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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!”
Mikhail made the decision for her, fear for her life overriding everything else. If the vampire had found a natural narcotic that could confuse Raven, he was confident that their bond would counteract it. He commanded her with love and reverence, forcing his will on her, knowing she would never fight him as she did the vampire.
Raven was too weak to hold the glass. The vampire exposed his fangs in an evil grin. “If you wish her to live, prince, you have no choice but to allow me to help her.” There was gloating in his voice, a kind of contemptuous triumph.
His hands closed around her wrist, steadying her hand. His arm snaked around her shoulders, shifted her small body so that her back rested against his chest and his arms deliberately enfolded her, forcing her against his rotting flesh.
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. She could read his evil intent.
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, and if they didn’t, Mikhail would be kept alive until Andre ensured Raven no longer remembered him. 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.
Raven, my love. Gregori is following the moment he completes his task. They will not hold me for long. You must do this terrible thing for me. And believe we will come after you and find you. They will not kill me.
“Drink!” The vampire was becoming alarmed. Her heart stuttered with the effort to beat. The smear of crimson across her forehead indicated agony—Carpathians sweated blood under extreme duress.
“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, but he realized her will was stronger than he had anticipated, making his task all the more difficult.
Her heart and lungs responded almost immediately to the liquid. Her breathing became less labored, her body grew warm. The moment Mikhail relinquished his 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. He filled the room with his power—with his presence. He looked calm and aristocratic, an elegant man bred to royalty.
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.
“Admit to these men that you are the head vampire.”
Mikhail’s smile was slightly mocking. “I see that you like games, Andre. I do, indeed, lead my people.”
“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, and then turned his attention back to Mikhail. “You cannot come close enough to her to give blood. Drain it into a container.”
Why would he want your blood, Mikhail?
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.
In desperation Raven reached for Gregori. You must come.
I tend Jacques.
You must come, hurry, Gregori.
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. Remember to keep that focus. He knows nothing of our bond, so you also have that. 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.
Nineteen
No.” Raven fought the vampire in earnest, fear lending her the 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. He expected this to happen, Raven.
Raven could feel Gregori drawing 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 while Mikhail remained silent, his dark eyes very black, glinting like ice. He made no sound at all while his precious blood ran in streams from his body.
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 hunts, 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 taunted 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.”
Mikhail’s voice was very low, a musical thread of sound that Slovensky found himself wanting to hear again. Hypnotic. Slovensky shook his head to clear it. He 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 and 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 backward, 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, two black holes, windows to hell, 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 created. Mikhail would have killed James Slovensky outright, without the drama Gregori had such a flair 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. For the first time in centuries of living, Mikhail was forced to rely on another being. Gregori. The dark one. A royal pain in the neck.
I read your thoughts, my friend.
Mikhail stirred, pain shafting through him. More rocks fell on Slovensky in retaliation, covering him like a blanket, beginning to form a macabre grave.
As you were meant to.
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 rarely 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.
A greenish mist streamed through cracks in the fallen wall, shimmered for a moment as it swept through the room.
Gregori kept his body positioned between the mist and his prince, facing the mist. Vampires often had lesser ones to serve them, new to the world of vampire and unable yet to fend completely for themselves.
The mist began to form into a human frame, and Byron faced Gregori, staring at the fallen prince. “Who has done this? And who is the one buried beneath the rocks?” Not daring to pass Gregori’s imposing figure, Byron knelt beside the priest and gently touched his forehead, making the sign of the cross there.
“The one beneath the rocks was nothing more than a puppet, a human servant to the vampire. There are two bodies near Mikhail’s old cabin that must be disposed of properly. We cannot have the villagers panicking and going on a wolf hunt.”
“Byron, find Raven,” Mikhail whispered.
“Mikhail”—Gregori’s teeth tore his own wrist, and he pressed it to the prince’s mouth—“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 offered 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 strengt
h 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 in a mesmerizing voice.
Verink sokta; verink kana terád—our blood mingles and calls to you. His flowing chant of ancient language filled the room. Byron’s voice joined in with the ancient words.
You will hear my words, let Mother Earth welcome you. The soil will heal your wounds and soothe your mind. Sleep, Mikhail.
Mikhail’s lids grew heavy in spite of his intention to command the others to find his lifemate.
My blood is powerful, mixing with yours. Feel it healing your body. Gregori left his own body, becoming a white powerful healing energy streaming into the body of the prince, merging completely with Mikhail, flowing into him so that he could search out each ragged hole, push out foreign objects, and repair all damage from the inside out with the precision of the most skilled surgeon.
Byron guarded both bodies, stepping away from the priest to face the surrounding woods when the first ripple of energy reached him. Someone approached, someone of power, which wasn’t entirely unexpected when their prince lay in a pool of blood. Hunters would be gathering from all over. Still, he trusted no one, not when both the prince and Gregori were at risk.
Byron watched as a large horned owl circled the ruined building, and then settled on the crumpled wall. Slowly the wings folded and the owl’s round eyes surveyed the scene below. The talons flexed, relaxed. He positioned his body between the owl and the two Carpathians he was guarding. The owl had unusual coloring, the feathers tipped in gold, the eyes ringed with gold. A slow smile softened the hard lines in his face.
“I should have known you would come,” Byron greeted.