The men had approached stealthily, even crawling from cover to cover at times. The wolf followed their path, straying here and there to cover ground, looking for hidden traps. At the door he paused, circled warily, and backed off. Suddenly his hind legs dug into the dirt, and he launched himself straight through a window, shattering glass and landing a good six feet into the room. Set up across from the door was a camera. The shutter would have been triggered by the opening of the door.
Deep within the wolf’s body, Mikhail’s laughter was grim and without humor. The four assassins had returned to the scene of their grisly murder to set up cameras to capture images of his kind, which meant they had no idea who was Carpathian and who was human. If the assassins had had guts, they would have stayed and waited for the body to be discovered. They had done their brutal business and had run like the cowards they were.
Bile rose in his throat. The wolf shook its head, growled low. Three of the scents were unknown to him, the fourth very familiar. A traitor. How much money had he received to betray Noelle to the assassins? The wolf leapt again, crashing through a second window. The camera would take snapshots of a huge wolf, a blurred movement of shattered glass and mist and the wolf again. Only Mikhail, and a few other hunters, Jacques and Gregori, Aidan and Julian, were capable of such speed in shape-shifting.
He began backtracking the assassins. One scent split off from the rest, wound into deep forest, came out near the timberline very close to Edgar Hummer’s cabin and Dr. Westhemer’s office. The wolf stayed in the trees, staring at the small house behind the office with cruel, red, unblinking eyes. Abruptly the wolf spun around, trotted back to where the assassins had split paths, and picked up the trail of the other three. It led straight to the inn where Raven was staying.
Mikhail joined Byron and Jacques in the treetop. “Three of them stay at the inn. I will recognize them when I am close to them. Tomorrow I will escort my woman back to collect her things. While I am there, I will be able to pick out their scents. There is no way of knowing if others are involved. Until we find out, we will have to be very careful. They have a camera set up in the house. The trigger is on the door. Everyone needs to stay away from there.”
The two Carpathians nodded in agreement.
Mikhail was silent for a long moment. “Does Celeste go to Dr. Westhemer?” he finally asked softly.
“I think she sees Hans Romanov’s wife. She works with the doctor and delivers most of the babies,” Jacques replied.
“And Eleanor?” Mikhail asked.
Jacques stirred uncomfortably. “I believe so.”
“This woman assisted Noelle’s birthing?”
Byron cleared his throat. “Noelle delivered the child at home with Heidi Romanov helping her. Rand was there. I came at his call. After the midwife left, Noelle hemorrhaged. Rand had to give her blood. I stayed with Noelle while Rand hunted. And no, Mrs. Romanov did not see any of it. There was no one close, I would have known.”
“It was Hans Romanov who led the others to Noelle. I do not know if his wife was involved, but someone informed the assassins that the Carpathians were reproducing.” Mikhail gave the information in a soft monotone. His eyes burned, glowed, his body trembled with fury; his hands opened and closed, but his voice was perfectly controlled. “It is necessary to know if the woman is involved.”
“She must be,” Byron snapped. “Why are we waiting?”
“Because we are not the barbaric animals these evil ones have named us. We have to know if the midwife is a traitor. And it is not your duty to dispense justice, Byron. It is not an easy thing to live with, the taking of life. Each kill brings the dark whispers of temptation closer until the lure of the vampire is so strong, it becomes impossible to resist.” Mikhail had felt the weight of each of those lives down through the centuries, but as his power and responsibilities grew, so did the ease with which he killed. As his emotions had faded, it was only his strong will and sense of right and wrong that prevented him from losing his soul to the insidious whispers of the darkness struggling for supremacy.
“What do you want us to do?” Jacques asked.
“It is not safe for Eleanor or Celeste to be in their homes. No more trips to the midwife. Take Celeste to my home above the lake. Eric will be able to study the ancient arts, which he has neglected. It is an easy place to defend. Eleanor cannot travel as far.”
“They can use my home,” Byron offered. “They will be close if they need help.” Eleanor was his sister, and he had always loved her dearly. Despite the fact that his emotions were long gone, he remembered what it felt like to have a sister.
