Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS

by Christine Feehan

  The sun had set and both she and Vikirnoff had bathed in the hot spring water after making love. It had been difficult for her to avoid taking his blood. She craved it more than ever, as if he were a drug she was addicted to and now, with the knowledge that Razvan was still alive, the idea of becoming a Carpathian held both comfort and promise. They were both dressed in the clothes Vikirnoff had fashioned for them. Now, there was only one last task that stood in her way; touching this knife, accessing the violent memories that clung to the ceremonial weapon.

  “I have fed and I am here as your anchor to hold you to this world and this time.” He stroked a long caress over her hair. “The safeguards are in place and my duty to Gabrielle has been done. Falcon has given her the second blood exchange and we have all answered the call to heal her. This is our time, Natalya. Find out what memories the knife holds and hopefully we will have a clue to where the book is hidden. Once we retrieve it we can take the book to a safe place where it can be destroyed or guarded adequately.”

  Natalya took a deep breath and let it out. “Reading the knife will not be easy, Vikirnoff. We will live the memories of those that died on its blade.”

  His hand slid up her arm to her shoulder, fingers massaging gently. “I know this is difficult for you. If I could, I would do it for you.”

  She sat there with the candles flickering all around her and the knife in front of her. The sound of the water lapping at the edges of the pool soothed her and Vikirnoff’s presence made her feel protected. She had “read” objects hundreds of times, yet she was reluctant to relive the death of her grandmother and worse, the murder of her father, even with Vikirnoff there to aid her. “You believe I can do this.”

  “I know that you can.”

  “Before I do, I want you to know I’m not mad at you anymore.”

  His eyebrow shot up. “Were you angry with me?”

  She scowled at him. “Yes, I was angry with you. Sheesh! You didn’t even notice?”

  “We made love a dozen times, more even. You bit me a few times and there are scratches on my back, but I enjoyed you putting the marks there.”

  “That’s because you’re a pervert. And I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about your ridiculous and totally arbitrary decision to bind us together.”

  “Natalya?”

  “What?”

  “You sound angry.”

  “Well, of course I’m angry. You didn’t even notice that I was angry in the first place. Do you realize how upsetting that is? All this time I thought you were suffering because I was mad at you, but you didn’t even notice.”

  “I am sorry. I should have been more observant.”

  “You don’t sound sorry.” She ran her fingertips around the knife and held her palm above the blade testing the strength of the vibrations of violence. “In all honesty, Vikirnoff, I really don’t want to do this.”

  “I know. And I understand. No one wants to relive the torture and murder of their parents or grandmother.” Vikirnoff knelt behind her, knowing she was working up her courage, chattering to cover her hesitation. “I will take the journey with you. When memories become too much to bear, I will do what I can to lessen the pain.”

  “What if you’re trapped there with me and we can’t pull out until every kill has been reenacted? It was your strength that allowed me to get away from the past.”

  His arms enfolded her, his hands sliding down her arms to envelop her hands in his. “You feel the violence of the knife’s past without touching.”

  Natalya leaned against his chest, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder. “Yes, but I’m not reading the memories.”

  “I want to hold the knife in my hand with your hands around mine, so that your fingers brush the knife, but limiting your physical contact with it. Perhaps that will minimize the risk to you.”

  Natalya took a breath and let it out, trying to still her chaotic mind. She’d rather battle ten vampires than read what the knife offered, but all the wishing in the world wasn’t going to change what had to be done. “Let’s try it, then, Vikirnoff, but if you feel that you can’t get us out, drop the knife.”

  “I will.”

  His breath was warm and comforting on the back of her head as she bent forward again, allowing her to feel his presence without distracting her. She laid her hand over his and nodded to let him know she was ready. Vikirnoff reached for the knife. She felt her own heart beating, strong and steady, beginning to accelerate. Her muscles began to knot painfully.

  I am with you.

