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Father Hummer set a cup of tea beside her, taking his familiar place in the armchair. “What kinds of things?” he prompted gently.
She let her breath out slowly, raggedly. “I’ve been alone most of my life. I’ve always done whatever I wanted to do. When I want, I pick up and move. I travel quite a bit, and I value my freedom. I’ve never had to answer to anyone.”
“And you prefer that way of life to what you could have with Mikhail?”
Her hands shook as they circled the teacup, absorbing its warmth. “You ask tough questions, Father. I thought Mikhail and I could come to some sort of compromise. But it all happened so fast, and now I don’t know if the things I’m feeling are entirely my own. He’s always with me. Now, all of a sudden, he isn’t, and I can’t stand it. Look at me, I’m a mess. You didn’t know me before, but I’m used to being alone. I’m completely independent. Could he have done something to make this happen?”
“Mikhail would never force you to love him. I’m not certain he could do such a thing.”
She swallowed a steadying sip of tea. “I know that. But what about now—why can’t I be away from him? It makes no sense to feel such grief—to be so afraid for him. I like being alone, I value my privacy, yet without his touch, I’m falling apart. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is for someone like me?”
Father Hummer lowered his cup to the saucer and regarded her with troubled eyes. “There is no need to feel that way, Raven. I do know that Mikhail said when the male of his race meets his true lifemate, he can say ritual words to her and bind them together as they were meant to be. If she is not the one, neither is affected in any way, but if she is, one can’t be without the other.”
Raven put a defensive hand to her throat. “What words? Did he tell you the actual words?” She remembered the words he’d whispered in his native language and then repeated to her in her language. She’d felt different, and he’d told her they were married in the eyes of his people, but that hadn’t seemed real. A dream, perhaps, hadn’t it been?
Father Hummer shook his head regretfully. “Only that once said to the right woman, she is bound to him and can’t escape. The words are like our marriage vows. Carpathians have a different standard of values, of right and wrong. There is no such thing as divorce to them, it isn’t in their vocabulary. The two people are virtually two halves of the same whole.”
“What if one was unhappy?” Her fingers were twisting together in agitation. She remembered hearing Mikhail say something unusual. The memory was hazy, but he’d referred to her as his lifemate more than once. She should have known he was being literal.
“A Carpathian male will do anything necessary to ensure the happiness of his lifemate. I don’t know or understand how it works, but Mikhail told me the bond is so strong, a male can’t do anything else but make his woman happy.”
“I don’t understand how taking away choices would ever make anyone happy.”
“I believe, in this instance,” Father Hummer pointed out with a small smile, “Mikhail has no real choices either, not if you’re his true lifemate. He accepts what is because he is a true Carpathian.”
“But I’m not,” Raven said. “I don’t like secrets and I abhor lies, yet I find myself saying things that aren’t true because it seems in Mikhail’s best interest.”
“He didn’t ask it of you, did he? That was your choice,” he argued gently. “How much has he told you of himself?”
“Not much.” Wary now, she felt she was treading on treacherous ground. At all costs, she had to protect Mikhail—even if it meant lying to a priest. She hated that she would, but she knew she would never betray Mikhail. Raven touched her neck, her palm lingering over her pulse. “Whatever he did must work, Father, because I’m not the type to throw myself off a balcony because I’ve been away from a man a couple of hours.”
“I guess we should both be hoping Mikhail is getting a taste of his own medicine,” Father Hummer said with a small smile.
Raven’s heart slammed hard in her chest, her body shrieking in instant protest. The thought of Mikhail suffering in any way was terribly upsetting. She tried to conjure up an answering smile. “Somehow I think he’s safe from feeling anything.”
The priest studied her shadowed, grief-stricken face over his teacup. “I think Mikhail is very lucky to have found you. You’re strong yourself, just as he is.”
“I’m putting up a great front, then”—Raven wiped at her eyes with her knuckles—“because I feel like I’m breaking apart inside. And I’m not very happy with Mikhail.”
