heavy with rain, blew across the sky, providing Mikhail with dense cover from the sun. The storm rolled in over the forest fast, with wild winds kicking up leaves and swaying branches. A bolt of lightning sizzled across the sky in a fiery whip of dancing light. The sky darkened to an ominous cauldron of boiling clouds. Mikhail bounded into the caves and raced along the narrow maze of passages toward the main chamber, shape-shifting as he ran.

Gregori’s cool silver gaze slid over him as Mikhail relinquished the herbs. “It is a wonder you have been able to tie your shoes without me all of these centuries.”

Mikhail sank down beside his brother, one hand over his burning eyes. “It is more of a wonder you have stayed alive with your ostentatious displays.”

Ancient language, as old as time, flooded the chamber. Gregori’s voice was beautiful yet commanding. No one had a voice like Gregori’s. Beautiful, hypnotic, mesmerizing. The ritual chant provided an anchor in the uncertain sea in which Jacques was floating. Rich soil mixed with Gregori’s saliva was a collar around the wounded Carpathian’s neck. Gregori’s blood, old and powerful beyond measure, flowed in Jacques’s starved veins. Gregori crushed and mixed herbs, adding them to the mixture around Jacques’s neck.

“I repaired the damage from the inside out. He is weak, Mikhail, but his will is strong. If we put him deep within the earth and give him time, he will heal.” Gregori pushed a poultice into Mikhail’s hand. “Put that on your eyes. It will help until we get you in the ground.”

Gregori was right. The poultice was soothing, a cool ice melting the fire. But somewhere deep inside another nightmare was starting. A yawning, black, empty hole that began to stretch, to crawl through him, whispering dark, insane thoughts. No matter how many times his mind reached for Raven’s, he found emptiness. Intellect told him she was in a deep sleep, but his Carpathian blood cried out for her touch.

“You need to go to ground now,” Gregori pointed out. “I will fix the safeguards and ensure we are not disturbed.”

“With a big sign saying ‘Gregori lies here, do not disturb’?” Mikhail asked softly, his voice a low warning.

Gregori lowered Jacques’s body deep within the healing earth, in no way disturbed by Mikhail’s sarcasm.

“You may as well have written your name in the sky with that display, Gregori.”

“I want the vampire to be very clear about who I am, whom he has chosen for his enemy.” Gregori’s shoulders shrugged in a lazy ripple of power.

Need crawled along Mikhail’s skin like a thousand biting ants, stinging his organs and gnawing at his sinews. He raised red, swollen eyes to Gregori’s harsh, yet curiously sensual features. There was such power in Gregori; it blazed in the silver of his eyes. “You think with Raven that I am complete and no longer have need of you. You deliberately draw the danger to yourself, away from me and mine, because in your heart you believe you can no longer hold out. You welcome the danger of the hunt; you are seeking a way to end this life. Now, more than ever, our people need you, Gregori. We have hope. There is a future for us if we can survive the coming years.”

Gregori sighed heavily, looked away from the steel in Mikhail’s eyes, the censure blazing there. “There is purpose in saving your life, but for me, not much else.”

Mikhail pushed a hand through his thick mane of hair. “Our people cannot do without you, Gregori, and quite simply, neither can I.”

“You are so certain that I will not turn?” Gregori’s smile was humorless, self-mocking. “Your faith in me exceeds my own. This vampire is ruthless, drunk on his own power. He craves the killing, the destruction. I walk the line of that madness every day. His power is nothing, a feather in the wind compared to mine. I have no heart and my soul is dark. I do not want to wait until I cannot make my own choice. The one thing I do not want is to force you to seek me out to destroy me. My life has been my belief in you, in protecting you. I will not wait until I must be hunted.”

Mikhail waved a tired hand to open the earth above his brother. “You are our greatest healer, the greatest asset to our people.”

“That is why they whisper my name in fear and dread.”

Beneath their feet the ground suddenly shook, heaved and bucked, rolled perilously. The center of the earthquake was obviously a great distance away, but there was no mistaking the howl of rage produced by a powerful vampire at the destruction of his lair.