  She felt him, strong and solid behind her, his arms around her, there for her. With her—and that meant everything. She drew courage from his presence and her fingers brushed the handle of the knife. Instantly she felt the curving of time, the wrenching pull that dragged her into the past and deeper into the violent memories the knife contained.

  The concentrated fear of so many victims rushed toward her, surrounded her and invaded her mind and soul. Immediately she focused on the feel of Vikirnoff’s hand, the shape and size of it, the warmth of his skin. The mounting terror lessened enough for her to slide past, reaching for the reenactment she needed. There seemed to be so many souls wailing with grief and crying for justice. She knew whatever the knife needed to show her had to have occurred farther in the past before her father’s death. He had to have hidden the book and spilled blood on the knife.

  My father wouldn’t have sacrificed someone to leave behind the information. The reenactment would be much fainter than the ones with more violence. That would explain how I missed it the first time.

  Slow down. You are moving so fast I cannot catch even glimpses of what has occurred.

  I feel the level of violence and know it is not what I want and I don’t want to know what else Xavier has done or whom he killed . . . Her voice trailed off and she halted abruptly to find herself in the crystal cave. She looked around her carefully.

  What is it?

  Razvan. I feel him. His presence is strong in this time period.

  Vikirnoff inhaled sharply, wanting to tighten his arms protectively around Natalya and order her out of there. How long ago was this?

  I can’t tell. Recently, I think. I haven’t felt the presence of my father yet.

  Vikirnoff’s instincts shrieked at him. This is unnecessary. You do not need to witness any violence Razvan commits. Keep moving, Natalya.

  She wanted to see her brother. She wanted to witness with her own eyes his betrayal. It seemed the only way to make herself believe that he had gone over to the side of the vampires, to Xavier, was to see the extent of his betrayal. Stubbornly she watched as her brother sauntered into the ice chamber. He carried the ceremonial knife in his hand and his eyes were glittering with some fierce emotion.

  You cannot. Vikirnoff inserted a mild push into his voice, not wanting to take command of her, but the taste in his mouth was bitter with warning. Razvan looked far too much like Xavier in his youth; a madman bent on accumulating power over others. Xavier had grown in power and stature very quickly with his natural talent and he became convinced that he was destined to rule the world. The corruption of a once-great sorcerer was complete when he discovered the rush of power the taking of life gave him. Furious that the Carpathian race seemed to be immortal, something he was not, he grew to despise them with a fanatical hatred that fed his own ego and determination to stamp them out once he had gained the secrets of their blood. Razvan wore that same, smug, contempt-filled expression.

  The ice chamber was the same, yet not the same. Fewer orbs lit the cavern and the ice formations were less abundant. On the far wall, the dragons were frozen in time, encased behind layers of ice.

  They weren’t there before. Natalya read his mind. They are now in the hall leading to the main chamber, remember? Something terrible will happen here.

  Vikirnoff felt Natalya’s heart pounding through her body, in her veins, threatening to burst, as Razvan turned and beckoned someone toward him. A young girl emerged from t
he shadows, a child really, forced forward by compulsion. The girl had bright green eyes and a wealth of copper curls. She shook her head as Razvan caught her arm, jerking her closer to him.

  Don’t! Natalya tried to pry her fingers from the knife, but something much stronger than her will held her there, mesmerized. He wants her blood. He’s taking her blood. She winced as the ceremonial knife slashed across the little wrist and Razvan pressed the open vein to his mouth. He’s seeking immortality just the way Xavier did. That poor child.

  Vikirnoff felt sick, wanting to close his eyes against the abomination that Razvan had become. The child looked very much like Natalya must have looked as a child, yet Razvan had no feeling for her. Her use to him was that of a blood bank. He wanted to stay young. He had children for the sole purpose of finding the ones with the necessary gene to carry the bloodline he needed.

  How old would she be now if she had managed to stay alive? Natalya whispered it in her mind, desperately needing the connection with Vikirnoff.

  This time period cannot be long ago. Maybe fifteen years, twenty at the most. She cannot be more than twenty-five or thirty now.

