Dark Blood (Dark Series Book 26)

by Christine Feehan

  “There is a man, a wolf, tall, broad shoulders, a great bear of a man, much like Randall. He moves fast and has been active in the Russian military. He’s highly decorated. His eyes are a deep blue and his hair is closer cropped than that of most Lycans. He commands Lyall’s army.”

  Randall closed his eyes briefly, refusing to look at his fellow council members. “Is there a tie to Xaviero?”

  Branislava nodded her head. “Yes. All three men have met on many occasions, and it was clear that Xaviero and this other man are friends away from Lyall. The looks between them, the way they smirked—they were planning to get rid of Lyall once his usefulness ran out. Of course, that’s my guess from replaying Lyall’s memories, so maybe not, but it is something Xaviero would do. Do you know this man I’ve described?”

  “He’s my nephew, Sandulf,” Randall admitted quietly. “He was elite and then joined the military. He loves the battle and power. I wish I could say I’m surprised because he’s always been a moral man with strong beliefs of right and wrong, but he craves action and above all else, attention and power. No matter how often I counseled him, he ruled his family with an iron fist and any in his pack had to be cautious.”

  “He seemed to have no problems with the idea of killing everyone here, the council, Mikhail and all of us.” She swept her hand toward Zev and the other Carpathians in the chamber.

  “Is he mixed blood? Sange rau?” Mikhail clarified.

  “I have no way of knowing, you’ll have to ask the council.” Branislava swept a hand through her hair in a gesture of weariness.

  I’m going to get you home, Zev said, tenderness nearly bringing tears to her eyes. There isn’t much more you can tell them.

  “Was he stronger, faster and a little more intelligent than most Lycans?” Mikhail asked.

  Randall nodded. “That’s why he excelled in his military career.”

  “He must have been made many years ago,” Mikhail noted, with a warning glance at Zev. Xaviero had the blood he had sought—your grandmother’s blood. This Sandulf is more likely full Sange rau and participating more closely with Xaviero in building his army of mixed bloods, although where the mage is getting Carpathian blood now, I don’t know.

  She was too close to the truth tonight, Branislava decided. Too close to the answer to the question Mikhail had just posed. Bile rose and she turned to Zev, uncaring if they needed to stay to protect anyone else. She wanted to go home. She needed to be outside and away from these men and the vivid memories pressing too close. She felt as if she had given everything she had to give.

  Zev’s arm circled her waist and he brought her under the protection of his shoulder. “We’re a little beat up, Rolf. Daciana and Makoce as well as the others are close. They’re burning the rogue bodies as we speak.” He nodded toward the prince. “Mikhail, if you don’t mind, we’ll let Fen and Gregori take over here. I’m going to get Branka home.”

  Mikhail’s dark eyes slid over her. He gave them a slow nod. “Thank you for your help, Bronnie. I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  She forced a small smile and let Zev take over, allowed him to say their good-byes to the council. She turned away from the broken man on the floor. Confronted with his crimes, knowing someone else had seen into his rotting, depraved brain and had seen the secret things he’d done to so many young women, he couldn’t bear to look at anyone.

  Zev suddenly shoved her aside—pushed her hard so that she staggered away from him and fell against a sharp boulder jutting from the side of the cave. When she managed to turn her head, she saw her lifemate grappling with Lyall, his fists clamped around both wrists, knee rising hard into the man’s groin and then his foot driving into the inside of Lyall’s knee. The council member collapsed, Zev going down to the floor of the chamber with him, transferring his grip from wrists to head.

  The crack was audible as Lyall’s neck broke. Zev’s hand flashed with silver and the stake was driven through the council member’s heart. Zev stepped back and drew his sword. Without a word he severed the head, wiped his blade clean and shoved it back into the sheath.

  His gaze jumped to Branislava. Are you hurt, Branka?

  She shook her head. Her hands smarted a little, along with one hip and part of her shoulder, but all she cared about was getting away from blood and death and the stench of evil. She hadn’t even felt the attack as Lyall had come at her, his energy masked as Lycans could so easily do.