The undead had entered his lair confidently, until he found the body of the first wolf. Each turn or passage entrance was marked with one of his minions, until his entire pack lay dead at his feet. Fear had turned to terror. Not Mikhail, whose sense of justice and fair play would be his downfall, but the dark one.

Gregori.

It had not occurred to the vampire that the dark one might take a hand in this game. Andre hurtled himself from the safety of his favorite lair just as the mountain heaved and the chamber walls collapsed. Cracks widened in the narrow passageway and the rock faces inched closer and closer together. The clap of granite grinding against granite nearly burst his eardrums. A true vampire making numerous kills was far more susceptible to the sun, and to the terrible lethargy that claimed Carpathian bodies in the day. Andre had little time to find a safe hole. As he burst from the collapsing mountain, the sun hit his body so that he screamed with the agony of it. Dust and rock spewed from his home, and the echo of Gregori’s taunting laughter drifted down with the debris from the earthquake.

“No, Gregori.” There was amusement in Mikhail’s soft voice. He floated into the soothing arms of the earth. “That is a good example of why they whisper your name in fear and dread. No one understands your dark humor the way I do.”

“Mikhail?”

Mikhail stayed the hand closing the blanket of soil over him.

“I would not endanger you or Jacques with my challenge. The vampire cannot get by my safeguards.”

“I have never feared Andre. And I know your spells are strong. I think our friend has his own problems finding somewhere to rest out of the sun. He will not be disturbing us this day.”

Father Hummer walked the circuit of the rock walls surrounding them. There were no windows, and their prison seemed heavily constructed, the walls so thick, he was certain they were soundproof. No light penetrated the walls, and the complete darkness was oppressive. The priest had piled every blanket available over Raven’s ice-cold body, but he was certain she had died from loss of blood. He could not detect a pulse or breath since they had been shoved into the room. After first baptizing Raven and administering the last rites to her, Father Hummer had begun to carefully feel his way around the room in hopes of finding a way to escape.

The vampire, Andre, was using Raven to draw Mikhail to this place. Edgar, knowing Mikhail as well as he did, knew the plan could not fail. Mikhail would come, and God have mercy on Slovensky’s soul.

A small sound, a shuddering wheeze of lungs laboring, drew his attention. Father Hummer felt his way back to Raven. Her body was shivering uncontrollably beneath the pile of blankets. She was as cold as ever. The priest put his arms around her, seeking comfort for both of them. “What can I do to help you?”

Raven opened her eyes. She could see clearly in the darkness, examining the tightly constructed cell and then Father Hummer’s worried face. “I need blood.”

“I’ll be happy to donate, my child,” he responded instantly.

She sensed his weakness. In any case, Raven could never take blood in the Carpathian manner. Her mind reached for Mikhail’s, an automatic reaction. Pain exploded in her head. She moaned softly, clutching her temples.

Do not try, little one.

Mikhail sounded strong, reassuring.

Conserve your strength. I will be there soon.

Is Jacques alive?

Sending the message put shards of glass in her skull.

Thanks to you. Rest.

It was an order—a clear, imperious demand.

A smile tugged at the corner of Raven’s soft mouth. “Talk to me, Father; distract me.” She was very weak but did not want to draw the priest’s attention to it.

“I’ll keep my voice low just to be safe,” Edgar said, close to her ear. “Mikhail will come, you know. He would never leave us here.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms to try to bring heat to her laboring body.

Raven nodded her head, a difficult task when it felt like lead. “I know what he is like. He would give up his life for us in a heartbeat.”

“You are his lifemate. Without you, he would become the vampire of legends, a monster without equal in the human race.”

Raven fought for each separate breath. “Don’t believe that, Father. We have our own evil monsters. I have seen them, followed them. They are every bit as bad.” She clutched the blanket closer to her. “Have you ever met Mikhail’s friend, Gregori?”