“Nor do I think you should be, yet your first instinct is to protect him. You were horrified by the idea that he might be suffering as you are.”
“I don’t like to see anyone in pain. There’s something sad about Mikhail, as if he’s borne the weight of the world on his shoulders for far too long. Sometimes I look at his face and there’s such sorrow there—not in his eyes exactly, but etched into his face.” Raven sighed. “I guess I’m not making any sense, but he needs someone to take the shadows away.”
“That’s an interesting assessment, child, and I must say, I know what you mean. I’ve seen the very same thing in him. Taking his shadows away.” He repeated the words, aloud, musing over them. “That’s it exactly.”
Raven nodded. “Like he’s seen too much violence, too many terrible things, and it’s pulled him deeper and deeper into darkness. When I’m close to him I can feel that. He stands like a guardian in front of some evil, malevolent gate and holds monsters at bay so the rest of us can go about our lives and never know we were even threatened.”
Father Hummer’s breath caught in his throat. “Is that how you see him? A guardian of the gate?”
Raven nodded. “It’s an image very vivid in my mind. I know it probably sounds melodramatic to you.”
“I wish I could have said those very words to him myself,” the priest said softly. “Many times he has come here seeking comfort, yet I never knew exactly what to say. I prayed God would send help to him to find his answer, Raven, and perhaps he sent you.”
She was trembling, constantly fighting the torment in her head, the need to touch Mikhail, the idea that he might be gone from Earth. Raven took a deep, calming breath, grateful for the priest. “I don’t think I’m God’s answer to anything, Father. Right now I want to curl up into a little ball and cry.”
“You can be strong, Raven. You know he lives.”
Raven sipped at the tea. It was hot and delicious. It put some warmth back into her insides, but it could never hope to heat the terrible emptiness, ice cold and grasping, that was devouring her soul. Slowly, inch by inch, that black hole was growing.
She tried to concentrate on other things, to enjoy her conversation with this man who knew and respected, even had great affection for, Mikhail. Raven took another drink of tea, struggling desperately to hang on to her sanity.
“Mikhail is an extraordinary man. He’s different, child. His ways, customs, the beliefs and rules he lives by, are different. Take time to learn about one another. You’ll find a way to meet in the middle,” Father Hummer said, hoping to distract her. “He is one of the gentlest men I have ever met. His sense of right and wrong is tremendous. He has a will of iron.”
“I’ve seen that,” Raven acknowledged.
“I’ll bet you have. Mikhail is a man few would want to have as an enemy. But he is also loyal and caring. I saw him restore this very village nearly single-handedly after a disaster once. Every person in it is important to him. There is a greatness in Mikhail.”
She had drawn up her knees and was rocking back and forth, her thoughts fragmenting, splintering until there were spiderweb cracks through her mind. Breathing was so difficult, each separate breath was agony to draw into her lungs. Mikhail! Where are you? The cry was wrenched from her heart. She needed him, just once, to answer, to touch her mind with his.
Black emptiness yawned back at her. Deliberately she bit down hard on her lower lip, welcoming
the pain, concentrating on it. She was strong. She had a brain. Whatever was consuming her, convincing her that she could not bear to go on without Mikhail, would not defeat her. It was not real.
“Raven.” The priest’s voice was very gentle. “The sun is up. It’s difficult to tell because you’re hurting right now. Look out the window. It’s a glorious morning. See it.”
“I can only see him,” she said in despair. “I need to feel him with me.” She raked a hand through her hair and raised her chin, her eyes questioning, filled with sorrow. “How could he allow this to happen to me? Did he know? Is this what life with him would be like? Because honestly, separating from him is hell. I don’t understand.” She choked back tears of grief. No matter how hard she tried to tell herself Mikhail was alive and well, her mind wouldn’t believe her. It was frightening to be so out of control.
Ten
You’re a strong woman, Raven. You know he’s alive, that he’ll be here this evening to see you.” Father Hummer shifted back in his seat, his voice calm, his faded eyes sympathetic.