“It is risky. If your relationship is known and she is under suspicion, or if you were seen assisting Rand . . .” Mikhail shook his head, not liking the idea. “Maybe they should take over my home.”
“No!” The simultaneous protests were instant and sharp.
“No, Mikhail, we cannot afford the risk to you.” Jacques sounded alarmed.
“Our women come first, before any of us, Jacques,” Mikhail reminded him gently. “Without them, our race will die. We can have sex with humans, but we cannot procreate with them. Our women are our greatest treasures. Each of you must eventually mate and father children. But be certain the one you choose is your true lifemate. All of you know the signs: colors, emotions, the burning for her. The bond is strong. When one dies, the other usually chooses to follow into the next life. It is death or vampire. We all know the truth of that.”
“But Rand . . .” Byron trailed off.
“Rand became impatient with the waiting. Noelle was obsessed with him, but they were not true lifemates. I think they ended up hating each other, trapped in the sickness of their relationship. He will survive her passing.” Mikhail worked to keep the disgust from his voice. True lifemates could not survive long without each other. That fact and the high mortality rate of their children had taken a huge toll on their dwindling race. His people were scattered throughout the mountain range—a few even dwelt in other countries, but most could not live easily without their own soil. Mikhail was not certain his people would survive into the next century. No matter how hard he tried, he could not find the hope necessary to keep the males from turning vampire.
“Mikhail”—Jacques chose his words carefully—“only you and Gregori know the secrets of our race. You know Gregori will choose his solitary existence. Only you can teach the rest of us, lead us, help us to grow. If we are to survive, grow strong again, it cannot be done without you. Your blood is the life of our people.”
“Why do you say this to me?” Mikhail snapped, not wanting to hear the truth.
Jacques and Byron exchanged a long, uneasy glance. “We have been concerned for some time about your continued withdrawal.”
“My withdrawal was inevitable and is hardly your business.”
“You have chosen to remain completely alone, even among those of us you call blood kin,” Jacques went on.
“What is it you are trying to say?” Mikhail snapped impatiently. He had been away from Raven for too long. He needed to see her, hold her, touch her mind with his.
“We cannot afford to lose you. And if you do not wish to continue your life, you will begin to take greater risks, become careless,” Jacques drawled slowly. Their eyes met. Jacques refused to flinch. “Make mistakes.”
Mikhail’s dark, brooding eyes slowly warmed, and a smile tugged at the hard corners of his mouth, softening the lines in his beautifully chiseled features. “You young devils. How have you managed to watch me without my knowledge?”
“The alpha pair fear for you also,” Jacques admitted. “As I am of your blood and under your protection, they accept and speak with me. They watch over you when you take your solitary walks and when you run with the pack. They say there is no joy in you.”
Mikhail laughed softly. “I need a good wolf hide for this winter. Whatever my feelings, Noelle was our sister, one of my people. I will not rest until her murderers are brought to justice.”
The toe of Mikhail’s boot nearly pushed Jacques from his perch in retaliation for his audacity.
Byron caught at the branch with a tight grip. “Eleanor and Vlad can stay with me. It will be double protection for her and her unborn child.”
Mikhail nodded. Though he was uncomfortable with the decision, he could see that they would continue their protests if he insisted on taking the personal risk. “For a couple of days, until we find a safer solution.”
“Take great care, Mikhail,” Jacques warned.
“Sleep deeply tomorrow,” he responded. “They hunt us.”
Byron paused, suddenly alarmed. “How can you go to ground if the human woman is with you?”
“I will not leave her.” Mikhail’s voice was implacable.
“The deeper we are in the earth, the harder to hear your call if you are in trouble,” Jacques reminded quietly.
Mikhail sighed. “You two are as relentless as two old maiden aunts. I am certainly capable of protecting my lair.” His body shimmered, bent, and became that of an owl. He spread giant wings and soared into the sky, making his way back to Raven.
