“Mikhail...” Jacques said warningly.
“We have no choice. She did not take all that she needed, not even close. We cannot afford the delay of argument. I ask you, my brother, and you, Gregori, as my friend, to do this for us.” Mikhail cradled Raven’s head in his lap, sat back among the pillows and closed his eyes tiredly while they began the primitive process.
If he lived another thousand years, Mikhail would never forget that first stirring of unease in his mind while he lay as dead beneath the earth. Knowledge had exploded in his brain, spread terror in his heart and fury in his soul. He had felt Raven’s rippling fear. Jacob’s hand on her precious body, the brutal blows, the tearing sensation of the knife as it sliced through skin and into her soft insides. So much pain and fear. So much guilt that she had failed to protect Eleanor and her unborn child.
Raven’s weak touch had slipped inside his mind, so whispery, edged with pain and regret.
I’m sorry, Mikhail. I’ve failed you.
Her last coherent thought had been for him. He loathed himself, loathed Eleanor for not having the discipline to learn mental communication, focused and pure.
In that one second of understanding, as he lay helpless, locked in the soil, the very foundations of his life, his beliefs, had been rocked. As he burst free, Jacques rising with him, he had mentally reached for Jacob, had buried the bloodstained knife to the hilt in the murderer’s throat.
The storm enabled Vlad to break Eleanor and him free without the fear of blindness or that one moment of complete disorientation that would have given the assassins the time to kill his laboring wife.
Mikhail sought Raven’s mind, crawled to her with warmth and love, his arms a shelter. The needle jabbed the inside of his arm, pierced hers. He had no doubt that his brother would monitor the transfusion closely. Jacques held Mikhail’s life along with Raven’s in his hands. If she died, Mikhail followed her. He knew in his heart, the black fury that remained would endanger anyone near him, Carpathian and human alike. He could only hope that Gregori was up to the job of dispatching Carpathian justice to him swiftly and accurately if Raven should die.
No.
Even in an unconscious state, she was trying to save him.
He stroked her hair in long caresses.
Sleep, little one. You are in need of healing sleep.
Using his mind, he breathed for both of them, in and out, forcing oxygen into his lungs, her lungs. He kept the rhythm of their hearts together. He took on as much of the mechanics of her body as he could to enable her to heal.
Jacques knew Mikhail’s mind was made up. If this woman failed to live, they would lose Mikhail. Right now Mikhail was using his power to keep her blood flowing, her heart pumping, and her lungs working. It was a draining process.
Gregori met Jacques’s eyes over Mikhail’s head. He was not going to allow the couple to die. It was up to them to heal her. “I will do it, Jacques.” It wasn’t a request.
The air stirred beside them and Celeste materialized with Eric. “He chooses to follow her,” she said softly. “He loves her that much.”
“It is already known?” Jacques asked.
“He is withdrawing,” Eric answered. “All Carpathians can feel it. Is there a chance to save them?”
Jacques looked up, his handsome face haggard, his dark eyes, so like Mikhail’s, grief-stricken. “She fights for him. She knows he will choose to follow her.”
“Enough!” Gregori hissed, bringing them all to attention. “We have no choice but to save them. That is all that can be in our minds.”
Celeste reached toward Raven. “Let me do this for her, Jacques. I am a woman; I carry a child. I will make no mistakes.”
“Gregori is a healer, Celeste. You are with child and it is difficult,” Jacques denied softly.
“Both of you are supplying blood for them. You could make a mistake.” Celeste pushed the sheet from Raven’s stomach. Her gasp was audible, her horror very real. Involuntarily she stepped back. “My God, Jacques. There is no chance.”
Furious, Jacques elbowed her out of the way. Gregori stepped between them, his pale eyes flowing over Celeste like mercury, glittering with a calm, cold menace, with a terrible rebuke. “There is no question that I will be the one to heal her. And she will be healed. While I perform this task I want only those who believe completely to attend. Go now if you cannot give me this aid. I must have only complete conviction in my mind and the minds of those around us. She will live because there is no other alternative.”
Gregori placed his hands over the wounds, closed his eyes, and went seeking out of his own body and into the one lying so hideously wounded, as still as death.
Mikhail felt Raven’s stirring of pain. She flinched, tried to move away, tried to fade so that this new, painful sensation could not touch her. Mikhail surrounded her effortlessly, held her still for Gregori to do the intricate work of repairing damaged organs.
Relax into it, little one. I am here in this place with you.
I can’t do this.
It was more a feeling than words. So much pain.
Choose for us, then, Raven. You will not go alone.
“No!” Jacques’s protest was sharp. “I know what you do, Mikhail. Drink now or I will not continue the transfusion.”
Fury welled up, shook Mikhail out of his semistupor. Jacques met the rage in his dark eyes with deliberate calm. “You are too weak from loss of blood to oppose me.”
“Then let me feed.” There was cold fury, black as night in those words. Pure menace, the threat of death.
