“I feared this,” he said to Jacques, who was still in the cellar. “Carpathian blood runs strong in her veins, but her mind sets human limits. Burial represents death. She cannot tolerate the deep earth.”
“Then we must bring the soil to her,” Jacques said.
“She is so weak, Jacques.” Mikhail held Raven to him, his face etched with grief. “It makes no sense that this was done to her.”
“No, it does not, Mikhail,” Jacques answered.
“I have been so selfish with her. I am still being selfish. I should have allowed her to find peace, but I could not. I would have followed her, Jacques, but I do not know if I would have gone quietly from this world as I should have.”
“And then what of the rest of us? She represents our chance, our hope. We have to have hope, Mikhail. Without it none of us can continue for much longer. We believe in you; we believe you will find the answer for the rest of us.” Jacques paused at the door out of the cellar. “I will get a mattress. Byron, Eric, and I will cover it in the richest soil we can find.”
“Have they fed?”
“The night is on us; we have many hours.”
In the cellar they set up a healing bed, used herbs and incense, covered the mattress in three inches of earth. Once again Raven and Mikhail settled together, her head on his chest, his arms holding her close. Jacques packed the soil beneath her so that it contoured to the curves of her body. They formed a thin blanket of it to lay over them, added a sheet so she would be able to feel the reassuring comfort of cotton against her neck, her face.
“Keep her still, Mikhail,” Jacques encouraged. “The wounds are closing, but she is still losing blood. Not much, and we can give her more blood in a couple of hours.”
Mikhail rested his cheek against her silky head, allowed his eyes to close. “Go feed, Jacques, before you drop,” he murmured wearily.
“I will go when the others return. We will not leave you and your woman unprotected.”
Mikhail stirred as if he might protest, but then a grin tugged at the hard edges of his mouth. “Remind me to take you out back and teach you a lesson or two when I am feeling more myself.” He fell asleep with the sound of Jacques’s laughter in his ears and Raven wrapped tightly in his arms.
Outside, the rain eased to a fine drizzle, and the winds died down, taking the thunderclouds with them. The earth was silent after the series of quakes. Cats and dogs and livestock settled down to their normal behavior. Wild animals sought shelter finally from the storm.
Raven awoke slowly, painfully. Before she opened her eyes, she assessed the situation. She was hurt; she should be dead. She was in Mikhail’s arms, their mental bond stronger than ever. He had dragged her back from death, then offered to let her go—if he went with her. She could hear the sounds of the house creaking over her head, the soothing sound of rain beating a tattoo on the roof, at the windows. Someone moved in the house. If she worked at it, she would be able to figure out exactly who it was and where in the house he was, but it seemed far too much trouble.
Slowly she allowed the horror of what had happened to replay in her head. The trapped woman about to give birth, the ugly fanaticism that led to such brutal murder and insanity. Jacob’s face as he slapped her, ripped her clothing.
Raven’s low cry of alarm brought Mikhail’s arms tighter around her, his chin nuzzling her head. “Do not think of such things. Let me send you back to sleep.”
She curled her fingers against his throat, needing the reassurance of his steady pulse. “No. I want to remember, to get it over.”
His uneasiness was instantaneous. It disturbed her as nothing else could. “You are weak, Raven. You will need more blood, more sleep. Your wounds were very serious.”
She moved then, just shifted her weight slightly. Pain clawed at her. “I couldn’t reach you. I tried, Mikhail, for that woman.”
He brought her fingers to the warmth of his mouth, pressed them there. “Never again, Raven, will I fail you.”
There was more pain in his heart and mind than in her body. “I chose to follow them, Mikhail. I chose to involve myself and help the woman. I knew exactly what those people were capable of. I didn’t just walk into the situation blindly. I don’t blame you; please don’t think you failed me.” It was such an effort to talk. She wanted to sleep, wanted the blessed oblivion of a numb mind and body.
“Let me send you to sleep,” he whispered softly, his voice a caress, his mouth brushing across her fingers an added enticement.
Raven swallowed her assent; she would not be a coward. How could she possibly still be alive? How? She remembered the terrible moment when Jacob’s hands had clawed at her breasts. Unclean. Her skin crawled at the memory. She wanted to scrub until she had no skin. His face, so evil, maniacal, malevolent. Every tearing stab a mortal wound.
The storm, the earthquakes, lightning, thunder. Wolves leaping at the Summerses, at Hans. How did she know, see it in her mind so clearly? Jacob’s face dissolving into fear, his eyes wide with terror, a knife protruding from his throat. Why wasn’t she dead? How did she know everything?
Mikhail’s fury. It was beyond imagination, beyond the mere bounds of a physical body. Nothing could contain such turbulent rage. It spilled from him, fed the storm until the very earth heaved and rolled, bolts of lightning slammed into the earth and rain poured down.