“He’s the one they call the dark one. I’ve seen him, of course, but only once. Mikhail has voiced his fears for him often.”

Raven’s breath wheezed in and out, a harsh sound in the quiet of the cell. “He’s a great healer, Father.” She took another shuddering breath. “And he is loyal to Mikhail. Do you believe there is hope for their race?”

The priest made the sign of the cross on her forehead, on the insides of each of her wrists. “You are their hope, Raven. Don’t you know that?”

Mikhail touched her mind with his. He was closer, the bond between them powerful. He flooded her with love, enfolded her in strong, protective arms.

Holdon, my love.

His voice was a black-velvet seduction of tenderness in her mind.

Do not come to this evil place, Mikhail. Wait for Gregori,

she pleaded.

I cannot, little one.

Lights flickered in the cell, on, off, back on again, as if a generator was being powered up. Raven’s hand found Father Hummer’s. “I tried to stop him, to warn him, but he will come.”

“Of course he will.” Edgar’s eyes were blinking in the sudden light. Father Hummer was worried about Raven. Her breath sounded strangled, labored.

The heavy door clanged and creaked as it swung open. James Slovensky peered at them. His eyes fastened on Raven’s face as if drawn irresistibly. Her blue eyes met his across the room. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

A faint, taunting smile curved her soft mouth. “I’m dying. I think that’s plain enough even for you to see.” Her voice was low, a mere thread of sound, but so musical that it was impossible not to be entranced by it.

Slovensky advanced farther into the room. Raven could feel Mikhail in her, building his strength, his power, crouching, waiting to strike. She also felt a sudden uneasiness.

Wait. The vampire comes.

She dragged a shuddering breath into her laboring lungs, the sound loud and distressed in the room.

Slovensky was shoved carelessly across the room with one powerful swat from Andre’s hand. He stood framed in the doorway, flushed from a fresh kill. His eyes were flat and held a kind of contempt, a merciless promise of savagery. “Good morning, my dear. I am Andre, come to take you to your new home.”

He glided across the room, clearly enjoying his power over them all. As he approached her, his eyes darkened with rage. “You were told to feed on the priest.”

“You were told to go to hell.” She said it in her soft, musical voice, deliberately baiting him.

“You will learn it is better to obey me,” he snapped. Angry at her defiance, he caught the priest by the front of his shirt and hurled him against the stone wall. It was done coldly, callously, without thought of the consequences. “If you are not going to use him for food, we have no need of him, do we?” The vampire’s smile was wholly evil.

Father Hummer’s body had fallen to the floor heavily, his skull cracking audibly on impact. There was a gasping sound as his lungs fought for air, then a soft sigh as they gave up the fight.

Raven bit back a scream, struggled for air, her grief so overwhelming, that for a moment her mind couldn’t function.

Mikhail, I’m sorry. I angered him. This is my fault.

She felt the warmth of his love surround her, the brush of his fingers so tender on her face.

Never that, my love.

She felt his sorrow mingle with hers. Raven lifted her blue-violet eyes to the face of the vampire. “Now, how do you expect to control me?”

The vampire bent down, his smile evil, his breath foul. “You will learn. Now you will feed.” He snapped his fingers, and Slovensky nearly tripped over his own feet to run out of the cell and return with a glass of dark, murky liquid. His hand trembled as he passed it to the vampire, careful to avoid the razor-sharp long nails. “For you, my dear; breakfast.” The vampire held the glass close enough for her to smell the contents. Fresh blood tainted with something else, some herb she didn’t recognize.

“Drugs, Andre? Isn’t that stooping a little low even for one such as you?” She had to fight every moment just to breathe, to keep from breaking down and sobbing out her grief for the priest. If only she hadn’t angered the vampire.

Andre’s face darkened when she uttered his name with such contempt, but he simply stared into her eyes, flooding her with compulsion, the need to obey him.

Loathing him as she did, fearful for Mikhail and grief-stricken over the priest and Jacques, Raven summoned every ounce of strength she possessed and fought a mental battle with him. Her head nearly exploded with pain and only when little beads of blood appeared on her forehead did he relent.