  He has a daughter named Colby. I met her a couple of months ago. She didn’t have any memories like this. Natalya drew in a shuddering breath. She must not have had the right blood for him to want to use her this way.

  I met her, too. She was very lucky, Vikirnoff said.

  But don’t you see? He is still impregnating women. If he has turned into a vampire, how could he do that? Colby was younger than this child would be now. How can this be? Have you ever heard of a vampire having a child? Yet look at her. Her eyes have changed color, her hair as well; she is of our family blood.

  I have never heard of a vampire who did not kill his victims, women or children. I certainly have never heard of any capable of having a child. And what of the blood? Razvan’s blood cannot be infected with the microorganisms or his children would be infected. Did Colby have parasites in her blood?

  Colby had no such parasites in her blood. Vikirnoff frowned as he watched Razvan’s careless disregard for the child. He didn’t seem to be aware of her as a human being, a person in her own right. He didn’t take her blood with care or respect, but treated her as human cattle. It sickened Vikirnoff to watch the child struggle to get free. There was determination on her face. She reminded him of Natalya, that same fierce iron will. I am willing to bet she is still alive. Even at her age, she is thinking of how to escape. See how she grows quiet, her gaze moving through the room? I believe she has your natural talent with spells.

  Natalya stiffened. That is Xavier. She whispered the revelation telepathically, even though she was in his mind and no one could hear.

  An older man came out of a chamber, his robes rustling as he moved. His features were indistinct, blurring as he shuffled across the ice floor, but Vikirnoff had the impression of great age and snow-white hair and beard. A wrinkled hand stretched toward the child. She shrank away from the older man and Razvan jerked her out of the dark mage’s reach.

  “You will not touch her.” Razvan snarled. “You have your own supply.”

  “I can no longer use them as you well know. They have become far too powerful to control. I need the book. We must find the book.” Xavier stumbled closer to the child, his clawlike fingers extended toward her. “Once I have the book, they will not be able to defy me.”

  Razvan held the girl just out of reach, an evil smile on his face. “This one is mine and you will not touch her.”

  “Do not presume to give me orders. I grow old, but I still have my abilities and you do not.” Xavier drew himself up to his full height, and immediately Razvan seemed to shrink before him, but he still kept the child shielded behind him.

  Look at her, what she is doing. Vikirnoff nudged Natalya with his chin.

  Natalya tore her horrified gaze from her brother to glance at the young girl. She bent her head and licked at the wound on her wrist. Immediately the drops of blood ceased. She has a healing agent in her saliva. She carries a strong Carpathian gene.

  That is why they both want her blood. They are using her to keep them young. Razvan does not want to share her.

  Memories rushed over Natalya. Razvan rocking back and forth, struggling to hold back tears, his wrist raggedly torn. How had she forgotten? She had been the one to heal the wound, using her own saliva. It had taken Xavier a long time before he realized Razvan’s blood did him no good other than to feed. The dark mage had begun to age and that had sent him into wild rages.

  She felt tears on her face and for an instant was aware of her own body, far from the time where her spirit watched unclean events unfolding. Razvan knew what it was like to be subjected to such a horrific life, yet he held the young girl prisoner to feed off of her.

  Revolted, Natalya turned her attention back to the child. Razvan and Xavier began arguing. Razvan no longer paid attention, releasing his hold on the girl when she ceased struggling. She inched closer to the wall where the dragons were encased in ice. Vikirnoff? Are they alive? Are the dragons talking to her? Can you tell?

  The child’s head was tilted toward the dragons as if listening. Vikirnoff found he was holding his breath. The wall around the dragons began to bulge, the ice fragmenting in great chunks.

  “Stop them!” Xavier leapt back away from the splintering ice as he yelled the warning.