Jacques exposed his throat without hesitating, managing to prevent a groan of pain as Mikhail bit deep, fed hungrily, ferociously, like a savage animal. Jacques did not struggle or make a sound, offering up his life for his brother and Raven. Eric moved toward them as Jacques’s knees buckled and he sat down hard, but Jacques motioned him away.
Mikhail lifted his head abruptly, his shadowed features so haunted and grief-stricken, Jacques ached for him. “Forgive me, Jacques. There is no excuse for my treatment of you.”
“There is nothing to forgive when I offer freely,” Jacques whispered raggedly. Eric moved immediately to his side, supplying Jacques with blood.
“How could anyone do such a thing to her? She is so good, so courageous. She risked her life to help a stranger. How could someone want to harm her?” Mikhail asked, raising his eyes toward the heavens. Silence was his only answer.
Mikhail’s gaze found Gregori. He watched his friend work with the intense concentration of the healing ritual. The low chant was soothing to him, brought a measure of relief to his tormented soul. He could feel Gregori with them, inside her body, working, weaving the magic of body repair, a painstakingly slow process.
“Enough blood,” Jacques whispered hoarsely as he lit the scented candles and began another low chant.
Gregori stirred, his eyes remaining closed, but he nodded. “Her body is attempting the conversion. Our blood is soaking into her organs and working to change and repair tissue. She needs time for the process.” He moved back inside to the deep penetrating wounds he was aligning. Her womb was damaged, and it was far too important to take any chances. She must be made perfect.
“Her heart is too slow,” Jacques said weakly as he slid from the bed to the floor. He looked startled to find himself there.
“Her body needs more time to make the change and heal,” Celeste added, watching Gregori work. She knew she was witnessing a miracle. She had never been this close to the legendary Carpathian everyone whispered about. Few of their people actually saw Gregori up close. Power emanated from his every pore.
“She is right,” Mikhail agreed weakly. “I will continue to breathe for her, continue to ensure her heartbeats. Eric, you must care for Jacques.”
“Rest, Mikhail, see to your woman. Jacques will be fine. Tienn is here if there is a problem. Gregori has many hours of work ahead of him,” Eric replied. “If it is necessary, we can call others in to help.”
Jacques reached up his hand to his brother. Mikhail took it. “You must calm your anger, Mikhail. The storm is too strong. The very mountains rage with you.” He closed his eyes and laid his head against the bedframe, his hand still clasped in Mikhail’s.
Raven felt almost detached from what was happening to her body. Her awareness of others in the room and their movements came through Mikhail. He was with her somehow, in her body, breathing for her. And there was another, one she didn’t recognize, but he was also in her, working like a surgeon would, repairing the extensive damage to her body, to her internal organs, paying special attention to her female organs. She wanted to just stop, allow the pain to swamp her, to carry her someplace far beyond feelings. She could just let go. She was tired, so tired. It would be so very easy. It was what she wanted, longed for.
She rejected the beckoning peace, fought to hang on to life. Mikhail’s life. She wanted to brush her fingertips over the lines of strain she knew would be around his mouth. She wanted to ease his guilt and rage, assure him that everything had been her own choice. His love, total, uncompromising, unconditional, endless, was almost more than she could cope with. Most of all she was aware of the strange changes taking place in her body.
None of it touched her, wrapped tightly, protectively in the cocoon of Mikhail’s love. He breathed, she breathed. His heart beat, her heart beat.
Sleep, little one. I will watch for both of us.
After several long, backbreaking hours, Gregori straightened up, his hair damp with perspiration, his face weary and lined, his body aching with fatigue. “I have done my best. If she lives, she will be able to have a child. Mikhail’s blood and the soil should complete the healing process. The change is taking place rapidly. She does not understand and does not fight it.” He pushed a hand stained with her precious blood through his hair. “She fights only for Mikhail’s life, thinks only of his life and how her death would affect him. I think it is better if she does not understand what is actually happening to her. She does not know the extent of her wounds. There is much pain. She suffers greatly, but she is not a quitter, this one.”
Jacques was already preparing new poultices to replace the blood-soaked ones. “Can we give her more blood? She is still losing more than I like and is so weak, I fear she will not live through the night.”
“Yes,” Gregori replied tiredly, thoughtfully, “but no more than a pint or two. We must do this slowly or we will alarm her. What she would accept unconditionally in Mikhail, she will not accept in herself. Give her my blood. It is potent, like Mikhail’s, and he grows weak trying to breathe for her and keep her heart going.”
“You are tired, Gregori,” Jacques protested. “There are others.”
“Not with my blood. Do as I say.” Gregori seated himself calmly and watched as a needle was inserted into his vein. No one argued with Gregori; he was a law unto himself. Only Mikhail could truly call him friend.
Celeste drew in a deep breath, wanting to say something to Gregori that would indicate her admiration, but there was a look in his eyes that stopped her. Gregori was calm in the eye of the storm; he was lethal in his coolness.
