Dark Prince (Dark Series - book 1)

by Christine Feehan

  “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 it in a mesmerizing voice. Singsong, a flowing chant of ancient language.

  You will hear my words, let Mother Earth welcome you. The soil will heal your wounds and soothe your mind. Sleep, Mikhail. My blood is powerful, mixing with yours. Feel it healing your body.

  Gregori closed his eyes, merging completely with Mikhail, flowing in him so that he could find every ragged hole, push out foreign objects, and repair all damage from the inside out with the precision of the most skilled surgeon.

  A large horned owl circled the ruined building, then settled on the crumpled wall. Slowly the wings folded and the owl’s round eyes surveyed the scene below. The talons flexed, relaxed. Gregori lifted his head, coming back to his own body. He spoke the Carpathian’s name softly in acknowledgment. “Aidan.”

  The owl’s shape lengthened, shimmered, formed a tall, tawny-haired man with glittering gold eyes. His blond appearance was unusual for a Carpathian. He carried his body like a soldier, his manner sure and confident. “Who dared to do this?” he demanded. “What of Jacques and Mikhail’s woman?”

  Gregori growled softly, a slash of pale eyes pinning the male Carpathian. “Bring me fresh soil and prepare the priest’s body.” Gregori turned back to his work as Byron arrived. Slow, unhurried, the beautiful ancient chant filled the night with hope and promise. No one would believe he was working against time, needing to get Mikhail on his feet this night.

  Aidan brought the richest soil he could find, stepping back to admire Gregori as he worked. The poultices were mixed carefully and applied over the external wounds. The wind stirred the dirt and dust from the pile of rocks, carrying warnings to the Carpathians. Two humans were approaching in a truck.

  Byron knelt beside Edgar Hummer, reverently running his hands over the priest’s face, gathering the small, wasted body up into his arms. “I will take him to sacred ground, Gregori, and then destroy those bodies beside the cabin.”

  “Who did this?” Aidan repeated.

  Gregori simply flooded Aidan’s mind with the information rather than bothering with conversation.

  “I have known Andre for many centuries,” Aidan said. “He is half a century younger than I. We fought together in more than one battle. Our times grow desperate.” Aidan glided over the fallen walls, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness. Each leaf on every tree gleamed a vivid silver, bathed in the light of the moon, but Aidan had long ago lost his ability to see in color. His world was dark and gray and would be until he found his lifemate, or sought the solace of the dawn. He inhaled, caught the scent of game, the stench of death, the intrusive odor of man. Oil and exhaust issuing from the approaching vehicle fouled the clarity of the air.

  He moved through the line of oaks, working to quell the ice-cold predator instinct demanding blood for what one of his kind had done. Their race, so precarious, teetering on the brink of extinction, could not survive another vampire hunt. Every remaining male had pinned his hopes on the survival of Mikhail’s woman. If she could adapt to their life, if she could be sealed as a true lifemate, if she could produce female children strong enough to live beyond the first year, then all Carpathian males had a chance. It would be a matter of hanging on, searching the world for women such as Raven. For Andre to betray them all was treason as its worst.

  Fog began to gather, thicken, an oppressive, nearly impenetrable veil that wound through the trees and closed off the road. The brakes squealed loudly as the driver came to a halt, unable to see in the thick fog. Aidan moved closer, unseen, a dangerous predator hunting prey. “How long before we get there, Uncle Gene?” A boy’s voice, eager and excited, drifted on the wind.

  “We’ll have to wait for the fog to disperse, Donny.” The second voice was uneasy. “We get these unusual fog patterns often up here, and it isn’t a good idea to be out in them.”

  “What’s my surprise? Can’t you tell me? You told Mom I’d have a birthday surprise I would never forget. I heard you talking.”

  Aidan could see them now. The driver was a man nearing thirty, the boy, no more than fifteen. Aidan watched them, the urge to kill running in his veins, surging through his body. He felt power, in every nerve ending, reminding him he truly was alive.

  The man was very nervous, peering into the fog on all sides of the truck, although he couldn’t see through the thick veil of white mist. For a moment he thought he saw eyes, hungry and glowing, almost gold. They were animal eyes—the eyes of a wolf—watching them from out of the night. It made his heart pound and his mouth go dry. He pulled the boy closer to him protectively. “Your Uncle James is keeping it for you.” He had to clear his throat twice before the words would come out. He knew they were in great danger, knew a predator was waiting to tear out their throats.

  “Let’s just walk up to the hunting lodge, Uncle Gene. I can’t wait to try out my new rifle. Come on, it’s not that far,” the boy wheedled.

  “Not in this fog, Donny. There are wolves in these woods. Other things. It’s best to wait until we can see clearly,” the man said firmly.

  “We have guns,” the boy said sulkily. “Isn’t that why we brought them?”

  “I said no. Guns don’t always make you safe, boy.”

