Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS

by Christine Feehan

  She turned her head from side to side, not seeing anything, only thinking of him, the lines of pain and fatigue etched deep into the handsome features. His broad shoulders and thick chest. He was tall, much taller than she was, and she wasn’t exactly short. Where was he?

  She could hear the high-pitched sound of bats calling to one another, and somewhere in the raging river one porpoise beckoned to another. The world seemed to narrow, or maybe her senses expanded, making her hearing far more acute, so that her brain processed every individual noise. The rustles in the leaves were insects, the flutter of wings were birds settling for the night, the monkeys overhead disturbed leaves as they kept pace. She heard the sound of voices, two men, about six miles away, and she recognized Manolito’s sensual tone. His voice shimmered in her mind, sent goose bumps skittering over her skin and her stomach clenching in anticipation of seeing him.

  MaryAnn walked fast, urgency driving her. He was in trouble. She knew it. She felt him now, close, where before she couldn’t reach him. She didn’t try connecting mind-to-mind; she wasn’t psychic, but it didn’t matter. She heard his whispered command floating in the air. Come to me. She knew he was injured. Confused. He needed her. Scents burst through her brain, the three-day-old trail of a tapir rooting for vegetation. A margay hidden deep in the canopy a mile to her left. So many creatures, even…jaguar. Her breath hitched and she drew her knees higher, pumping her arms, picking up speed.

  She cut through a series of slopes running along a swollen stream, uncaring when the lower shrubbery tore at her hair. Water poured from every conceivable outlet, creating waterfalls everywhere. The sound was loud in the stillness of the forest. With little moon and the thick canopy overhead, the interior was dark and eerie. Low-lying fog wove a trail of ghoulish gray vapor in and out of the trees, covering the buttress of tangled roots so when she got close to them, the thick knots and snakelike limbs appeared to be dark fortresses hiding secrets. The huge trunks rose up out of the fog, seemingly disembodied from the roots holding them to ground.

  Juliette’s nails dug into Riordan’s arm as they paced behind MaryAnn. Look at her. She runs so smoothly. She’s not jaguar, but I don’t know what she is. I’ve never seen anything like her. Have you?

  Riordan struggled with his memories, trying to remember if he’d ever seen such a transformation. It was difficult to see MaryAnn as more than the beautiful fashion plate she always appeared to him to be. She was intelligent and courageous for a human, he had always given her that, but her courage wasn’t the kind needed to be the lifemate of a Carpathian hunter like Manolito. Riordan’s brother was dominating and hard, with no soft edges to make him more palatable for a woman like MaryAnn. Yet there was a steel core in her. And there was far more to the package than met the eye. She wielded power and energy without conscious deliberation, yet the moment she thought about it, she became inept and afraid.

  The biggest question is whether or not she is a danger to Manolito.

  I think she is very confused about all of this, Riordan. I feel sorry for her. The blood tie to Manolito is strong. If it was only the one exchange, why is the connection so strong in her that she knows more than you where your brother is? Because, make no mistake, she knows exactly where he is and she’s heading straight to him. He’s a good six miles away, but she’s making fast time even though she’s never been in a rain forest in her life.

  MaryAnn felt a buzzing in her head, as if insects were fluttering in her skull. The Carpathians were talking to each other again. She detested that. Were they using her to get to Manolito? If Riordan really wanted to find his brother, why didn’t he approach him directly, call to him, draw him out? Why hadn’t they simply buried the body at their ranch, where Manolito would have risen among family members who would have helped him? Why hadn’t they mentioned a second home? And why were Juliette’s sister and cousin too afraid to even go to the De La Cruz home? Something was very wrong.

  It all should have frightened her—and it might have—but Manolito’s voice once again slid into her head.

  Where are you? He sounded so lost and lonely. Her heart twisted in answer, aching for him.

  She wasn’t a runner, but she picked up the pace, smoothly, easily, leaping over fallen tree trunks as if she’d been born with the reflexes, something inside her urging her to hurry. As she ran, her mind became still, quiet and certain, assessing everything around her with uncommon speed.