Raven could taste blood where she’d bitten her lip. It was strange. She had never noticed that blood had a taste. Hot. Sweet. The sensation was odd. Her mind tried to puzzle out why the thought of tasting blood didn’t repulse her when she couldn’t seem to eat or drink anything else.
“Father, the tea. I was able to drink your tea. It stayed down.”
A flicker of something showed briefly on his normally serene features, but Raven couldn’t identify it. Concern? Fear? She watched him closely, for the first time wishing she were close enough to actually touch him and make it appear casual so she could read his thoughts.
“It’s a special blend of herbs. I always have a cup when I have had an especially difficult day. Mikhail grows, harvests, and dries a wide variety of herbs, and this is one of his blends. No one knows more about the earth, plants, trees, and their uses than Mikhail. He’s been supplying me with tea blends for years.”
“Does he supply the villagers as well? The inn?” Raven was trying to fit pieces of a puzzle together, but too many of the pieces were missing.
“I believe he does.”
“Have you ever noticed the hypnotic quality to Mikhail’s voice? How mesmerizing his eyes are? It can’t just be me. He possesses such power and charisma. Everyone automatically does what he says.”
“That’s very true.”
“Is it possible there is something in his herbs that makes us more susceptible to him?” She was desperate for a simple explanation. “I drank tea when I first arrived at the inn. Mrs. Gravenstein told me the blend would help me relax after such a long trip.”
“You don’t believe that, Raven.”
She flashed him a quick, guilty look. “It could happen.”
The priest smiled at her and shook his head. “What possible motive would he have?”
The empty black hole yawned wider, claimed more of her soul, a hideous dark stain she couldn’t fight. Whispers told her he was dead—gone from her. “Power,” she said, desperate for an explanation that might make sense. “He’s used to ultimate power, and power corrupts.”
“You believe Mikhail to be corrupt?” Father Hummer asked, his voice a soft accusation.
“Right now I can’t distinguish what is real and what is an illusion in my mind. Everything in me urges me to run as fast and as far from this place as I can, but I know, by what’s happening to me, that it’s already too late. There’s no way out for me. Whatever Mikhail did to me, he had to have done with the full knowledge of the consequences to both of us. And you know I’m right, Father.”
“Did you lead him to believe that you loved him and wanted to be with him?” He looked at the ancient ring on her finger.
Raven fought for air, her hands going to her throat. “Where is he?” Fear for Mikhail, fear for herself, clawed at her. She couldn’t think—or breathe. She was strangling . . . losing the fight for her own sanity.
Abruptly Father Hummer got to his feet and drew her up beside him. “Enough, Raven. Let’s go outside and tend my garden. Once you feel the dirt on your hands, and breathe in the fresh air, you will feel so much better.” If that didn’t work, he would have no choice but to fall to his knees and pray.
Raven managed laughter through her tears. “When you touch me, Father, I know what you’re thinking. Is a priest supposed to hate getting down on his knees?”
He released her as if she had burned him, and then began to laugh himself. “At my age, my dear, with my arthritis, I feel much more like swearing than praying when I kneel. And you have uncovered one of my greatest secrets.”
In spite of everything, they both laughed softly as they went out into the morning sunlight. Raven’s eyes watered, protesting the glare. She had to close her eyes against the pain slicing right through her head. She clapped her hand over her eyes. “The sun is so bright! I can hardly see, and it hurts to open my eyes.”
“Did Mikhail give you sunglasses?” Father Hummer asked quickly.
“Why would he? I have a pair in my room, but there was no need to wear them in the evening.” She peeked out through her fingers, closing her eyes hastily when the sunlight seemed to burn through them. “Doesn’t the brightness bother you?”
“Mikhail may have left a pair of his glasses here. He tends to do that sort of thing when he loses a chess match.” To distract her while he rummaged through his desk, he gave her a little more insight into Mikhail. “When he loses a chess match, which isn’t often, his eyes go dark, reminding me of great brooding storm clouds gathering. He’s used to winning, and every now and then I manage to lull him into a false sense of security. I savor every victory. It’s very sweet to me after so many years of losing to the man, but he always wants a rematch. Be careful if you play chess with him, he takes it very seriously.” He laughed softly, invitingly.