The vampire pushed down his fury at her rebellion. She was close to death and if she died all his scheming would be for nothing. “You will die if you do not feed. I know Mikhail knows this. Do you hear me, prince? She dies. Force her to accept what I offer.”

You must do this, little one.

Mikhail’s voice was gently coaxing.

Youwill be dead before I can reach you, and above all else, you must survive.

The blood is drugged.

Drugs do not effect Carpathians.

Raven sighed, looked once more at the vampire. “What else is in it?”

“Only herbs, my dear, herbs that will confuse you a bit, but will ensure that my friends have plenty of time to study Mikhail. They can keep him alive, a prisoner here. Is that not what you want? That he remain alive? The alternative is to kill him immediately.” He pushed the glass at her.

Her stomach knotted in rebellion. It would just be so much easier to close her eyes and stop struggling for every breath. She could barely stand the pain in her head. She was responsible for Jacques’s grave wound, for Father Hummer’s death. Worst of all, her beloved Mikhail was racing straight into the arms of the enemy because of her. If she just stopped...

No!

Mikhail’s voice was sharp and imperious.

Do not!

Gregori added his strength to Mikhail’s protest.

The vampire wrapped his hand around her throat in his fury that she might choose death and defeat him.

His touch made her skin crawl; her stomach roiled in protest. Suddenly the vampire screamed and leaped back away from her, his face contorted in fury and pain. Raven could see his charred and blackened palm, still smoking as he held it to his chest. Mikhail had sent his own warning and challenge.

“You think he will win,” the vampire snarled at her, “but he will not. Now drink!” His hands closed around her wrist, steadying her hand.

Raven’s mind splintered and screamed at the close proximity of such evil. The crumpled body of Edgar Hummer lay in plain sight, no more than a heap of refuse to the vampire. Touching Andre, she could read his mind easily. He was the most depraved being she had ever encountered.

The drug would confuse her enough that he could make her believe she belonged to him. Mikhail would be kept alive, living in pain and torment, too weak to attack his captors. Slovensky enjoyed inflicting pain. His brother was eager to dissect a vampire, experiment on one. The vampire was certain the Slovensky brothers would die at the hands of the avenging Carpathians. She read it all, the betrayal and the hideousness of the undead’s plans.

Mikhail! Do not come to this place!

She resisted the compulsion to drink the tainted blood, struggling feebly in the vampire’s foul hold.

I will not allow you to fall into their hands. I will choose death.

“Drink!” The vampire was becoming alarmed. Her heart was stuttering with effort. There was a smear of crimson across her forehead, indicating agony.

“Never,” she said between clenched teeth.

“She dies, Mikhail. Is this what you want for her? She dies in my arms, with me, and I have won anyway.” Andre shook her in his fury. “He will commit suicide the moment you relinquish life. Are you so stupid that you do not realize that? He will die.”

Her blue-violet eyes searched the gaunt face. “He will destroy you first.” She said it with complete conviction.

My love.

Mikhail’s voice was black velvet, soothing in her pain-filled mind.

You must allow me to decide this matter. You give me no choice but to force your compliance. This should be our decision together, but you cannot see beyond the threat to me. He cannot defeat me. Believe that; hold on to that. He cannot separate us. We live in each other. He does not understand our bond. Together we are too strong for him. I will allow him to capture me. I allow it; that is all.

The vampire knew the moment Mikhail’s will dominated. Raven allowed the glass to be brought to her lips. Even under compulsion, her body tried to reject the nourishment. The vampire could feel her stomach heave and fight. Her bond with Mikhail allowed her lifemate to calm her enough to accept what the vampire offered.

Her heart and lungs responded almost immediately to the liquid. Her breathing became less labored; her body grew warm. The moment Mikhail relinquished her will, Raven attempted to squirm away from the vampire. He tightened his arms around her, deliberately rubbing his face against hers. His laughter was cruel, gloating even. “You thought him strong, did you not? But, you see, he jumps to do my bidding.”

