He closed off his mind for a moment to allow the soil to cradle him, the soothing, healing balm of the earth. It sang to him with soft whisperings, a crooning lullaby. It seeped into his body, revitalizing, energizing. The earth gave him the necessary calm to face her torment.
Feel me, little one, feel me.
Her mind remained chaotic; the strangling continued.
Feel me, Raven, reach for me.
He was patient, quiet, calm in the eye of the storm.
Raven, you are not alone. Feel me, in your mind. Be calm and reach out, just for a moment. Block out everything except me.
He felt the first stirring, her first try. The earth sang through him, filling his cells until they were like sails billowing in the wind.
Feel me, Raven. In you, around you, beside you. Feel me.
Mikhail.
She was ragged, torn, fragmented.
I can’t stand this; help me. I really can’t do this, not even for you.
Give yourself to me.
He meant to the healing richness of the soil, but he could make no references to where they were. He allowed her to feel the strength moving into him, a promise of rest and aid. In his mind he kept only warmth and love and the impression of power. She needed to believe in him, needed to merge with him so that she could feel the powers of the soil as he did.
Raven knew she was going insane. She had always been terrified of closed-in places. It didn’t matter that Mikhail said she didn’t need air; she knew she did. It took several tries and every ounce of discipline she possessed to block out the fear, the terror, the truth that she lay buried deep within the earth. She crawled into Mikhail’s mind with her last exhaustive effort and retreated from the reality of what she had become, and what she had to do to survive.
Mikhail’s hold on her was precarious. She was light, insubstantial in his mind. So quiet, never moving, not accepting the earth’s healing powers, not fighting their situation. Raven made no response to his gentle inquiries. He was aware of her only as a small, huddled flicker in a corner of his mind.
It took some time before he became aware of a faint shifting in power, a ripple of awareness, like a searching crystal, an eye opening in the earth beside them. They were not alone. The presence touched him, stirred in his mind. Male. Powerful. Gregori.
You are well, my friend.
There was that cool menace in his mind. They knew one another so well after all the centuries of standing together against all odds.
Gregori had not voiced it as a question and Mikhail was shocked, truly shocked that he could make contact. Raven and he were deep in the bowels of the earth. The sun was at its greatest peak and all Carpathians were weak. How could Gregori accomplish such a feat? It was unheard of, even in the legends and myths of the past.
Your woman needs to sleep, Mikhail. Allow me to assist you.
Gregori was far away—Mikhail could detect that—yet the bond between them was strong. Sending Raven to sleep gave Gregori a semblance of power over her. Indecision. Did he trust Gregori? The power that Gregori wielded was phenomenal.
Low, humorless laughter.
She will not survive this day, Mikhail. Even locked with you, her human limitations will overcome her desire to aid you.
And you can do this? Even at this distance? You can safely send her to sleep? Take away her torment? There will be no mistakes?
Mikhail found himself wanting to believe it. Gregori was their healer. If he said Raven would be unable to last buried within the earth, that only confirmed his own belief.
Yes, through you. You are the only person on this planet I have given my allegiance to. You have always had my loyalty. I count you as my family and my friend. Until your woman or some other gives me my lifemate, you are the only person standing between the darkness and me.
Gregori would never have admitted such a thing unless he considered the situation a dire emergency. He was giving Mikhail the only reason he could to reassure Mikhail that he could be trusted.
Affection and regret welled up, mingled.
Thank you, Gregori, I am in your debt.
I intend you to be the father of my lifemate.
There was a faint note in his voice, something Mikhail could not name, as though Gregori had already insured that he would get his wish.
I have the feeling Raven’s daughter would be more than a handful.
Mikhail tested his intuition.
I have no doubt I am up to the challenge.
Gregori’s reply was purposely vague.
I will send your lifemate to the sleep of our people that she will no longer be tormented by her human limits.
Gregori’s soft command was clear, imperious, impossible to ignore. Raven’s breath left her body in a soft sigh. Her heart slowed, missed a beat, ceased. Her mind was closed to the yawning terror, her body open to the healing power of the rich soil.
Sleep now, Mikhail. I will know if you are disturbed.
You do not have to guard me, Gregori. You have done much for our people, things they will never know. I can never repay my debt to you.
I can do no other, Mikhail, nor would I want to.
Gregori withdrew.
Mikhail allowed himself the luxury of sleep to give the earth the chance to bring him to his full, immense power. He would need the strength the soil gave him for retribution. He wrapped Raven tighter in his arms as he took his last breath, certain the immediate danger to them had passed.
The sun seemed to take a long while to sink from the sky. The colors of the heavens were blood red, surrounded by shades of orange and pink. As the moon appeared, the clouds covered it like a thin veil. A ring appeared around the moon like some terrible omen. The forest was dark, eerily silent. Tendrils of fog wound low to the ground around tree trunks and bushes. A gentle wind lazily pushed the clouds, brushed at heavy branches and tried vainly to disperse the smell of smoke that lingered persistently in the forest. The wind fingered the black ashes and burned beams, the blackened stones, all that remained of what had once been Mikhail Dubrinsky’s home.