  A bright red dragon burst through the ice, great claws stretched toward Razvan as a second blue-colored dragon bent its wing to the young girl. The child didn’t hesitate, but jumped agilely onto the wing and climbed to its back as the dragon took to the air, rising sharply toward the surface while the first dragon held Xavier and Razvan at bay. It was easy to see both dragons were weak and pale, very sick; their movements, after the initial attack, lacked power.

  Razvan lifted the knife and sliding quickly between the claws, plunged the blade deep into the chest of the red dragon. It screamed in pain, as did the one carrying the child. Valiantly, the flying blue dragon deposited the little girl far above the chamber where she had a chance to escape, before turning back to join her wounded comrade.

  Xavier stepped forward and held up one hand, his voice commanding. The red dragon ceased thrashing to lie still, panting loudly, precious blood draining onto the ice. The blue dragon settled beside it, nuzzling the injured dragon with its long neck and tongue in an effort to save it.

  We must go. There was urgency in Vikirnoff’s voice. We have little time. Part of him was still scanning in real time, and he felt the tear in the night sky even from deep within the cave as evil passed directly over their shelter.

  The events unfolding before Natalya had happened years ago. The bodies of the dragons were now encased in the great hall behind several feet of thick ice. Natalya already knew the price they paid for saving the little girl. As for the child, she could only hope the girl had successfully made her escape and was hidden somewhere in the world, safe from Razvan and Xavier. Unfortunately, there was no way to change history. She could only watch it unfolding before her and hope the dragons had bought the child enough time to escape. Natalya had no choice but to move backward to find the time when her father had hidden the book.

  She allowed the vision to end and actively began to search for a sign of her father. There was so much blood, so many deaths she began to feel nauseated.

  The small vignette Vikirnoff had witnessed between Razvan and Xavier led him to believe that the two men, although in league with one another, were in a power struggle. Razvan couldn’t hope to defeat Xavier with mage skills—unless he had Natalya. It was suddenly very clear to Vikirnoff. Natalya had the natural talent and she was highly intelligent. Instead of developing his own talents, Razvan had relied on Natalya throughout their childhood and early adulthood. Xavier had bought into the deception, thinking he had the twin with the natural skills.

  Where does Razvan’s skill lie? Natalya’s twin may have been lazy in some regard, but he had to possess the same keen intell
igence as his sister.

  There was a small silence. Vikirnoff felt her hesitation. In the planning of battles.

  Something inside Vikirnoff shifted. Of course it had to be Razvan. Xavier and his grandson had joined forces with the vampires, had actually managed to unite an apparently large group of them in spite of their perpetual self-interest. The Malinov brothers were a huge boon to them. The brothers had already conspired to destroy the prince and finding Xavier with his talents and hatred of the Carpathians to match their own, must have seemed providence to them. Xavier would have kept Razvan around only if he was useful. And he had to be extremely useful.

  If Razvan held talents as a planner of battles, as extraordinary as his twin was in other areas, then the Carpathian people could very well be in trouble. The vampires had been harassing the prince and his hunters, continually weakening them with small battles, while sacrificing only pawns.

  I feel the pull of my father. There is much more violence associated with this than I expected.

  Vikirnoff heard the wariness in her voice and his heart went out to her. I am with you, Natalya. You are no longer alone. What was done happened years ago and there is no changing the past. Try to view whatever happens from a distance if at all possible. How could she view the torture and murder of her parents from a distance? He desperately wanted to spare her what was to come and he felt helpless to prevent her pain.

  Natalya allowed his nearness to help comfort her as she reached for the events of the past. Her father came into view, striding through carnivorous plants, shrubs and trees while the ground trembled beneath his feet. The surrounding water, the color of dried blood, marked the area as a bog. She frowned, trying to recognize landmarks. He carried a package wrapped in oilskins and was obviously wary, continuously looking over his shoulder and scanning the area around him.

  He isn’t carrying the ceremonial knife. For some reason that alarmed her more than the darkened skies and flicker of lightning at the edges of the overhead clouds. She found herself straining to see through the foliage around her father. It was so dark, the heavy clouds blocked any moonlight.