Dark Prince (Author's cut special edition)

by Christine Feehan

  Mikhail surveyed the destruction and death surrounding him. Not one body had gotten within ten feet of him. “I knew you would never allow such a thing. He will never rest now until he destroys you, Gregori.”

  A faint, wolfish grin touched Gregori’s mouth. “That is the idea, Mikhail. This is my invitation to him. He has the right to challenge you openly if he so desires, but he is betraying you to mortals. Such treachery will never be tolerated.”

  “We need to find Father Hummer,” Mikhail said softly. “He is too old to survive such a brutal attack. The vampire will not keep him alive once the sun begins to rise.”

  “But why this elaborate plot?” Gregori mused aloud. “He must have known you would not be caught in the ravine or by the wolves. He could not be so confident that he would believe he would catch you so easily.”

  “He delays me.” A flicker of fear touched Mikhail’s black eyes. Once more his mind sought Raven’s.

  Raven appeared to be teasing Jacques, but immediately sent Mikhail warmth mixed with a gentle inquiry.

  What is it?

  Just stay safe, Raven. He broke off, fearing she would read too much.

  Mikhail reached for the priest, using only friendship to guide him, but without a blood bond, Mikhail couldn’t find Father Hummer, or tell if his friend lived or was already dead.

  There had to be a reason for the delay. Suddenly Mikhail inhaled sharply. “Byron. It is well known in the village that he is Eleanor’s brother. If Eleanor, her child, and Vlad were targets, it stands to reason that Byron is also.”

  Even as his body bent, contorted, and feathers sprouted, shimmering iridescent in the faint light beginning to streak across the sky, he was already sending a sharp warning to the young Carpathian male. The powerful wings beat strongly as he raced the sun to go to the aid of his brother’s best friend.

  Gregori surveyed the mountains, his pale eyes moving along the shadowed cliffs above the forest. He stepped off the edge of the cliff, his body shape-shifting as he plummeted toward earth. Wings beat strongly, lifting him into the sky, straight for the jutting rock surface rising above the treetops. The entrance to the cave was a mere slit in the rock wall. He found the vampire’s safeguard to his lair basic. The vampire had grown lazy, thinking himself safe when he should have realized that if he was going to try to trap the prince of the Carpathians, every hunter would turn him into prey. It was easy enough to unravel the safeguards. In order to squeeze through the narrow opening, Gregori dissolved into mist and streamed through the crack.

  The passage began to widen almost at once, twisting and turning through rock. Water trickled from the walls on either side. And then he was in a large chamber; the vampire’s lair. He had the scent now. A glint of satisfaction appeared in Gregori’s silver eyes. The vampire would find no resting place here. The undead would find that no one made a threat against the prince without merciless retaliation from Gregori.

  The interior of the sleeping chamber was dark and oppressive, the air still and heavy. His gaze swept the interior, seeing with the night sight of his species. Thousands of bats hung from every conceivable spot above his head. The ceiling was thick with furred bodies, packed tightly together. The bats should have been outside feeding, not sleeping inside at this time of night. The bodies rocked, and thousands of red eyes stared down at him. They shot from the ceiling like missiles, so many the cave groaned and creaked. The bats shrieked, a high-pitched sound that hurt his ears. He hastily turned the volume down and threw a barrier of fire between him and raging bats. Many of them had bloody foam seeping around their mouths. Protectors of the vampire, they were under his control. The flames burned brightly, the orange-red flames lighting the walls of the chamber, and the stench of burning bodies was heavy in the small confines as the bats tried to go through the wall of flames to get to him.

  Gregori shook his head over the waste of life and began the destruction of the vampire’s resting place.

  Raven paced restlessly across the floor of the cabin, sending Jacques a little self-mocking smile. “I’m very good at waiting.”

  “I can see that,” Jacques agreed dryly.

  “Come on, Jacques”—Raven made the length of the room again, turned to face him—“don’t you find this even a little bit nerve-racking?” He leaned lazily back in his chair, flashing a cocky grin.

  “Being caged up with a beautiful lunatic, you mean?”

  “Ha, ha, ha. Do all Carpathian males think they’re stand-up comedians?”