  Aidan crushed down the wild urges. The boy had not yet seen manhood. Whoever these mortals were, he would not kill unless his life or that of one of the others of his kind was threatened. He would not become a vampire, a betrayer of his people. It was becoming too easy to kill. A kind of seduction of power. The wind whipped up around him, swirled in a circle of leaves and twigs. Gregori settled beside him, Mikhail, pale and lifeless, cradled in his arms. “Let us leave this place, Aidan.”

  “I could not kill them,” Aidan said quietly, no apology in his voice.

  “If the older one is Eugene Slovensky, he will have much to occupy him this night. His brother lies dead beneath a pile of rocks, an exchange for Mikhail’s priest.”

  “I did not dare kill them,” Aidan repeated, making it an admission.

  “If it is Slovensky, he deserves to die, but I am grateful that you resisted the urge, knowing the danger to yourself. You have traveled far to hunt the undead for our people. It shows in the darkness of your soul.”

  “I walk very close to the edge,” Aidan said quietly, without apology. “When Mikhail’s woman was injured so gravely, Mikhail’s fury was felt by every Carpathian in every land. The disturbance was unique, and I felt it was deserving of investigation. I returned to make certain his wisdom continues to benefit our people. It is my belief his woman is the hope for our future.”

  “It is my belief also. Perhaps a new country would bring you relief. We have need of an experienced hunter in the United States.”

  With the fog still thick, preventing penetration by the humans, Aidan turned his attention to the carefully constructed prison. With a lift of his hand, the earth shuddered and shook. The building was leveled, leaving only the stones marking the fresh grave.

  Into the fog, Gregori rose with his burden, Aidan at his side. They raced across the dark sky to the caves, where the other Carpathian males arrived, one after another to aid in the healing of their prince.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The night air rushed over her body as Raven was carried through the sky toward some unknown destination. She was dizzy and weak, her mind finding it difficult to concentrate on any one thing. At first she made herself try to focus on whatever might be a landmark, so she could convey it back to Gregori. After a while she couldn’t remember why or even what she was doing. On some level, Raven knew it was the drug maki
ng her disoriented and sick. It seemed too much trouble to wonder where the vampire was taking her or what he would do to her when they arrived.

  The moon was radiant, spilling silver light across the tree-tops, turning everything into a surreal dream. Things slipped in and out of her mind. Soft whispered words, a constant murmuring she couldn’t quite grasp. It seemed important, but Raven was too tired to unravel it all. Had her mind fragmented from chasing the last serial killer? She couldn’t remember what had happened to her. The wind felt good blowing over her body, cleansing her. She was cold, yet it didn’t seem to matter. Lights danced, colors swirled, the sky sparkled brilliantly above her head. Beneath them a large pool of water shone like crystal. It was all so beautiful, and yet her head ached abominably.

  “I’m tired.” She found her voice, wanted to hear if she could speak. Perhaps she could wake herself up if she was in the midst of a dream.

  The arms tightened fractionally. “I know. You will be home soon.”

  She didn’t recognize the voice. Something in her rose up to rebel at the closeness. Her body didn’t like the feel of his against hers. Did she know him? It didn’t feel as if she did, yet he held her as if he had a right to her. There was something slipping in and out of her memory that she couldn’t quite catch. Every time she thought the pieces of the puzzle began to fit themselves together, pain sliced through her head so violently, she couldn’t hold the thought.

  They were suddenly walking together, out under the stars, the trees swaying and dipping gently, his arm around her waist. Raven blinked in confusion. Had they always been walking? No one could fly; that was absurd. She was suddenly afraid. Had she lost her mind? She glanced up at the man walking beside her. Physically he was beyond merely handsome, his pale face sensually beautiful. But when he smiled down at her, his eyes were flat and cold, his teeth a flash of menace in his scarlet mouth that struck fear in her heart. Who was he? Why was she with him?

  Raven shivered and tried to draw away from the man with a slight, subtle movement. She was weak, and without his support, she might have fallen. “You are cold, my dear. We will be home soon.”

  His voice sent a ripple of terror through her; distaste was rolling in her stomach. There was a gloating taunt in his voice. For all his seeming solicitousness, Raven felt as if a giant snake was coiled around her, its cold, reptilian body and hypnotic eyes mesmerizing her. Her mind reached out, struggled to connect.

  He would come. Mikhail.

  She screamed in agony and fell to her knees, pressing her hands to her head, terrified to move, to think.

  Cold hands grasped her arms, dragged her to her feet. “What is it, Raven? Come, tell me, so that I may help you.”

  She despised his voice. It grated on her, sent shivers over her skin. There was power there, and a depraved, secret amusement, as if he knew exactly what was happening to her and enjoyed her suffering, her ignorance. As much as she loathed his touch, she could not stand on her own two feet and had to lean against his strong body.

  “You need to feed,” he remarked almost casually, but she sensed a hidden excitement in that statement. Raven pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’m feeling sick.”