Was this all real or some horrendous nightmare? But she knew it was real, and she was close to some terrible truth. There was so much pain; she was so tired and Mikhail was her only comfort. She wanted to crawl back into the shelter he provided and just let him protect her and keep her safe until she was strong again. Mikhail simply waited, allowed her to choose. He was providing warmth, love, closeness, but he was holding something inside himself, away from her.
Raven closed her eyes, concentrated. She remembered Mikhail suddenly beside her, pain and fear in his dark, mesmerizing eyes, his arms dragging her close, his mind seeking, finding hers, commanding her to stay, holding her anchored to the earth when her body was dying. His brother was there, and more of his people. Something was placed on her abdomen, something that seemed to work its way into her body, something warm and alive. Low, soothing chanting had filled the air all around her.
Shock and alarm emanated from Mikhail’s people. Mikhail’s blood, hot, sweet, revitalizing, soaking into her body, her organs, reshaping muscle, tissue. Not flowing into veins, but...
Raven went rigid, her brain so shocked it was numb. The very breath was driven from her body.
Not the first time.
Other memories surfaced: Mikhail’s frenzied feeding, her mouth pressed hungrily over his heart. “Oh, God!” The words escaped as a strangled sob of denial.
It was the truth, not some hallucination. But her human brain refused the truth. It wasn’t possible; it couldn’t be. She was in the middle of some terrible nightmare and any moment she would wake up. That had to be what was happening. She was mixing everything up—the assassins’ fanatical belief in vampires and Mikhail’s powers. But her heightened senses told her differently, told her the truth. She was lying in some underground chamber, with soil under her, over her. They had tried to bury her in it. To sleep. To heal.
Mikhail simply waited, allowed her mind to process information, held nothing back from her, even when she drew on his memories. When her reaction came, it took him totally by surprise. He’d expected screams, tears, hysteria.
Raven jackknifed off the mattress, cried out low, an animal sound of pain. She rolled away from him, heedless of the consequences to her mortally wounded body.
He spoke sharply, much more sharply than he intended, his fear for her safety outweighing his compassion. His command paralyzed her body, trapped her helplessly on the floor. Only her eyes were alive with terror as he crouched beside her, ran his hands over her wounds, seeking the extent of the damage.
“Relax, little one. I know this knowledge is shocking to you,” he murmured, frowning as he saw the precious blood see
ping from three of the four wounds. He lifted her, cradled her in his arms, close to the shelter of his heart.
Let me go.
Her plea sounded in his mind, echoed in his heart.
“Never.” Mikhail’s harsh features were an implacable stone mask. He looked at the doors over their heads. The doors responded, flying open at the touch of his will.
Raven closed her eyes.
Mikhail, please, I’m begging you. I cannot be as you are.
“You have no idea what I am,” he said gently, floating up to the next level so nothing would jar her body. “Humans mix up the truth about my race with stories of the undead, stealing babies, killing, tormenting victims. I could not have saved you if you were dead. We are a race of people who belong to the earth, the sky, the wind, and the water. Like any other people, we have our talents and our limitations.” He did not go into details about where vampires came from. She needed truth, but not everything at once.
Mikhail took her to a guestroom, laid her carefully on the bed. “We are not the vampires in your horror stories, the walking dead, for God’s sake. We love, we worship, we work, we give service to our countries. We find it disgusting that the human male can beat his wife or child, that a mother could neglect her child. We are repulsed that the human race can eat the flesh of an animal. To us blood is lifegiving, sacred. We would never dishonor the human by hurting or killing. It is taboo to have sex with a human and then drink of his or her blood. I know I should never have taken your blood—it was wrong—but it was wrong because I did not tell you what could happen. I knew you were my true lifemate and my existence could not continue without you. I should have had more control. For that I will pay through all eternity, but it is done. We cannot undo what has already been wrought.”
Mikhail finished new poultices, placed them precisely over the wounds to seal them. Her fear, her revulsion, her sense of betrayal beat at his insides, making him want to weep for her, for both of them.
“What I did with you was not the same thing as using a human woman for sex. We did not have sex; my body recognized you as my lifemate. There was no way I could ignore the call. I would have had to choose to end my life. The ritual demands the exchange of blood. It is not feeding hunger; it is purely a sensual exchange, a beautiful, erotic affirmation of love and trust. The first time I took your blood, I inadvertently took too much because I felt such ecstasy. I was out of control. I was wrong to tie you to me without your understanding of exactly what it all meant. But I allowed you to make the choice. You cannot deny it.”
Raven stared up at his face, reading the sorrow in his dark eyes, the fear for her. She wanted to touch him, to ease those lines of strain, to reassure him that she could handle what he was asking of her, but her brain could not accept what he was saying.
“I would have chosen death, if you had allowed me to go with you.” He pushed the hair from her face with gentle, caressing fingers. “You know that, Raven. The only way I could save you was to make you one of us. You chose life.”
I didn’t know what I was doing.
“If you had known, would you have chosen death for me?”
Her blue eyes, so bewildered and confused, so haunted, searched his face.