  “Just those of us with sisters-in-law who bounce off walls. I feel like I am watching a Ping-Pong ball. Settle down.”

  “Well, how long does something like this take? I thought he implied he’d be in and out of the hospital in two minutes, Jacques. What could have gone wrong? Mikhail was very upset.”

  “Mikhail did not actually say anything went wrong, did he?” Jacques asked, blankly innocent.

  Raven’s large blue-violet eyes settled on Jacques’s face thoughtfully. Jacques squirmed under her suspicious, steady gaze. There was far too much intelligence in her enormous eyes to suit him. He held up a placating hand. “Now, Raven.”

  “Don’t you now-Raven me. That brother of yours, worm that he is, male chauvinist unequaled in modern times, told you something he didn’t tell me, didn’t he?”

  Leaning back with studied casualness, Jacques tipped his chair to a precarious angle and raised an eyebrow. “Women have vivid imaginations. I think you have a suspicious nature due to your American upbringing.”

  “Intellect, Jacques, not imagination,” she corrected sweetly. “My American upbringing made me incredibly intelligent, and believe me, I can spot one of your pathetic Carpathian plots to protect the helpless woman from information you consider would make her fragile little delicate self unnecessarily fearful.”

  He grinned at her. “Carpathian males understand the fragile nature of women’s nerves. Women—especially American women—just cannot take the adversity that we men can.”

  “I think I should have enjoyed meeting your mother. How a woman could manage to raise two domineering tyrants like you and Mikhail is beyond me.”

  His dark eyes laughed at her. “But we are charismatic, sexy, handsome, and always right.”

  Raven hooked her foot around his chair and sent him crashing to the floor. Hands on hips, she regarded him with a superior glint. “Carpathian men are vain, dear brother-in-law,” she proclaimed, “but not too bright.”

  Jacques glared up at her with mock ferocity. “You have a mean streak in you, woman. Whatever happened to a soft, sweet, Yes, my lord, you’re always right?”

  “Try the Dark Ages. Your age is showing,” she added nastily. The smile faded from her eyes. “Jacques, where are your parents? What happened to Gregori’s parents? If your species can live as long as they wish, why are there so few Carpathians?”

  “While we do have longevity, we can be killed. In the old days, there were far more lifemated couples. If one died, the other followed. Most of them were killed in the vampire hunts and then in the wars. It was in vogue to kill anyone different. Humans and Carpathians alike suffered.”

  She shivered and rubbed her arms as if suddenly growing cold. Jacques frowned at the action. Carpathians could regulate body temperature. Perhaps she was just too new and didn’t realize it yet.

  “They should be back by now, shouldn’t they?” Raven sounded forlorn.

  Jacques suddenly came to his feet, his dark eyes instantly sober, restless. “Put this on.” Out of nothing he fashioned a heavy cardigan.

  “How do you do that?” It seemed like magic to her.

  “A Carpathian can make anything natural of the earth,” he informed her in a slightly distracted tone. “Put it on, Raven. I am beginning to feel trapped in this cabin. We need to get out into the night, where I can smell trouble coming.”

  “You feel it too?” she asked uneasily.

  “Something is wrong, but I cannot put my finger on what it is. I would send word to M
ikhail, but whatever he is involved in must be important. Until I know what we face, we will wait.”

  Raven pulled the warmth of the cardigan close around her and followed Jacques out onto the porch. “The night is almost over,” she observed.

  Jacques inhaled sharply. “I smell blood. Two humans, one is familiar to me.”

  “Father Hummer,” Raven said anxiously. “It’s his blood.” She started down the stairs, but Jacques, more cautious, caught her arm.

  “I do not like this, Raven.”

  “He’s hurt, Jacques. I feel his pain. He is not a young man.”

  “Perhaps. But how is it he is up here? This cabin is very remote, few know of its existence. How does the priest come to us nearing our weakest hour?” He forced her resisting body behind his.

  “He could be dying. Mikhail trusts him,” Raven said staunchly, her heart already going out to the priest. “We have to help him.”

  “You will stay behind me and do as I say,” Jacques commanded. “I gave Mikhail my word that I would guard you with my life, and this I intend to do.”