Two wolves nosed at the blackened remains, lifted their muzzles skyward, and howled mournfully. Throughout the forest other wolves answered, sang out their grief. Within a few minutes, the echoes of their tribute died away. The two wolves circled the charred ruins and sniffed at the two shadowy sentinels they found standing sharply alert near the wrought-iron gate.
The wolves swung quickly away, finding something menacing in the two lethal figures. They trotted briskly back into the darkened interior of the forest. Silence once more blanketed the mountains like a shroud. The forest creatures huddled in their dens and holes, rather than face the smell of the ashes and the death of the home of one who was so much a part of them.
Below the earth two bodies lay motionless, lifeless. Into the silence, a single heart began to beat. Strong, steady. Blood rushed, receded. A long, low hiss of air heralded the working of lungs. Dark eyes snapped open, and Mikhail searched the grounds above him. It was well after midnight. The fire was long out; firefighters, investigators, and curiosity seekers had long returned home.
He sensed Jacques and Gregori above the earth. No others, human or Carpathian, were in the vicinity. Mikhail turned his attention to Raven. It was a huge temptation to command Gregori to awaken her, but that was selfish and certainly not in her best interests. Until she was completely out of the ground, Raven was best left asleep. She needed no reminder of her terrible ordeal. He tightened his arms around her motionless, cold body, held her for a long moment close to his heart.
Mikhail burst through the earth’s crust, experiencing an odd disorientation as he emerged into the night air. The moment he was able, he launched himself skyward, the better to protect Raven if necessary. Air rushed into his lungs, fanned his body. Feathers shimmered in the sliver of light from the moon; huge wings spread, pning a good six feet, and beat heavily, lifting the enormous owl into the sky, where it circled above the dark forest, seeking any enemy that
might be foolish enough to threaten.
Mikhail needed the freedom of the sky to dull the sounds of Raven’s terror, which still echoed strongly in his head. He dived toward the earth, plummeting as close as he dared before dissolving into mist. The stream of drops poured through the trees and collected together until they formed a huge wolf. Mikhail ran effortlessly, sustaining great speed as he swerved through the underbrush, the trees, loped across a meadow and took off again as if shot from a bow.
When his mind was once more clear and calm, Mikhail trotted to the blackened ruins, changing back into his own muscular form, complete with clothes, as he strode toward his brother. He was well aware that all of nature, everything he was so much a part of, could feel his ice-cold rage. It was buried deep, seething below the surface, disturbing the harmony in the air, in the forest. His enemies would not escape.
Jacques straightened slowly, as if he had been waiting for hours. His hand went to the nape of his neck, rubbing at a kink. Mikhail and Jacques stared at one another, dark sorrow in their eyes. Jacques stepped forward and reached for Mikhail in an uncharacteristic show of affection. It was brief and hard, two stiff oak trees exchanging a hug. Mikhail knew Raven would have laughed at the two of them.
Gregori remained hunkered down, low to the ground, his solid bulk rivaling the broad tree trunks. He was totally motionless, his shadowed face expressionless. His eyes were a slash of silver, of mercury forever moving restlessly in the granite mask. Gregori rose slowly, fluid power and raw danger.
“Thank you for coming,” Mikhail said simply. Gregori. His oldest friend. His right hand. Their greatest healer, the relentless hunter of the undead.
“Romanov was taken to the hospital and sedated,” Jacques said softly. “I told the townspeople that you and Raven were away for a few days. You are popular with the villagers and all of them are outraged by what happened.”
“Can we neutralize the damage done to our people?” Mikhail asked.
“We can minimize it,” Gregori said truthfully. “But Romanov has already sent out whatever damning evidence he found to several others. We must prepare ourselves for a siege. Our entire way of life will be changed for all time.” Gregori shrugged powerful shoulders carelessly.
“His evidence?”
“Fingerprints, photos. He was already drugged, Mikhail. The doctors believe he is completely insane and dangerous to himself and to others. The images I picked out of his mind were confused. His parents; mainly his mother. He evidently discovered her body. Your house. Guilt. The fire.” Gregori surveyed the sky above him with a slow, careful sweep of his pale, silver eyes. His craggy features remained utterly still, harsh.
Danger emanated from Gregori. His entire body, his very demeanor spoke of power, of menace. Although Gregori’s expression was empty, Mikhail felt the monster in him, wild and untamed, lurking just below the surface, struggling to break free. Their eyes met in a kind of hopeless understanding. Another war. More killings. The more often a male had to kill, the more dangerous the whisper of power, the call to vampire became. Violence was the one thing that allowed a centuries-old male to feel briefly. That in itself was a terrible inducement for one in a dark, hopeless world.
Gregori looked away, not wanting to see the compassion on Mikhail’s face. “We have no choice but to discredit him.”
“Before anything else, Raven must be safe and guarded while we take care of this problem,” Mikhail said abruptly.
“Your woman is very fragile,” Gregori warned softly. “Bring her to the surface and clothe her before I awake her.”