“Why are you doing this? Why do you betray him?”

“He betrays all of our people.” Mikhail strode through the door, tall and strong, looking invincible.

Slovensky flattened himself against the wall, trying to appear inconspicuous. Andre pressed a razor-sharp claw into Raven’s jugular. “Be very, very careful, Mikhail. You could kill me, there is no question, but she will die first.” Andre dragged her even closer, locking her in front of him as he lifted her body completely off the ground. Blankets scattered as Raven was dangled helplessly, her eyes fastened on Mikhail.

Mikhail’s smile was tender, loving, as he focused on her face.

I love you, little one. Be brave.

“What do you wish, Andre?” His voice was gentle and low.

“I want your blood.”

“I will give it to Raven to replenish her.”

Raven’s heart slammed against her ribs. Deliberately she leaned into Andre’s claw. A dot of blood beaded, trickled down her neck. The vampire tightened his arm around her ribs, nearly cracking them. “Do not do such a stupid thing again,” he reprimanded her, then turned his attention back to Mikhail. “You cannot come close enough to her to give blood. Drain it into a container.”

Mikhail shook his head slowly.

He wants my blood for himself, love, to become more powerful, to aid the drug in confusing your mind.

Already he could feel the effects of the drugs in her. She was struggling to stay with him.

I cannot allow him my blood.

The words echoed sadly.

Raven reached for Gregori.

You must come.

The drug he has given you is an ancient one,

Gregori explained, the words brushing softly in her mind,

made from the pressed petals of a flower found only in the northern regions of our lands. It will disorient you, but that is all. The vampire will attempt to plant his own memories of you with him and then will use pain to control your thoughts. He has established a blood bond, so he can monitor you. When you think of Mikhail, he can cause you pain. It is not the drug, it is the vampire. Censor your thoughts as much as possible to conserve your strength. When you reach for Mikhail as your mind and body must, Andre must not know. You focus better than any Carpathian I have known. He knows nothing of our bond. I can find you anywhere. The moment I am finished attending Jacques, I will go to Mikhail. You have my word Mikhail will survive. We will find you. Stay alive for the sake of all our people.

The vampire and Mikhail stared across the room at one another. Power emanated from Mikhail’s every pore. He looked coolly amused by the vampire’s dilemma.

A ripple of malevolence distorted the tense vibrations in the room, striking at Raven’s temple.

Mikhail!

She screamed the warning in her mind as Slovensky shot him three times. In the small cell, the noise was a loud clap of thunder reverberating off the rock walls. The bullets drove Mikhail backward and he fell beside Father Hummer, his precious blood staining his white silk shirt a vivid crimson.

“No!” Raven fought the vampire in earnest, fear lending her strength that the loss of her blood had taken. For a moment she wrenched herself nearly free but was jerked back, the vampire’s hands around her throat, squeezing hard. Raven fought down panic. She didn’t dare pass out.

Gregori, Mikhail’s down. They shot him.

I feel it. All Carpathians feel it. Do not worry. He will not die.

Gregori was clearly moving closer.

They were very careful to inflict flesh wounds that bleed heavily, not mortal wounds such as they gave Jacques. He is conveying to me the extent of his injuries.

The vampire dragged Raven with him to the door. “The others will come, but it will be too late. Do not think he will get out of this,” he hissed in her ear. “Slovensky and the others will die for this deed, and with them all records of what occurred in this place. You will be mine, far away where they cannot find you.”

Raven kept her eyes and mind focused on Mikhail, broadcasting to Gregori everything she saw: Slovensky manacling Mikhail’s wrists and ankles, chaining him to a wall, laughing, taunting, kicking at him. Mikhail remained silent, his dark eyes very black, glinting like ice.

The vampire lifted her slender body, ran with blurring speed from the place of death and destruction, launched himself skyward, his talons gripping Raven as he sped into the night.