  Her vision was odd, as if her other senses being so enhanced had robbed her of normal vision. The vibrant greens and reds of leaves and flowers blended and dulled until it was hard to distinguish color, yet even with the dull gray, she caught the movement of insects and lizards, the flash of the tree frogs and monkeys as they scurried overhead. Her night vision had always been excellent, but now it seemed more so; without the colors to dazzle and blind, she could identify a wider spectrum of things as she raced by.

  It was exhilarating to have all of her senses so sharp. Her hearing was definitely much more acute. She could hear air rushing out of Juliette’s lungs. The ebb and flow of blood in veins. Deep inside of her something wild unfurled and stretched.

  MaryAnn caught her breath, frightened. She stumbled and nearly fell, stopping so abruptly Riordan and Juliette nearly ran her over. She backed away from them, her palm covering the mark over her breast where it throbbed and burned.

  “What did he do to me?” she whispered. “I’m changing into something else.”

  Juliette caught at Riordan’s wrist and squeezed tightly to prevent him from saying the wrong thing. He might not see how fragile and lost MaryAnn looked, but she did. There was a different, very real fear in her eyes now, wary, like a cornered animal. They didn’t know how MaryAnn would react, but more importantly, she didn’t know, and that had Juliette spooked.

  “We don’t know exactly what Manolito did do to you, other than he probably took one blood exchange.” Juliette drew in a deep breath, trying to be honest. “Maybe two. You’re not Carpathian, so he didn’t convert you.”

  “But Nicolae took my blood to better protect Destiny.”

  And she wasn’t afraid of him. Riordan picked that out of her mind. Not like she is now. Why wasn’t she afraid to have Nicolae take her blood when it would be the natural thing to be?

  MaryAnn put a hand to her head, brushing as if to sweep away insects, taking another step backward, away from them. Fear grew with every breath she took. Something was terribly wrong; she knew it, could feel it deep inside her. Closing her fist, she dug her nails deep into her palm to test herself. She was beginning to doubt what was real and what might be illusion.

  She knows we are talking privately, Riordan cautioned, and it upsets her.

  And have you asked yourself how she knows? She shouldn’t. She doesn’t even think she’s psychic.

  She’s more than psychic, Juliette, Riordan said. She wields power without effort.

  Or the knowledge that she’s doing it. “This is crazy, MaryAnn,” Juliette added aloud. “Neither Riordan nor I know what to make of it.”

  “I want to go home.” Even as she said it, MaryAnn knew she couldn’t, not until she found Manolito De La Cruz and assured herself he was alive and well and not in some kind of terrible trouble. Damn her nature, the one that always needed to help and comfort others. She lifted her shaking hand. Her nail had already grown, much, much faster than even the accelerated rate normal for her. “What do you think he did to me? You must have a guess. And is it reversible? Because I’m human and my family is human and I like being human. This is what comes from having a skinny bloodsucking white girl as my best friend.” And she was so going to have a few things to say to Destiny when she saw her again—if she ever saw her again.

  Juliette cast Riordan another anxious glance. “I’m so sorry, MaryAnn. If I knew what was happening, I’d tell you. The thing is this—humans have lived for centuries side-by-side with other species. In all those years, you and I both know, eventually the species are going to mix. Maybe
several centuries ago, there was something we don’t know about. I have jaguar blood. So do a lot of the women who are psychic.”

  MaryAnn shook her head. “Not me.” It felt wrong. She knew her mother and father and her grandparents and great-grandparents. There weren’t any spots in her family and no one sucked blood.

  Could she be mage? Juliette ventured.

  Mages hold power, that’s for certain, and most are good people, but she would be weaving spells. She does not appear to be doing that. She gathers energy as we do and uses it, but she is unaware. That is why she is such a good counselor. She unwittingly urges them to feel better. She wants them happy, so they are. She senses the right thing for each person to hear and she says it.

  MaryAnn’s heart went into overdrive. They were clearly talking to each other again. She turned on her too-high heel and ran headlong into the underbrush, thinking she might outrun them, forgetting they could take to the air if they wanted. And they wanted.