  Zev didn’t look at anyone else as he took her hand and walked out of the chamber. Behind them, she heard Rolf comment.

  “That takes care of what to do with Lyall, doesn’t it?”

  Sadness overwhelmed her. Once, Zev, very long ago, Lyall was actually a good man. He had a weakness for chasing women and he knew it and tried hard to curb it. He believed in the sacred code strongly, because, like so many other of the old ones, he nearly lost everyone dear to him when the first known Sange rau destroyed so many of the packs.

  Zev pulled her closer to him. They stepped out of the cave into the night. At once the fresh breeze touched her face and made her feel as if she could breathe again.

  “I’m sorry for him, Branka,” Zev said gently, “but the man you describe has been dead for a long time. There was no redeeming him or the things he’s done.”

  She shuddered. She knew better than anyone—no, that wasn’t true. She looked up at his face, her hand smoothing those lines etched deep into a face of masculine beauty. Zev had been with her. He had seen the fall into depravity just as she had. She didn’t have to carry that burden alone.

  “I’m very much in love with you, Zev Hunter,” she whispered, and circled his neck with her arms, leaning into his strength.

  She laid her head on his chest, her ear over the steady beat of his heart. He felt solid and strong, like a great oak tree with roots that went deep. He was a steady man, one she could always rely on. I appreciate you so much. I really am lucky to have you.

  “You’re very tired, mon chaton féroce,” he replied, his voice even more gentle than it had been. “Perhaps it is time to go to ground.”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. The night is nearly over, Zev, but I need to be out in it. Somewhere beautiful and clean, somewhere I can breathe.” Without lifting her head, she looked up at him.

  He smiled down at her and her heart turned over. “I think I know just the place. It’s a distance, but well worth the travel.”

  She wasn’t going to warn him that they only had a couple hours left before the sun began to climb into the sky. She wanted to go with him, somewhere new and exciting, somewhere fresh and clean where she could breathe properly. Somewhere . . . away.

  Zev stepped away from her and shifted, so smooth, so easily. She admired that fluid way of his. He learned fast and never hesitated once he made up his mind. Branislava followed his lead and shifted into the form of a night owl. She followed him into the sky, her wings spread wide, the air rushing around her and ruffling her feathers so that she felt free and a little wild.

  Below her, everything on the ground dropped away. She left behind the carnage of battle. The smoke rising in the air couldn’t find her as she hurried after Zev. He led her over the forest and up over the first mountain ridge. Below them the glacier-fed lake appeared deep and ice-blue. Small farms dotted the countryside and she spotted the animals, cattle sleeping, horses moving slowly, chickens roosting.

  Life was normal around them. She needed to see that. In those houses, children slept with their parents watching over them. Zev kept going, along another mountain ridge where the trees were so close together that it was impossible, even with the eyes of an owl, to penetrate to the floor below.

  A waterfall burst from the side of a mountain, crystalline and shiny, tumbling to the wide pool beneath it where giant ferns ringed the water and shrubs and plants congregated close. Water formed bright ribbons dissecting the ground below them as they continued to fly over the next mountain ridge. She followed him, caught up in the rapture of soa
ring through the sky, the wind on her body and the ever-changing scenery below her breathtaking.

  The caps of the mountains ahead were snowy white, a pristine world of icy beauty. The part of the mountain Zev sought had long ago been a volcano. The glacier followed the deadly eruption, creeping over the fire-lit mountain, turning the red rock to an icy blue. The effect where the ice thinned was stunning.

  He dropped down into the crater. She could see the surrounding mountain was all snow and ice, but in the cradle, trees and plants and even flowers grew, birthed by the years of wind bringing seeds to the rich soil inside the shallow crater. A fine green grass lined the floor, tiny little shamrocks of ground cover. A few trees grew, their limbs healthy and strong, reaching for the sky in their warmer nest, unseen and untouched by anyone. Protected by the ice and snow, the little oasis had gone unnoticed.