Gregori merged his mind with Mikhail’s easily. Over the centuries of battles, wars, and vampire hunters, they had exchanged blood many times to preserve one another’s life. Mikhail was in pain, his blood loss great. The shooting had been a deliberate attempt to weaken his immense power. Slovensky was busy taunting Mikhail with graphic details of torture.

Mikhail’s black eyes smoldered an eerie red, a burning flame he turned on Slovensky as the man approached him. The power in those chilling eyes stopped Slovensky for a moment. “You’ll learn to hate me, vampire,” James Slovensky snarled. “And you’ll learn to fear me. You’ll learn who really holds the power.”

A slight, mocking smile touched Mikhail’s mouth. “I do not hate you, mortal. And I could never fear you. You are but a pawn in a game of power. And you have been sacrificed.” The voice was very low, a musical thread of sound that Slovensky found himself wanting to hear again.

The man knelt beside his victim, smiling his pleasure at the other’s pain. “Andre will give us the rest of you bloodsuckers.”

“And why would he do that?” Mikhail closed his eyes, his face lined and strained, but the hint of a smile remained.

“You turned him, forced him into such an unholy life, the same way you turned the woman. He is going to try to save her.” Slovensky leaned closer, drew his knife. “I think I should dig that slug out of you. We wouldn’t want you getting an infection now, would we?” His giggle was high-pitched with anticipation.

Mikhail didn’t flinch away from the blade. His black eyes snapped open, blazing with power. Slovensky fell backwards, scrambling away on all fours to crouch against the far wall. Fumbling in his coat, he jerked out the gun and held it pointed at Mikhail.

The ground rolled almost gently, seemed to swell so that the concrete floor bulged, then cracked. Slovensky grabbed for the wall behind him to steady himself and lost the gun in the process. Above his head a rock fell from the wall, bounced dangerously close, and rolled to a halt beside him. A second rock, and a third fell, so that Slovensky had to cover his head as the rocks rained down in a roaring shower.

Slovensky’s cry of fear was high and thin. He made himself even smaller, peering through his fingers at the Carpathian. Mikhail had not moved to protect himself. He lay exactly as Slovensky had positioned him, those dark eyes staring at him. Swearing, Slovensky tried to lunge for the gun.

The floor bucked and heaved under him, sending the gun skittering out of reach. A second wall swayed precariously and rocks cascaded down, striking the man about the head and shoulders, driving him to the floor. He watched a curious, frightening pattern form. Not one rock touched the priest’s body. Not one came close to Mikhail. The Carpathian simply watched him with those damn eyes and that faint mocking smile as the rocks buried Slovensky’s legs, then fell on his back. There was an ominous crack, and Slovensky screamed under the heavy load on his spine.

“Damn you to hell,” Slovensky snarled. “My brother will track you down.”

Mikhail said nothing, simply watching the havoc Gregori was creating. Mikhail would have killed James Slovensky outright, without the drama Gregori had such a flare for, but he was tired, his body in a precarious state. He had no wish to drain his energy further. Raven would be in the vampire’s hands for the time it took Gregori to heal him. He couldn’t allow himself to think of what Andre might do to her. Mikhail stirred, pain shafting through him. More rocks fell on Slovensky in retaliation, covering him like a blanket, beginning to form a macabre grave.

Gregori moved into the room with his familiar silent glide, grace and power clinging to him as he strode through the wreckage of the wall. “This is becoming a bad habit.”

“Oh, shut up,” Mikhail said without rancor.

Gregori’s touch was infinitely gentle as he inspected the wounds. “They knew what they were doing. Placed these precisely to miss vital organs but to bleed you as much as possible.” It took seconds to deal with the manacles and free Mikhail from the chains. Gregori pressed soil over the wounds to stop further leakage.

“Check Father Hummer.” Mikhail’s voice was weak.

“He is dead.” Gregori barely glanced at the broken body.

“Be certain.” It was an order. Mikhail never ordered Gregori to do anything. That had never been their relationship.

For a moment Gregori’s silver eyes glittered as they stared at one another. “Please, Gregori, if there is a chance...” Mikhail closed his eyes.