  She felt the rush of displaced air all around her, and Riordan dropped down out of the sky, cutting her off.

  MaryAnn screamed and backpedaled, her heels catching on one of the many roots snaking across the ground. She went down hard, landing on her bottom, looking up at him as he stood over her.

  “That way is dangerous,” Riordan explained, extending his hand to her.

  She kicked at him, furious with him, but mostly angry with herself for being in such a vulnerable position. How many times had she counseled women about going off with strangers—people they met through the Internet, or through friends, but didn’t really know themselves. She curled her fingers around the small canister of pepper spray. Did it work on Carpathians? Or vampires? No one had mentioned them in her pepper-spray class.

  “MaryAnn,” Riordan cautioned, frowning at her. “Don’t be silly. Let me help you up. You’re sitting on the ground. Did you know that there are a million and a half ants per half acre in the rain forest?”

  MaryAnn suppressed a yelp of fear and scrambled to her feet without help, backing away again, brushing at her clothing, feeling the swarm of insects on her legs and arms. I hate this! She screamed it so loud in her head she felt the echo through her clenched teeth. Her eyes burned with tears again.

  The air around them charged with electricity so that the hair on her arm prickled.

  “Take cover,” Riordan yelled and leapt back.

  Thunder rolled. The ground shook. Monkeys howled. Birds screeched and rose from the trees. Lightning sizzled and snapped, slamming to earth in a near-blinding display of energy. Fog poured in all around her. MaryAnn felt strong arms slide around her, and one hand pressed her face into a large, muscular chest. Her feet left the ground, and she was flying through the treetops so fast it made her dizzy.

  Riordan swore and caught Juliette’s arm when she would have pursued. “That was Manolito and he gave us a clear warning to back off. We have no choice but to do so. She’s his lifemate and we have no business interfering.”

  “But…” Juliette trailed off helplessly. “We can’t just leave her.”

  “We have no choice, not unless we want to provoke him into a battle. He will take care of her,” Riordan assured. “We cannot do any more here.”

  5

  MaryAnn circled Manolito’s neck with her arms and buried her face in his shoulder. The wind whipped viciously at her face and neck, tugged maliciously at her hair and managed to slip under the leather jacket to wrap icy fingers around her skin. If she thought the rain forest was bad, flying in the canopy was a thousand times worse. She felt dizzy and sick, and her stomach did rolling flips. She’d face the million ants and the tree frogs before she’d do this again.

  As a child you must have wanted to fly.

  She was certain he was reading her mind easily, and she could feel his superior male amusement, reminding her why she didn’t care all that much for men. And since she wasn’t in the least bit psychic or telepathic, she answered out loud, pressing her lips against his throat. “Never. Not once. I like my feet firmly on the ground.” But his skin smelled so good. It was hard to not sniff and drag him into her lungs.

  Manolito settled them down in a relatively protected area, which she was grateful for because it instantly began to rain. Not a soft drizzle, or even a steady one, but a hard, pounding downpour, as if the heavens simply opened up and dumped an ocean on them.

  MaryAnn stepped away from him the moment she had her legs working. Her stomach was still rolling and pitching, and she swore her nose twitched wanting another good sniff, but she refrained and sent him a long scowl. The problem was, he was looking at her. Not just looking. Staring. Her heart did a slow roll and her stomach did the butterfly thing, but with a lot more wing. And her womb clenched and her nipples…

  She jerked her jacket tight around her and summoned a glare to go with the scowl. Who looked like that? Honestly. Men didn’t really stand there looking gorgeous and hot in the rain forest. Not just hot. Smoking hot. He was the sexiest thing she’d ever laid eyes on, and he was looking at her like he might devour her in one utterly delicious bite. His eyes smoldered with a dark sensuality, making her forget all about leeches and ants, and making her wholly aware she was a woman. She hadn’t felt that way in so long—if ever—that she was flustered.

  “So,” Manolito said, his black eyes burning with such pure sin she nearly melted on the spot. “You came at last.”