  “But . . .” Raven swallowed the rest of her protest, easily reading his implacable resolve. Jacques appeared easygoing, but he was just as dangerous as Mikhail when sufficiently roused.

  “Scent the wind, Raven. You are Carpathian. Do not be fooled by so blatant a trap. You cannot always believe the obvious. See with more than your eyes and your heart. I have called Mikhail. He is far from us but will return with all speed. And the dawn approaches.” Jacques had moved off the small porch to the grove of trees, turning slowly in a full circle. “There is another.”

  Raven tried, inhaling the night air, scanning in every direction to find hidden danger. She felt uneasy, but she could only detect the slow approach of the priest and his human companion. “What am I missing, Jacques?” Then she felt it, too, a disturbance in the natural harmony of things, a power that was out of balance with the earth.

  She saw Jacques catch his breath sharply, his black eyes, so like Mikhail’s, glittering with sudden menace. “Get out of here, Raven. Run. Get out fast. Do not look back. Find shelter from the sun and wait for Mikhail.”

  “I can help you.” Terror was rising. Something terrible must threaten them, something powerful, for Jacques to feel a sudden wave of fear. Raven could not find it in herself to run away and leave her brother-in-law to face danger alone. “I can’t go, Jacques.”

  You do not understand. You are more important than I am, than the priest, than any of us. You are our only hope for the future. Leave this place. Do not make me fail my brother.

  Indecision warred with her conscience. Father Hummer limped into view, far more frail than she remembered him. His face was battered and swollen almost beyond recognition. For the first time he looked every one of his eighty-three years.

  “Go, Raven!” Jacques hissed, again making a slow circle, never once looking at the advancing priest. His eyes were restless, moving constantly, searching, always searching. You must leave now.

  Another man came into view. He looked remarkably like Eugene Slovensky, but his hair was blonder and he was obviously younger. He moved up behind the priest and, the flat of his palm on Edgar Hummer’s back, shoved viciously.

  The priest stumbled forward, fell on one knee, tried to rise, and fell full length, his face in the dirt and vegetation. The blond viciously kicked him. “Get up, damn you, old man. Get up or I’ll kill you where you lie.”

  “Stop it!” Raven cried, tears glistening in her eyes. “Father Hummer!” Impetuously she rushed down the stairs.

  Jacques sprang forward and cut her off, intercepting her so fast that he was merely a blur. He shoved her roughly back toward the porch. It is a trap, Raven. Get out of here.

  But Father Hummer! she cried to Jacques in protest.

  “Come here, lady,” growled Slovensky’s look-alike. He bent, grabbed the priest by the collar, and dragged him to his knees. A wicked-looking knife gleamed at the priest’s throat. “I’ll kill him right now if you don’t do what I say.”

  Jacques turned then, red lights beginning to glow in the depths of his dark eyes. He growled a low rumble of warning that sent shivers along Raven’s spine and drained the color from the priest’s assailant.

  Around them the wind picked up, hurtling leaves and twigs against Jacques’s legs. A creature seemed to materialize from nowhere, hit him hard in the chest, picked him up, and drove his body into a tree trunk. This, then, was the undead, a vile, foul creature, once handsome, now rotting from the inside out.

  Raven screamed. Mikhail, where are you?

  I am coming. Get away from there.

  Gregori! Raven didn’t have time to worry about tradition or whether what she did was proper in the eyes of the Carpathian males. Jacques, Father Hummer, and she needed all the help they could get. Help us.

  Instantly she felt Gregori’s response in her mind. His reassurance followed by his order, even stronger than Mikhail’s, to desert Jacques and the priest to their fate.

  Jacques and his undead attacker crashed from tree to tree. Claws slashed, fangs ripped and tore. Branches cracked under the weight of their bodies. The two locked in mortal combat were shape-shifting continually. The vampire, strong and high from a fresh kill, flung himself at Jacques, beating him down, inflicting draining cuts all over his body.

  Run, Raven. It is you he wants, Jacques warned. Go while you can.

  She could hear Jacques breathing heavily, see his growing weakness. Raven had never actually attacked another human being in her life, but it was clear Jacques was in trouble. Mikhail and Gregori were on their way; she only had to help Jacques hold out until they arrived.