  Zev settled on the floor itself, waving his hand to cushion the ground with a bed of petals. Branislava shifted, taking her human form, turning in a slow circle to inspect their surroundings. When she had first seen the snowy mountains, her heart had given a little jerk of apprehension, but she should have had more faith.

  “It’s beautiful here, Zev. How did you find it?”

  “Patrolling. Looking for rogues. A couple of times, before you woke, I went out looking out of habit.” He grinned at her. “And I like to fly.”

  She had to smile back. He looked relaxed and happy, a far cry from the grim man who had to fight too many battles. “It’s time someone saw to your wounds.” She pointed to the bed of petals.

  “That’s for you. And this patch of Gary’s worked very well. Lycans rejuvenate fairly quickly. Remember, I’m also mixed blood and that gives me a boost as well.”

  She fixed him with a stern eye, even as she lifted her hand to her hair and pulled out the tie binding her braid. With a wave of her hand she freed the long thick mass from its weave, shaking her head so that the silken strands fell around her like a cape of red gold. “I would very much like you to lie down so I can see to your wounds, Zev,” she told him.

  “Dragon flames are beginning to glow in your eyes,” Zev informed her. When she was like this, demanding, sexy, every move sensual, there was no way to resist her. He could see that fire always smoldering just beneath the surface rising, growing hotter.

  His body reacted to that note in her voice, the stroking of his skin with her tone, the heat in her eyes as she looked him over. Her tongue darted out and moistened her lips.

  She tapped her foot. “I’m waiting.”

  “So am I,” he said softly, trying not to use his alpha voice, but it was there, that growling command he had been born with.

  She tipped her head to one side, her eyes slumberous and sexy, long lashes sweeping down almost demurely, but when they came back up, her eyes held flames dancing through a background of emerald green.

  She waved her hand down her body, and her clothes disappeared. His breath caught in his lungs and stayed trapped there. Her form was exquisite to him, all those soft, full curves and the tucked-in waist. Her hair fell around her, framing her high breasts and the nipples peaking hard already. He knew if he pushed his hand between her legs she would be hot and wet for him.

  “You are so beautiful, Branka. For me, to me, there is no other who can compare.”

  She placed one hand on her hip and continued tapping her small, bare foot. He wanted to drop to his knees and yank her close, and taste the cinnamon honey he scented drifting toward him. Instead, he let her have her way, shedding his clothes, watching her eyes as her gaze dropped to his heavy erection. His hand went to his thick cock, circling it, feeling the sensual burn already. He took his time walking over to the bed of petals. It wasn’t easy with his groin full and hard and so ready for her body, but for her, he would do anything.

  The moment he lay on his back, she was straddling his calves, removing the patch and leaning over him, her soft breasts brushing across his skin. Her tongue lapped at his wound with healing saliva. She whispered softly, a small healing litany he heard in his mind rather than aloud.

  Zev’s pulse thundered in his ears. While she lapped at his wound, her hands were busy on his shaft, his balls, fingers sliding over him in a delicate dance and then suddenly switching from a soft caressing brush, to a fist pumping him, her thumb sliding over the large, sensitive head to smear the leaking pearls around.

  Her hair fell in a pool of red into his lap, teasing his cock, adding to the chaos growing in his mind. The sensation of living silk sliding around and over him, her tongue and hands was almost too much to take. He kept his hips from bucking and his hands from fisting in her hair and dragging her mouth to his cock using his years of discipline—but it wasn’t easy.

  She lifted her head to look at him. His heart nearly stopped. The stark intensity of her fiery passion shone in her eyes. Already her skin took on a glow, the color changing from pale porcelain to a flushed deep pink. With each move she made, her hair crackled, alive with energy. Very slowly she moved her body up his, the hot vee between her legs leaving behind evidence of her arousal on his calf. She moved over his thighs and straddled his groin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of sheathing his rock-hard weapon.