Jacques allowed Gregori’s precious life fluid to flow directly into Raven’s veins. It wasn’t the best or fastest way for healing, but Gregori’s observations alleviated Jacques’s concerns. Only after he had assured himself that the blood was flowing easily did Jacques sit down again. They had to organize themselves, make certain every detail was taken care of. Mikhail believed details saved lives. “We need to assess the damage to our people. All of the assassins died; not one escaped?”
“Hans, the American couple, and the man who attacked Raven.” Eric counted them off. “They were the only ones present. No mortal could have survived the intensity of the storm, the killing rage in the animals. If there had been an unseen observer, Mikhail or the beasts would have known.”
Gregori stirred tiredly, his enormous strength beginning to fade with his continuing efforts. “There was no other.” He said it imperiously, as if no one would think to question him, and of course they wouldn’t.
Jacques found a small grin touching his mouth for the first time all evening. “But you made a clean sweep of the area, Eric?”
“Absolutely. The bodies are burned, caught together under a tree as if for shelter and hit by lightning. There is no evidence of wounds,” Eric reported.
“Tomorrow a search will be launched for the missing tourists and Hans. Byron, your house is close; the other assassins will suspect you. Do not go near your home. Vlad must take Eleanor and the child away from this area completely.”
“Are they able to travel?” Gregori asked. “By car.”
“We have the night. I have a house I use in the winter months sometimes, not often. It is well protected, difficult to access.” Gregori’s smile did nothing to warm his silver eyes. “I like my privacy. At the moment it is unoccupied. I offer it freely for the protection of the woman and child for as long as there is need. The house is well over a hundred miles from this place, and I roam the world, so you will not be disturbed.”
Before Vlad could protest, Jacques preempted him. “Excellent idea. That solves one of our problems. Byron has his own bolt-holes. Start now, Vlad. Guard Eleanor well. She is precious to us, as is the child.”
“I must speak to Mikhail. Eleanor is very distraught that she put Raven’s life in jeopardy.”
“Mikhail is not himself.” Jacques removed the needle from Raven’s limp body and Gregori’s arm. Her breath was so light, so shallow, he didn’t see how Mikhail could keep her going. “You will have to discuss things at another time. He is forced to use all his energies for Raven’s survival. His woman is not breathing on her own.”
Vlad frowned, but complied when Gregori waved him out. He might have stayed to argue with Jacques to ease the conscience of his lifemate, but all obeyed Gregori. He was Mikhail’s right hand, the most relentless of their hunters, the true healer of their people, and he guarded Mikhail as a treasure.
“None of our people have fed this night,” Eric pointed out, studying his wife’s pale features. “No human will be out.”
“The risk is great when we are forced to enter a dwelling.” Jacques sighed, wishing he could consult Mikhail.
“Do not disturb him,” Gregori said. “She needs him more than we do. If she dies, we lose him and any real chance at a future for our race. Noelle was the last female to survive, and that was more than five hundred years ago. We need this woman to continue our species. We must be at full strength. It is not finished.”
Mikhail stirred, opened his dark, haunted eyes. “It is not finished. There are at least two others, possibly four. Eugene Slovensky, Kurt Von Halen. I do not know the identity of the other two travelers, or if they are even involved. Their names should be at the inn; Mrs. Galvenstein can provide them.” Long lashes drooped. Mikhail’s fingers tunneled deeply into Raven’s hair, as if he could drag her back from the brink of death.
Jacques watched those long fingers stroke her hair lovingly. “Can we put her in soil for a few hours, Gregori?”
“It should speed the healing process.”
Eric and Jacques went down to prepare the cellar, opening the earth with a single command, creating enough space to lay two bodies side by side. They moved Raven carefully, and Mikhail stayed close to her side, never speaking, focusing his entire concentration on her heart, her lungs, on preserving the dim light that contained her will to live.
He lowered himself deep in the bowels of the earth, felt the healing properties of the rich soil as it settled around him like a welcoming bed. He accepted her slight weight, fit her body into the shelter of his.
Mikhail moved his hands, formed a slight tunnel over their heads and ordered the earth to blanket them. The soil filled in closely around and over his legs, her legs, covered their bodies, pressing them deeper into the earth.
Raven’s heart leapt, nearly missing a beat, became erratic in spite of the fi
rm beating of his own heart.
I’m alive! They’re burying us alive!
Be still, little one. We are of the earth. It is offering to heal us. You are not alone, I am here with you.
I can’t breathe.
I am breathing for us.
I can’t stand it. Make them stop.
The earth has recuperative powers. Let them work. I am Carpathian, of the earth. There is nothing to fear. Not the wind or the soil or the waters. We are one.
1 am not Carpathian.
There was sheer terror in her mind.
We are one. Nothing can hurt you.
She closed herself off from him, began a frantic struggle that could only end her life. Mikhail realized it was futile to argue. She could not accept the earth closing around her, over her head. He released them from the ground immediately, forced her heart to slow to normal, floating upward with her in his arms.
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