Shaking his head at the delay, Gregori dutifully went to the priest’s crumpled body and felt for a pulse. He knew it was fruitless, knew Mikhail knew it, too, but just the same he checked. Gregori was careful to be gentle with the body. “I am sorry, Mikhail. He is gone.”

“I do not want him left in this place.”

“Stop talking and allow me to do my job,” Gregori growled, easing Mikhail back onto the floor. “Take my blood while I stop up these holes.”

“Find Raven.”

“Take my blood, Mikhail. The vampire will not harm her. He will have some patience this night. You must be strong for the hunt. Drink what I freely offer. I would not want to find it necessary to compel you.”

“You are becoming a nuisance, Gregori,” Mikhail complained, but obediently he took hold of the healer’s proffered wrist. Gregori’s blood was ancient, as was Mikhail’s. There was none other that could help as quickly. There was silence as Mikhail fed, replenishing what was lost. Gregori turned his wrist slightly to ease Mikhail away from him, knowing his strength was needed for healing and transporting his prince to safety.

“The priest goes with us,” Mikhail reiterated. A wave of heat coursed through the ice of his body, leaving him needy, hungry. His mind reached for his lifemate, the need to merge overwhelming.

Pain exploded in her head, in his, so that he gasped and withdrew, his black eyes seeking Gregori’s pale ones in agony.

Sleep for now, Mikhail. We will go on the hunt soon enough. We must take care of these wounds first.

Gregori commanded it in a mesmerizing voice. Singsong, a flowing chant of ancient language.

You will hear my words, let Mother Earth welcome you. The soil will heal your wounds and soothe your mind. Sleep, Mikhail. My blood is powerful, mixing with yours. Feel it healing your body.

Gregori closed his eyes, merging completely with Mikhail, flowing in him so that he could find every ragged hole, push out foreign objects, and repair all damage from the inside out with the precision of the most skilled surgeon.

A large horned owl circled the ruined building, then settled on the crumpled wall. Slowly the wings folded and the owl’s round eyes surveyed the scene below. The talons flexed, relaxed. Gregori lifted his head, coming back to his own body. He spoke the Carpathian’s name softly in acknowledgment. “Aidan.”

The owl’s shape lengthened, shimmered, formed a tall, tawny-haired man with glittering gold eyes. His blond appearance was unusual for a Carpathian. He carried his body like a soldier, his manner sure and confident. “Who dared to do this?” he demanded. “What of Jacques and Mikhail’s woman?”

Gregori growled softly, a slash of pale eyes pinning the male Carpathian. “Bring me fresh soil and prepare the priest’s body.” Gregori turned back to his work as Byron arrived. Slow, unhurried, the beautiful ancient chant filled the night with hope and promise. No one would believe he was working against time, needing to get Mikhail on his feet this night.

Aidan brought the richest soil he could find, stepping back to admire Gregori as he worked. The poultices were mixed carefully and applied over the external wounds. The wind stirred the dirt and dust from the pile of rocks, carrying warnings to the Carpathians. Two humans were approaching in a truck.

Byron knelt beside Edgar Hummer, reverently running his hands over the priest’s face, gathering the small, wasted body up into his arms. “I will take him to sacred ground, Gregori, and then destroy those bodies beside the cabin.”

“Who did this?” Aidan repeated.

Gregori simply flooded Aidan’s mind with the information rather than bothering with conversation.

“I have known Andre for many centuries,” Aidan said. “He is half a century younger than I. We fought together in more than one battle. Our times grow desperate.” Aidan glided over the fallen walls, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness. Each leaf on every tree gleamed a vivid silver, bathed in the light of the moon, but Aidan had long ago lost his ability to see in color. His world was dark and gray and would be until he found his lifemate, or sought the solace of the dawn. He inhaled, caught the scent of game, the stench of death, the intrusive odor of man. Oil and exhaust issuing from the approaching vehicle fouled the clarity of the air.