He inhaled deeply, filling himself with the pure, clean scent of her, wiping out the ugliness of the night’s discoveries. Her scent was in the library, mingling with his. He took their combined scents deep within his lungs, bent to pick up their scattered clothing. He wanted to be inside her, to touch her, to fasten his mouth to hers, their blood one, to recite the ritual words so that they would be tied for eternity the way they were meant to be. The thought of her offering him that gift, accepting his offering, was so arousing that Mikhail had to stand still until the urgent demands of his body eased somewhat.
He took a long shower, washing away the wolf from his body, the dust and dirt, the odor of a traitor. All Carpathians took great care to acquire the habits of mortals. Food in the cupboards and clothes in the closets. Lamps throughout the house. All of them took showers when there was no real need, and most of them found they enjoyed it. He left his coffee-colored hair hanging free and went to Raven. For the first time he took pride in his body, the way he hardened, thrusting aggressively at the sight of her.
She was asleep, her hair spilling like a curtain of silk across the pillow. The blanket had slipped, and her long hair was the only covering across her breasts. The picture was erotic. She lay waiting for him, needing him even in her sleep. He gently murmured the command to release her from her trance-induced sleep as he pulled the blanket the rest of the way off.
She lay gleaming in the moonlight, her skin soft, the color of peaches. Mikhail slid his hand over the contour of her leg. The feel of her jolted his insides. He stroked her hips, and then traced her small, tucked-in waist. Raven stirred, shifted restlessly. Mikhail stretched out beside her, pulled her into the shelter of his arms, his chin resting on the top of her head.
He wanted her, any way he could get her, but he owed her some semblance of honesty. At least as much as he dared give her. She emerged from the layers of sleep slowly, burrowing against his hard strength as if for comfort from a bad dream. How could a human possibly understand the needs of a Carpathian male in the sexual frenzy of a true mating ritual? Down through the long ages, he had feared few things, yet more than anything he feared to see himself through her innocent eyes.
He knew by her breathing the moment she was fully awake, and by her sudden tension that she realized where she was and with whom. He had taken her innocence brutally, had nearly taken her life. How could she forgive such a thing?
Raven closed her eyes, trying desperately to separate fact from fiction, reality from fantasy. Her body was sore, hurting in places she didn’t know she had. She felt different, more sensitive. Mikhail’s body against hers was like hot marble, immovable and aggressive, unbearably sexy. She could hear the creaks and rustles of the house acutely, the sway of branches outside the window. She pushed at the wall of Mikhail’s chest to try to put space between their bodies.
Mikhail tightened his arms, buried his face in her hair. “If you can touch my mind, Raven, you know what I feel for you.” His voice was husky, vulnerable.
In spite of herself, Raven felt her heart turn over.
“I do not want you to leave me, little one. Have the courage to stay with me. Perhaps I am a monster. I do not know anymore, I truly do not, only that I need you to stay with me.”
“You could have made me forget,” she pointed out, more for herself than for him, more of a question than a statement. He had been wild, but she couldn’t say he’d hurt her. Rather, he had taken her to the very stars.
“I thought about it,” he admitted reluctantly, “but I do not want that between us. I am sorry I was not more careful with your innocence.”
She heard the ache in his voice, felt an answering one in her body. “You know you made sure I felt pleasure.”
Ecstasy was more like it. A baptism by fire, an exchange of souls. He was wild, and he had swept her up with him in the firestorm. And she wanted him again, craved his touch, the driving strength of his body. But he was dangerous, really, really, dangerous. She knew that now. She knew he was different, that something lived in him, more animal than man.
“Mikhail.” Raven pushed against the solid wall of his chest. She needed to breathe, to think without feeling the heat of his skin and the urgent demands of his body.
“Do not do this!” His voice was a sharp command. “Do not shut me out.”
“You’re talking about a commitment to something so beyond anything I can imagine . . .” Raven bit at her lip. “My home is so far from here.”