Release me, Mikhail. I do not like to lie here helpless.
Mikhail covered her body with a thin sheet. “Your wounds are severe; you need blood, healing, and sleep. Do not move around.”
Her eyes chastised him. Mikhail touched her chin with gentle fingers. He released her, his eyes watchful. “Answer me, little one. Knowing what we are, would you have sent me to eternal darkness?”
She made a supreme effort to get herself under control. A part of her still could not believe this was happening. A part of her struggled to understand and be fair. “I told you I could accept you, even love you as you are, Mikhail. And I meant that then. The same is true now.” She was so weak, she could hardly speak. “I know you’re a good man; there is no evil in you. Father Hummer said I couldn’t judge you by our standards and I won’t. No, I would have chosen life for you. I love you.”
There was too much sorrow in her eyes for him to feel relief. “But?” he prompted softly.
“I can accept it in you, Mikhail, but not for me. I could never drink blood. The thought of it sickens me.” Her tongue touched her dry lips. “Can you change me back? A transfusion, perhaps?”
He shook his head regretfully.
“Then let me die. Just me. If you love me, let me go.”
Mikhail’s eyes darkened, burned. “You do not understand. You are my life. My heart. There is no Mikhail without Raven. If you wish to seek eternal darkness, I must go with you. I had never known the pain and ecstasy of our people’s love until I found you. You are the very air I breathe, the blood in my veins, my joy, my tears, my very feelings. I would not wish to continue a barren, empty existence. It would be impossible. The torment you felt for those short hours without our mind touch would be nothing compared to the hell to which you wish to condemn me.”
“Mikhail”—she whispered his name in anguish—”I am not Carpathian.”
“You are, little one. Please give yourself time to heal, to absorb all this and adjust to it.” He was pleading with her, his voice soft and persuasive.
She closed her eyes against the tears welling up. “I want to sleep.”
Raven needed more blood. The transfer would be easier on her if she had no idea what was happening to her. The healing sleep of the earth might provide her with comfort; in any case, it would speed the healing process of her body. Mercifully, Mikhail obliged her request and sent her into a deep sleep.
Chapter Ten
Raven woke sobbing, her hands curling around Mikhail’s neck, clutching him to her, hot tears spilling onto his chest. He dragged her closer protectively, holding her as tight as he dared without crushing her. She seemed so fragile and light, so ready to fly away from him. He let her cry, his hand caressing her hair with soothing strokes.
When she began to quiet, he murmured softly to her, tenderly, in his own language, words of reassurance and hope. Eventually she lay, worn out and exhausted, in the sanctuary of his arms. “It will take time, little one, but give our ways a chance. There are wondrous things we can do. Concentrate on the things you would enjoy. Shape-shifting, flying with birds, running free with the wolves.”
Her small fist jammed into her mouth to stop a strangled sound somewhere between fear and hysterical laughter. Mikhail brushed the top of her head with his chin. “I would never leave you to face any of this on your own. Lean on my strength.”
She closed her eyes against another wave of hysteria. “You don’t even understand the enormity of what you’ve done. You’ve taken away my very identity. Don’t, Mikhail! I feel your protest stirring in my mind. What if you woke up no longer Carpathian, but a human. No longer able to run free and fly. No special powers, no healing earth, no more ability to hear and understand animals. Everything that was ever the essence of you would be gone. To survive you had to eat meat.” She felt his instant revulsion. “You see, the very thing Carpathians consider disgusting. I’m afraid. I look into the future and I’m so terrified I am unable to think. I hear things, sense things. I...” She trailed off before making any admissions. “Don’t you see, Mikhail, I can’t do this, not even for you.”
He stroked her hair with loving fingers, trailed a caress over the soft skin of her face. “You have known for a short time. Your sleep was deep and undisturbed.” He did not tell her she had been given blood twice more during her sleep, that her body had gone through the rigorous change, ridding itself of all human toxins. He felt she had to absorb certain aspects of their lifestyle slowly. “Do you wish us to seek eternal rest?”
Her fist thumped his chest. “Not us, Mikhail, me!”
“There is no you or me. There is only us.”
She took a deep, calming breath. “I don’t even know what or who I am anymore.”
“You are Raven, the most beautiful, coura
geous woman I have ever known.” He said it sincerely, stroking back her silken hair.
Her body was tense, almost rigid with wanting to deny his tranquil statements of fact. “Can I exist without blood? With juice and grains?”
His hand found hers, laced their fingers together. “I want it to be so for you, but it is not. You must have blood to live.”
She made a sound, a small denial, hunching away from him, withdrawing into herself. It was too far-fetched, too frightening to really comprehend. She wanted to believe it was a nightmare.
Mikhail sat up, let her go so that he could push the sheet from her slender body. Her mind was blocking out every explanation, refusing to deal with the information he was giving her. Wanting to distract her, he bent to examine her abdomen, his fingers splaying possessively over her skin, touching each white scar gently. “Your wounds are nearly healed.”
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