  Once again she removed the patch and flung it away from her, licking up his belly and over his ribs, over every scratch and bruise until she reached the stab wound in his chest. He heard that soft healing litany echoing through his mind, a melody of love that surrounded him, enfolded him with fire. Branislava. His lifemate. She was fire and passion. She was love to him. Everything good in the world. When she healed him, she didn’t just heal with her love and her gifts, or even the miraculous saliva of her species. She also healed with her fiery passion, and the urgent need she had for his body.

  When her mouth moved over his wounds, when her tongue lapped at his lacerations and bruises, there was blatant seduction along with her healing balm. His body reacted, every nerve ending springing to life, alert and pouring heat through his bloodstream. He brought his hands up to her breasts, massaging and kneading, his fingers settling on her nipples to tug and roll.

  The pretty pink flush on her body deepened. Her skin, soft and supple, burned hotter. Over the base of his cock, where her body met his, a fire seemed to ignite. He was fast losing his ability to accommodate her. He issued a warning growl, letting her know he was about at his limit.

  “I’m working here,” she murmured, flashing a reprimand at him from under her lashes.

  He caught her arms and rolled her under him, his knee inside her thigh, pushing her legs apart. “So am I.” His voice was harsh with need. “I’m starving and I want to eat you up.”

  He did just that, lifting her hips and dragging her to him, lowering his head so he could devour her. She screamed, a loud cry of bliss as his tongue plunged deep and drew the cinnamon honey he craved from her body. It was warm and thick, like molasses and he found himself growling like the wolf he was, ravenous for her. He held her firmly as her body tried to roll and buck.

  “Be still,” he ordered harshly, when he could find a moment to speak.

  When she didn’t comply with his order, he smacked her bottom to get her attention. Her nerve endings fired with passion, more delicious honey spilling into his mouth. He couldn’t resist trying it again and again, and each time he got the same results, more of what he needed. Each time the honey was hotter and spicier, the taste more delicious than ever. He licked at her scorching sheath, and then nuzzled her, inhaling her perfect scent. He couldn’t resist taking little nips up her inner thigh, tiny teasing bites that had flames of desire licking up her legs.

  He moved over top of her, catching her wrists, pinning them over her head so he could look down at her body, sprawled beneath his larger one. Her breath came in ragged gasps so that her breasts heaved and moved invitingly—temptingly. He leaned down and captured the left one, drawing the soft mound into the heat of his mouth.

  She moaned softly, her body rippling as his tongue stro
ked her nipple, and then he suckled strongly. Her head thrashed. Her hips rose beneath him. It was all music, part of the night. He loved the sounds she made and the way her body was so ultra-responsive to everything he did to her.

  He kissed his way over the creamy curve of her breast to find her pulse beating so wildly—so temptingly. He heard the answering beat deep in his own veins and without warning, without preamble, he sank his teeth deep. She cried out, sobbed, lifted her hips and writhed. She tried to lift her arms to circle his head and hold him to her, but he held her helpless, enjoying bringing her so much pleasure. He felt it in her mind, her need rising like a volcano.

  He drank her essence, taking her into his body, that same spicy taste just as addictive. He wanted to be the wolf and eat her up. There was something so beautiful in her face, in her glowing body as she lay beneath him, her pleas growing more desperate as her need intensified.

  When he had taken his fill, he gripped her wrists hard and looked into her eyes. “Stay still, just like this.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth, that beautiful mouth he wanted to spend a lifetime playing in and kissing and loving.

  “I don’t think I can,” she admitted a little desperately.

  He licked down her ear and nipped at her chin. “Then I’ll help you. Because this is for me. I want to drive you insane and watch you catch fire. We’re safe here. There’s no forest to burn down. I can light a match and watch you burn.”

  As she lay there, vines rushed from the ground and circled her arms, forming two long sleeves that went from wrist to bicep.

  “There you go, mon chaton féroce. There is no moving when I want you still.” He sat up and ran his hand possessively down her body from breast to belly, splaying his fingers wide to take in as much of her skin as possible. “I can take my time with you. You can scream to your heart’s content and your body can go up in flames over and over and no one will interrupt us.”