“I played with him. It was hard to concentrate when every single time I looked up, he was staring at me with this look . . .” She blushed when she realized she maybe should have kept that part to herself instead of confessing to the priest.
He laughed as he triumphantly held up a pair of dark glasses specially crafted for Mikhail. “I don’t have that problem when I play a match with him,” he admitted with a small chuckle. “Here we go. These should do.”
The frames were too large for her face, but Father Hummer fastened them with a band. Slowly Raven opened her eyes. The frames were surprisingly light, considering just how dark the lenses were. The relief to her eyes was instantaneous.
“These are great. I don’t recognize the brand name.”
“One of Mikhail’s friends makes them,” Father Hummer said, as he led the way to a large, fenced-in area. He held the gate for her.
The garden was beautiful. Raven sank down and buried her hands in the rich, dark soil. Her fingers curled around its richness. Something heavy eased in her heart, allowed a little more air into her laboring lungs. She had an urge to lie down full-length in the fertile bed, to close her eyes and absorb the earth into her skin.
It was Father Hummer’s garden that got her through the long hours of the morning. The noonday sun sent her seeking the sanctuary of his cottage. Even with the protection of glasses, Raven’s eyes burned and continually watered, aching in the power of the sun. Her skin seemed ultrasensitive, burning and reddening fast, although she had never sunburned before.
They retreated together and managed two chess games, one interrupted while Raven concentrated on fighting her private demons. She was grateful for Father Hummer’s presence, uncertain she could have survived her separation from Mikhail without him. She drank herbal tea to counteract the terrible weakness in her body from lack of food.
The afternoon hours seemed endless. Raven managed to stave off the yawning emptiness with only a few bouts of weeping. By five o’clock she was exhausted and determined that, for her own pride, she had to manage the last couple of hours on her own. Mikhail would call for her in two hours, three at the most, if
he had spoken the truth. If Raven was to live with herself, recover any of her independence and dignity, she had to face those last hours alone.
Father Hummer was reluctant to allow her to be alone, but her pride insisted. Even with the sun so much lower in the sky and clouds beginning to move across the horizon, sunlight still hurt her eyes despite the dark glasses. Without them, she would never have made it through the village streets back to the inn.
Fortunately the inn was relatively quiet. Mrs. Galvenstein and her people were in the midst of preparing dinner and setting up the dining room. None of the other guests were present, so Raven was able to escape unnoticed to her room.
She took a long shower, allowing the hot water to beat on her body, hoping it would drive out her terrible need for Mikhail. She braided her damp, blue-black hair into a long, thick tail and lay down on her bed without a stitch on. The cool air fanned her skin, hot from the shower, traveled over her, soothing her. Raven closed her eyes, absorbing the sensations.
She became aware of the sound of pottery chinking together as the tables were set. Without conscious thought, she latched on to that. It seemed a good way to keep misery and grief at bay, to explore this new capability. Raven found that with a little concentration she could turn the volume down low, even off, or she could hear insects beating their wings in the pantry. There was the sound of mice scurrying around in the walls, a few in the attic.
The cook and the maid argued briefly over the maid’s duties. Mrs. Galvenstein hummed off-key in the kitchen as she worked. Whispers drew Raven’s attention, the whispers of conspirators. She knew it was wrong to listen, but something undefined in those whispers, an emotional backlash of adrenaline, a sick excitement, put her moral scruples aside, and she tuned in to the specific conversation coming from one of the rooms.
“There is no way Mikhail Dubrinsky or Raven Whitney are undead,” Margaret Summers was saying hotly. “He may know these people, but he isn’t a vampire.”
“We have to go now.” That was Hans. “We won’t get another chance like this again. We can’t wait for the others. We must go now or we will lose this opportunity, and I have no intention of waiting until dark.”