  Oh, God. Her stomach did another roll right along with her heart, and she tasted sex in her mouth. He dripped with it. “I came to rescue you.” She blurted the words out before she could think. She couldn’t actually think with him staring and her brain short-circuiting, so really, as stupid as the remark might have been, it wasn’t half-bad under the circumstances.

  He smiled, a slow, sensual smile that sizzled and dazzled and tightened the spirals in her already curly hair. Maybe he was the Carpathian secret weapon against women, because it was working on her. The man was a menace. Truly. She had to get ahold of herself. She snapped her fingers. “Consider yourself saved and let’s get out of here.” Because wanting to jump him was most likely the effect of the rain forest, all sultry and sweaty. She’d read a lot of Tarzan books in her youth. She was just programmed for sex in the jungle, and the sooner she got out of there, the faster she’d return to normal.

  He crooked his finger at her. “Come here.”

  Her mouth went dry. “I’m perfectly fine right here, thank you.” With her favorite boots sinking into the muck. She couldn’t move if she’d wanted to. Her heart pounded and fear crept in, not of him, of herself. For herself.

  His gaze slid over her, and there was dark possession glittering in the black depths. Not love. Possession. Ownership. Raw sensuality. Her body responded, but her brain screamed a warning. She wasn’t dealing with a human male who lived under the rules of her society. She was alone with a Carpathian who believed he had every right to her. Who knew he could control her mind and persuade her to do his bidding. This man would demand total submission and surrender from his partner. And she was a no-submission, no-surrender kind of woman. How the hell had she gotten herself into such trouble?

  “I said come here to me.” His tone didn’t rise, or even harden; rather he pitched the command lower so that his voice felt like the velvet rasp of a tongue sliding over her skin. His black eyes compelled her obedience.

  She stepped closer before she could stop herself, and strong arms whipped around her, crushing her body against his. She fit like a glove. He was hard and muscular, and she was all soft curves and aware of every one of them. He whispered something in his own language, something soft and utterly sensual. Te avio päläfertiilam. He repeated the words as his tongue swirled against the pulse beating so frantically in her neck. “You are my lifemate.”

  It couldn’t be true because she knew one had to be psychic, but right then, in that precise moment, she wanted it to be true. She wanted the feeling of belonging to this man. She had never had such a physical reaction to a
nother being in her life. Entolam kuulua, avio päläfertiilam. His lips whispered over her pulse, teeth nipping gently as his tongue stroked another caress. She thought her body might go up in flames. “I claim you as my lifemate.”

  She lifted her head, opened her mouth to protest, but his mouth fastened on hers, taking her breath, exchanging it with his. Her legs turned to rubber, and to anchor herself she wound one leg around his thighs while her tongue tangled with his in a long, slow dance of pure erotic pleasure. The feeling burst through her so that her blood pounded and her heart thundered in her ears. She almost missed the soft words brushing along the walls of her mind and embedding there.

  Ted kuuluak, kacad, kojed. Elidamet andam. Pesamet andam. Uskolfertiilamet andam. Sivamet andam. Sielamet andam. Ainamet andam. Sivamet kuuluak kaik etta a ted. “I belong to you. I offer my life for you. I give you my protection. I give you my allegiance. I give you my heart. I give you my soul. I give you my body. I take into my keeping the same that is yours.”

  The kiss deepened, and she was falling, burning, wrapping herself inside Manolito De La Cruz. She felt her heart and soul reaching for his. Merging. Her breasts ached and grew heavy. She felt the damp eagerness in her deepest feminine core, and her mind blurred even more with the hot passion rising.

  Some small, sane part tried to save her, some little untouched portion of her brain raising a red flag, but his mouth was unlike anything she’d ever experienced and she wanted more, his taste addicting. His hand slipped inside her jacket, pushed up the edge of her shirt and closed over her breast so that she gasped and drew his head down to her, wanting him. Wanting. No, needing.

  His lips wandered down her throat as one hand settled into her hair, bunching the thick braid in his fist, anchoring her to him while he explored the satiny soft skin. He found the swell of her breast, the mark he had placed there branding her his.