“You have nothing but sorrow there, Raven.” He refused to let her use that as an excuse. “You know you will not survive on your own, and although it is in your mind to deny them your talents when they come to you with another hideous crime, you know in your heart you will be unable to say no. It is not in you to allow a killer to go free when you might save his next victim.” His hand bunched in the silken length of her hair, as if that could hold her to him. “They cannot care for you as I can.”
“What of our differences? You have this attitude toward women, as if we’re second-class citizens and not too bright. Unfortunately, you have the capability to force your will on anyone who might oppose you. And I would. All the time. I have to be myself, Mikhail.”
He lifted the weight of her hair from the nape of her neck and brushed a kiss, featherlight, on her exposed skin. “You know my attitude toward women reflects my need to protect them, not that I think them less than myself. Oppose me all you wish, little one. I love everything about you.”
His thumb stroked the soft swell of her breast, heating her blood, sending a shiver of excitement down her spine. Raven wanted him wild and untamed, wanted him needing her. He was so in control, it was a powerful aphrodisiac to realize she could make him lose that control.
Mikhail bent his head to the hardened nipple beckoning him. His tongue touched her gently. He kissed the velvet peak, drew her creamy flesh into the moist, hot cavern of his mouth. Raven made a sound, a soft sigh, closed her eyes. Her body was coming alive, every nerve ending screaming for his touch. She felt boneless, pliant, her body melting into the heat of his.
She didn’t want this. Tears burned in her throat, behind her eyes. She didn’t want this, but she needed it. “Don’t hurt me, Mikhail.” She whispered the words against the heavy muscles of his chest. It was a plea for their future. Raven knew he would never hurt her physically, but their life could be very stormy together.
He lifted his head, shifted so that his weight pinned her beneath him. His dark eyes moved possessively over her small, fragile face. His hand cupped her face, his thumb stroking across her chin, her full lower lip.
“Do not fear me, Raven. Can you not feel the strength of my emot
ions, my tie to you? I would give my life for you.” Because he wanted truth between them, he admitted the inevitable. “It will not be easy, but we will work things out between us.” His hand stroked her flat stomach, moved lower to nestle in her midnight-black curls.
Her hand stilled his. “What happened to me?” She was confused. Had she fainted? Everything was so jumbled. She knew for certain Mikhail had forced her to drink some disgusting medicinal concoction, and had placed her in a deep sleep. Later there had been nightmares. She was used to nightmares, every violent psychic experience triggered them, but this had been horrible and very personal. In it, she had been forced to a naked chest, her mouth clamped to a terrible wound. Blood, running like a river, forced down her throat. She choked, gagged, fought, but somehow, in her nightmare world, she could not pull away. She had tried to call for Mikhail for help. And then she had looked up and there he was, looking down at her with his dark, mysterious eyes, his hand forcing her head against the wound in his chest. Was it because she was in the heart of Dracula country, and Mikhail reminded her of a dark, mysterious prince?
Raven couldn’t help herself; she smoothed gentle fingertips over his unblemished chest. Something had happened to her, and she knew she was changed for all time, that she was somehow a part of Mikhail and he was a part of her.
Mikhail’s knee gently pushed her legs apart. He shifted once more above her, blocking out everything with his broad shoulders. He took her breath away with his size and power, his strength and beauty. Very gently, the way he should have the first time, he eased into her.
Raven gasped. She would never get over the way he filled her, stretched her, the way he could turn her body to liquid fire. If he had been wild the first time, he was tender and gentle this time. Every deep stroke built a heavy craving for more, an urgency that had her hands caressing the chiseled muscles of his back, her mouth moving over his neck, his chest.
Mikhail worked at control, called on his extraordinary discipline. Her mouth was driving him mad, the feel of her fingers on his skin. Raven was so tight—hot velvet gripped him, fed the fires. He could feel the beast in him fighting to break free, his hunger raging, his body moving harder, faster, burying itself in her, merging their bodies, their hearts. He opened his mind, sought hers. The need in her drove him on. Her fingernails dug into his back as wave after wave rippled through her body. Mikhail gave in to the fire before the beast could break free. He surged into her, felt her body, tight and hot, grip his. He allowed himself a low growl of total satisfaction.
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