Mikhail nodded. Gregori clearly read his intentions. There was no way he would have her awaken in what seemed to her a cold grave. Jacques and Gregori moved into the forest to give Mikhail privacy. Only after Raven was safe in his arms did Mikhail think to add her human American garb. Made of natural fibers, easy for a Carpathian to manipulate, he fashioned blue jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.
Gregori.
Raven woke strangling, clutching her throat, desperate to drag air into her burning lungs. She was confused, panic-stricken, struggling desperately. “Feel the air on your skin,” Mikhail ordered softly, his mouth against her ear. “Feel the night, the wind. You are safe in my arms. The night is beautiful; the colors and scents speak to us.”
Raven’s blue-violet eyes were all over the place, seeing nothing, taking in nothing. She inhaled deeply, and made herself as small as possible. The cool night air was working a slow magic, easing the terrible strangling in her throat. Tears glittered like gems in her eyes, tangled in her long lashes.
Mikhail tightened his hold on her so that she could feel the enormous strength in his powerful frame. Slowly, inch by inch, her body became less rigid, so that she relaxed into him. He touched her mind with a gentle, warm stroke, finding her struggling for control.
“I am here with you, Raven.” Deliberately he spoke the words out loud, so he would sound as human as possible. “The night is calling to us, welcoming us; can you hear it? There is such beauty in the song of insects, the night creatures. Let yourself hear it.” He used a rhythmic, compelling tone, almost hypnotic.
Raven drew her knees up, lay her forehead on them, hunching into herself. She was rocking back and forth, her hold on reality a tenuous thread. She simply breathed in and out, appreciating the ability to do so, concentrating on the mechanics of it.
“I want to take you to a safer place, somewhere away from here.” His sweeping gesture took in the charred remains of his once beautiful home.
Raven’s head remained down. She simply breathed in and out. Mikhail touched her mind again. There was no thought of blame or betrayal. Her mind was fragmented, bruised and broken, trying desperately to survive. Her familiar clothes and his presence gave her a measure of comfort. His ice-cold fury, his need for violent retaliation stirred to life.
“Little sister.” Jacques emerged from the edge of the timberline, flanked by Gregori. When Raven didn’t look up, Jacques sat beside her, his hand brushing her shoulder. “The wolves are quiet tonight. Did you hear them before? They were mourning the loss of Mikhail’s home. Now they are silent.”
She blinked, her lost gaze focusing on Jacques’s face. She didn’t speak; his identity didn’t seem to register. She was trembling, her small frame shaking, locked between the three powerful men.
You could remove her memories.
Gregori suggested, clearly not understanding why Mikhail did not do the obvious.
She would not like such a thing.
She would not know.
Gregori put a small edge in his tone. He sighed when Mikhail did not respond.
Allow me to heal her, then. She is important to all of us, Mikhail. She suffers needlessly.
She would want to do this on her own.
Mikhail was well aware that Gregori thought he had lost his mind, but he knew Raven. She had her own courage, and her own ideas of right and wrong. She would not thank him when she learned he had removed her memories. There could be no untruths between lifemates, and Mikhail was determined to give her time to come to terms with what they had endured together.
Mikhail found the rose-petal-soft skin of her face, traced her delicate cheekbones with gentle fingers. “You were right, little one. We will build our home together, stronger than ever. We will pick a place, deep within the forest, and fill it with so much love, it will spill over to our wolves.”
Her blue-violet gaze flickered with sudden awareness, jumping to Mikhail’s face. The tip of her tongue touched her full lower lip. She managed a tentative smile. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a Carpathian.” Her voice was a mere thread of sound.
“You are everything a Carpathian woman should be,” Gregori said gallantly, his tone low and melodious, a soothing, healing cadence. Both Mikhail and Jacques found themselves listening intently to the compelling pitch. “You are fit to be the lifemate of our prince, and I give you freely my allegiance and my protection, as I have given it to Mikhail.” His voi
ce deliberately was pitched low, so that it seeped into her fragmented mind like a soothing balm.
Raven’s shattered gaze swung to Gregori. Her long lashes fluttered, her eyes so dark they were nearly purple. “You helped us.” Her fingers sought and found Mikhail’s, entwined with his, yet her gaze never left Gregori’s face. “You were so far away. The sun was out, yet you knew, and you were able to help us. It was difficult for you; I felt it even as you reached for me to take away what I could not endure.”
The silver eyes, pale in Gregori’s dark face, narrowed to a slash of quicksilver. Mesmerizing. Hypnotic. The voice lowered an octave. “Mikhail and I are bound together; we have shared long, dark years of emptiness without hope. Perhaps you represent hope for both of us.”
Raven regarded him steadily, seriously. “That would please me.”
Mikhail felt a surge of love for her wash over him, a surge of pride. Raven had so much compassion in her. Although she was mentally bruised and battered, although Gregori’s mind was firmly closed to them, his harsh features impossible to read, she realized that Gregori was fighting to survive, that he needed to be drawn into the circle of light, of hope. Mikhail could have told her that Gregori was like water flowing through fingers—impossible to hold or control. He was a law unto himself, a dark, dangerous man on the edge of a yawning abyss of madness.
Dark Prince (Dark Series - book 1) Page 27