  “That is because you hunger. I have prepared a special surprise for you, my dear. A banquet in your honor. The guests have been waiting impatiently for our return.”

  Raven stopped walking and stared up at his cold, mocking eyes. “I don’t want to go with you.”

  The eyes flattened, hardened. His smile was a parody, a soulless flash of fangs. She could see his receding gums, the lengthening incisors. He was not beautifully handsome, as she had first imagined, but foul and cruel-looking. “Raven, you have no other place to go.” Again he sounded slightly mocking, sickly solicitous.

  Raven pulled her arm away from him and sat down abruptly when her legs buckled beneath her. “You are not...” The name eluded her with an explosive burst of pain. Blood beaded on her forehead and trickled down her face.

  Deliberately, the vampire leaned down and ran his tongue coarsely along her cheek, following the path of her blood. “You are ill, my dear. You have to trust me to know what is best for you.”

  Raven forced herself to remain calm, to push aside the cobwebs clogging her mind. She had special gifts. She had a brain. Those were two indisputable facts. She was certain she was in grave danger and she had no idea how she had gotten here with him, but she needed to think. She lifted her face to the moon so that it put blue lights in her long, ebony hair. “I’m very confused, I can’t even remember your name.”

  She forced herself to look and feel apologetic to appease him if he was capable of reading her mind, and she was afraid he was. “What happened to me? I have a terrible headache.”

  He offered his hand, his manner suddenly courtly, far more indulgent now that she was relying on him. “You hurt your head.” He drew her up, slipped his arm around her small waist. This time Raven forced herself to accept his touch without flinching.

  “I’m sorry; I’m so confused. It makes me feel silly and afraid,” she confessed, her large blue eyes enormous, her mind innocent and blank.

  “I am Andre, your true lifemate. Another stole you away from me. When I rescued you, you fell and hit your head.” His voice was singsong, hypnotic.

  True lifemate. Mikhail.

  This time when the pain beat at her she accepted it, allowed it to wash over her. It stole her breath and pierced her skull. She was careful not to allow any hint of the agony to show on her face or to spill over in her mind. Calling on every ounce of discipline she possessed, Raven focused her mind.

  Mikhail? Where are you? Are you real? I’m afraid.

  There was a familiar path and she used it with ease, as if she had always done so.

  Little one.

  The reply was faint, far away, but very real, something to cling to in a world of madness.

  Who is with me? What is happening?

  She made herself lean on the tall man supporting her, kept her mind a jumble of confusion. She found it interesting that her mind allowed her to work on several different levels at once.

  Andre is a vampire. He took you from me. I am coming for you.

  Something was very wrong. It was all there, if she just reached for it. Raven believed that faraway voice, felt warmth and love enfold her in strong, protective arms. She knew that feeling, that voice. It wasn’t quite right.

  You’re hurt. How?

  Mikhail replayed the recent events in his mind for her. Raven inhaled, feeling as if someone had hit her square in the stomach.

  Mikhail.

  Gregori is turning into some kind of tyrant. I would not dare die.

  Memory was flooding in and she was terrified. She made herself compartmentalize her thoughts. The vampire touched only the surface, read what she wanted him to read. She was the shivering, confused woman he expected her to be.

  Mikhail’s wounds looked bad to her. He was in the cave, surrounded by others. Gregori was working on the injuries, and Raven was certain he would put Mikhail to ground and she would be left without a lifeline. Raven lifted her chin. The drug might have confused her momentarily, but she could do whatever she had to do.

  I can handle Andre. Do not worry about me.

  She used more bravado than she felt.

  All at once she had to suppress a surge of relief. Memory, fractured as it had been, came back in full force under Mikhail’s soothing mind touch. Mikhail or Gregori or both would come for her, no matter what else was happening. Mikhail would plug up his wounds and crawl if that was what it took to get to her.

  “You are very quiet.” Andre startled her.

  “I’m trying to remember, but it makes my head ache.”

  They were at the top of a plateau. For a moment she couldn’t make out the stone house built into the side of the mountain. It seemed to shimmer in the silver of the moon, one moment a mirage, then a distinct structure, then gone again. Raven blinked her eyes rapidly, taking in every detail, br
oadcasting to Mikhail. The trick was in not allowing the vampire to know she was thinking of Mikhail. It was Andre who punished her with pain when he knew her thoughts. Confused by the drug, she had been briefly under his power. Now she was simply sick and dizzy. And very, very frightened.

  “Is this our home?” she asked innocently, leaning heavily into him.

  “We will remain here long enough to dine, my dear.” There was that curious gloating she was coming to dislike intensely. “It is not safe to remain longer than that. The other might pursue us. You must feed in order to be strong enough to escape.”

  Deliberately, trustingly, she curled her fingers around the vampire’s arm. “I will try, Andre, but truly I am feeling sick.”