He moved through the line of oaks, working to quell the ice-cold predator instinct demanding blood for what one of his kind had done. Their race, so precarious, teetering on the brink of extinction, could not survive another vampire hunt. Every remaining male had pinned his hopes on the survival of Mikhail’s woman. If she could adapt to their life, if she could be sealed as a true lifemate, if she could produce female children strong enough to live beyond the first year, then all Carpathian males had a chance. It would be a matter of hanging on, searching the world for women such as Raven. For Andre to betray them all was treason as its worst.

Fog began to gather, thicken, an oppressive, nearly impenetrable veil that wound through the trees and closed off the road. The brakes squealed loudly as the driver came to a halt, unable to see in the thick fog. Aidan moved closer, unseen, a dangerous predator hunting prey. “How long before we get there, Uncle Gene?” A boy’s voice, eager and excited, drifted on the wind.

“We’ll have to wait for the fog to disperse, Donny.” The second voice was uneasy. “We get these unusual fog patterns often up here, and it isn’t a good idea to be out in them.”

“What’s my surprise? Can’t you tell me? You told Mom I’d have a birthday surprise I would never forget. I heard you talking.”

Aidan could see them now. The driver was a man nearing thirty, the boy, no more than fifteen. Aidan watched them, the urge to kill running in his veins, surging through his body. He felt power, in every nerve ending, reminding him he truly was alive.

The man was very nervous, peering into the fog on all sides of the truck, although he couldn’t see through the thick veil of white mist. For a moment he thought he saw eyes, hungry and glowing, almost gold. They were animal eyes—the eyes of a wolf—watching them from out of the night. It made his heart pound and his mouth go dry. He pulled the boy closer to him protectively. “Your Uncle James is keeping it for you.” He had to clear his throat twice before the words would come out. He knew they were in great danger, knew a predator was waiting to tear out their throats.

“Let’s just walk up to the hunting lodge, Uncle Gene. I can’t wait to try out my new rifle. Come on, it’s not that far,” the boy wheedled.

“Not in this fog, Donny. There are wolves in these woods. Other things. It’s best to wait until we can see clearly,” the man said firmly.

“We have guns,” the boy said sulkily. “Isn’t that why we brought them?”

“I said no. Guns don’t always make you safe, boy.”

Aidan crushed down the wild urges. The boy had not yet seen manhood. Whoever these mortals were, he would not kill unless his life or that of one of the others of his kind was threatened. He would not become a vampire, a betrayer of his people. It was becoming too easy to kill. A kind of seduction of power. The wind whipped up around him, swirled in a circle of leaves and twigs. Gregori settled beside him, Mikhail, pale and lifeless, cradled in his arms. “Let us leave this place, Aidan.”

“I could not kill them,” Aidan said quietly, no apology in his voice.

“If the older one is Eugene Slovensky, he will have much to occupy him this night. His brother lies dead beneath a pile of rocks, an exchange for Mikhail’s priest.”

“I did not dare kill them,” Aidan repeated, making it an admission.

“If it is Slovensky, he deserves to die, but I am grateful that you resisted the urge, knowing the danger to yourself. You have traveled far to hunt the undead for our people. It shows in the darkness of your soul.”

“I walk very close to the edge,” Aidan said quietly, without apology. “When Mikhail’s woman was injured so gravely, Mikhail’s fury was felt by every Carpathian in every land. The disturbance was unique, and I felt it was deserving of investigation. I returned to make certain his wisdom continues to benefit our people. It is my belief his woman is the hope for our future.”

“It is my belief also. Perhaps a new country would bring you relief. We have need of an experienced hunter in the United States.”

With the fog still thick, preventing penetration by the humans, Aidan turned his attention to the carefully constructed prison. With a lift of his hand, the earth shuddered and shook. The building was leveled, leaving only the stones marking the fresh grave.

Into the fog, Gregori rose with his burden, Aidan at his side. They raced across the dark sky to the caves, where the other Carpathian males arrived, one after another to aid in the healing of their prince.