  Hurry, Mikhail. There was desperation in her message.

  She made up her mind what she was going to do. Dawn was streaking across the sky when she leapt on the vampire’s back, trying to drag him from Jacques.

  No, get back! Jacques’s cry was sharp, imperious, and laced with terror.

  No, Raven! Mikhail echoed the command from a distance, echoed his brother’s fear.

  No, woman, do not! Gregori’s voice whispered fiercely in her head.

  Not understanding, but certain she was in deadly peril, Raven tried to jump off. The vampire clamped one hand around her wrist in a viselike grip and turned his head, triumph in his glowing eyes. Sharp teeth bit into her wrist, and he was gulping dark, rich blood. It burned like a red-hot brand. Her flesh was ragged and gaping, his fangs tearing at her.

  Mikhail and Gregori mentally struck together at the vampire’s throat. Although such an attack was not very successful against one of Carpathian blood, and they were still some distance away, their combined assault closed off the undead’s air momentarily. Jacques struck the vampire with renewed ferocity, driving him backward, dislodging Raven so that she fell free. Blood sprayed in a shower of crimson droplets across the forest floor, and for one moment both fighters froze, distracted by the red shower, turning almost in unison toward her.

  “Close that wound!” the vampire snarled, his voice gruff.

  Raven, you will bleed to death. Jacques struggled for calm, wanting her to understand the seriousness of the situation.

  The vampire struck, claws ripping at Jacques’s stomach so that he was forced to bring his hands down to protect himself. Incredibly, the vampire’s head contorted, lengthened to a long muzzle, and lunged like a wolf at Jacques’s exposed throat, ripping and tearing.

  Raven screamed and threw her body at the vampire, beating wildly at his head and shoulders. Contemptuously he dropped Jacques’s body so it lay broken like a rag doll in the rotting vegetation. He dragged Raven’s wrist to his mouth, his eyes smiling into hers, and deliberately ran his tongue across the wound to close it. Her body and mind rebelled at the hideous contact, her stomach heaving and protesting the unclean touch.

  “Remember, mortal, she is mine,” he commanded Slovensky. “I will come for her this night. Get her out of the sun.” The vampire released her and launched h
imself skyward.

  Raven spit into her hands and stumbled forward toward Jacques’s motionless body. “That vampire killed him,” she screamed hysterically. As her hands touched the forest floor, she scooped up handfuls of dirt. “Oh, God, he’s dead. You let that thing kill him!”

  Using her slender body as a shield so no one could see what she was doing, Raven packed the wounds in Jacques’s throat with the soil and her healing saliva.

  Drink, Jacques, now, so that you can last until Mikhail and Gregori arrive. Her wrist over his mouth, Raven continued to sob dramatically, thankful for once that so many men often thought women hysterical in a crisis.

  Mikhail! Jacques is mortally wounded. He is in the sun. She sensed the approach of the human male and twisted her wrist gently in warning. Jacques was so weak, feeding blindly, he nearly missed the signal. His loss of blood was enormous. Even taking as much as he could in those few moments from Raven, she doubted if he could hold on.

  With great dignity Raven covered his head and her handiwork with her cardigan and bent as if kissing him good-bye. Don’t let me down, Jacques. You must live. For me, for Mikhail, for all of us. Don’t let them win. Even as she sent the words to him, she could detect no pulse, no hint of his heart beating.

  Slovensky gripped her shoulder and yanked her to her feet. She was deathly pale, dizzy, very weak. “Enough crying, we’re getting out of here. You give me any trouble and I’ll kill the priest. If you harm me, the vampire will kill the priest.” He shoved her down the trail. “You just remember I know he’s no holy man, but a servant of the devil. I know the head vampire has turned him and used him for his despicable practices.”

  Raven lifted her chin, regarded him coolly with red-rimmed eyes. “Then I guess, for your sake, it’s imperative you keep Father Hummer in excellent health, isn’t it?”

  Raven knew from touching the man that he didn’t believe for one moment that the priest was an advocate of the devil or one of Mikhail’s servants. He had seen the vampire’s power and craved it, and believed he would soon be rewarded.