Текст книги "Dark Prince"

Автор книги: Christine Feehan

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

It was Father Hummer’s garden that got her through the long hours of the morning. The noonday sun sent her seeking the sanctuary of his cottage. Even with the protection of glasses, Raven’s eyes burned, watered, ached in the power of the sun. Her skin seemed ultrasensitive, burning and reddening fast, although she had never sunburned before.

They retreated together and managed two chess games, one interrupted while Raven concentrated on fighting her private demons. She was grateful for Father Hummer’s presence, uncertain she could have survived her separation from Mikhail. Without him. She drank herbal tea to counteract the terrible weakness in her body from lack of food.

The afternoon hours seemed endless. Raven managed to stave off the yawning emptiness with only a few bouts of weeping. By five o’clock she was exhausted and determined that for her own pride she had to manage the last couple of hours on her own. Mikhail would call for her in two hours, three at the most, if he had spoken the truth. If Raven was to live with herself, recover any of her independence and dignity, she had to face those last hours alone.

Even with the sun so much lower in the sky and clouds beginning to move across the horizon, sunlight still hurt her eyes despite the dark glasses. Without them, she would never have made it through the village streets back to the inn.

Fortunately the inn was relatively quiet. Mrs. Galvenstein and her people were in the midst of preparing dinner and setting up the dining room. None of the other guests were present, so Raven was able to escape unnoticed to her room.

She took a long shower, allowing the hot water to beat on her body, hoping it would drive out her terrible need for Mikhail. She braided her damp, blue-black hair into a long, thick tail and lay down on her bed without a stitch on. The cool air fanned her skin, hot from the shower, traveled over her, soothing her. Raven closed her eyes.

She became aware of the sound of pottery chinking together as the tables were set. Without conscious thought she latched onto that. It seemed a good way to keep misery and grief at bay, to explore this new capability. Raven found that with a little concentration she could turn the volume down low, even off, or she could hear insects beating their wings in the pantry. There was the sound of mice scurrying around in the walls, a few in the attic.

The cook and the maid argued briefly over the maid’s duties. Mrs. Galvenstein hummed off key in the kitchen as she worked. Whispers drew Raven’s attention, the whispers of conspirators.

“There is no way Mikhail Dubrinsky or Raven Whitney are undead,” Margaret Summers was saying hotly. “He may know these people, but he isn’t a vampire.”

“We have to go now.” That was Hans. “We won’t get another chance like this again. We can’t wait for the others. I have no intention of waiting until dark.”

“It’s already too late.” Jacob’s voice was whiny. “Only a couple of hours until the sun goes down. It will take an hour just to get there.”

“Not if we hurry. It’s trapped in the ground,” Hans insisted. “By tomorrow it will be gone.”

“I still think we should wait for Eugene and the others,” Jacob complained. “They have experience.”

“We can’t wait,” Harry Summers decided. “Hans is right. The vampires know we’re after them and are probably moving their coffins every day. We can’t miss this opportunity. Gather the tools quickly.”

“I still think that Dubrinsky guy is one of them. Raven is completely under his spell. Shelly told me they were engaged,” Jacob protested.

“I am certain of it, as was my father before me. I am convinced he was a young man when my father was born,” Hans said grimly.

“I tell you, it is not so.” Margaret was adamant.

“It is strange, the effect he has on women, and the lengths they go to protect him,” Hans said suspiciously, effectively silencing the older woman.

Raven could hear the sounds as the assassins gathered their deadly equipment. Had Hans and Jacob convinced Harry Summers to kill Mikhail? Or another of Mikhail’s people? She rolled off the bed and dragged on clean, faded jeans. As she dressed in thick socks and hiking boots, she sent a call to Mikhail. Again she found a black void.

Muttering a few choice swear words, Raven jerked a soft powder-blue chambray shirt over her head. She didn’t know the local police or where to find them. And who would believe there were vampire hunters anyway? It was ludicrous. Father Hummer? He certainly couldn’t chase around the mountains at his age.

“I’ll put this stuff in the car,” Jacob was saying.

“No! It will be faster on foot. We can cut through the forest. Put it in the knapsacks,” Hans insisted. “Hurry, hurry, we don’t have much time. We must go before they waken and are at full strength.”

Raven looked around the room hastily for a weapon. Nothing. When she helped the FBI with a case, the agents accompanying her carried firearms. She took a deep calming breath, kept tuned to the group as they left the inn.

There were four of them for sure: Margaret, Harry, Jacob, and Hans. She should have suspected Jacob. The night she had attempted to eat dinner with them she had been so sick; she should have realized it was her body’s natural reaction to the demented minds of killers. But she had put it down to an overload of emotion from everything that had happened to her.

Yet Jacob had touched her. He couldn’t have taken part in Noelle’s murder or Raven would have known. Harry and Margaret might have convinced him there were vampires around; they were fanatical, dangerous people. Raven knew Shelly wasn’t involved. She was sitting on her bed, writing her papers for school. There might be a chance to appeal to Jacob, make him realize just how insane a vampire hunt was.

Catching up the dark glasses, Raven slipped out of her room and moved noiselessly down the hall. It was necessary to guard her thoughts and emotions with Margaret Summers close by. Since knowing Mikhail and using telepathic communication with him, Raven was finding it easier and easier to focus her talent.

She waited until the group had disappeared onto the path leading into the forest. Her heart jumped, nearly stopped for a moment, then began to pound. Her mouth went dry. The path led to Mikhail’s home; she was certain it was the same footpath he had used the first time he had taken her to his house. He was helpless, wounded, in a drug-induced sleep.

Raven began to jog, careful not to catch up with the assassins, or get too close. She would defend Mikhail with her life if need be, but she wasn’t overanxious for a confrontation if she could avoid it.

Darker, more ominous clouds floated across the blue sky.

The wind began to pick up, just enough to signal a slow-approaching storm. Leaves blew across the footpath in a steady stream, lighter branches swayed and dipped as she passed.

Raven shivered in the cooler air, fear clutching at her. Mikhail! Hear me!She sent the imperious demand in desperation, praying as she got closer that she might penetrate whatever barriers the drugs had erected.

She heard the sound of ragged breathing and stopped, shrinking back against a broad tree trunk. Harry Summers had fallen behind the rapidly moving group, stopping to catch his breath. Raven watched as he huffed and puffed, dragging air into his lungs.

They were climbing higher into the mountains. With a sigh of relief, Raven realized they had taken a fork in the footpath and were now moving away from Mikhail. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks and began to pace behind Harry. She moved with the stealth of one of Mikhail’s wolves, astonished that she could do so. Not a twig snapped beneath her feet, not a single rock rolled. If only she had their strength. She was so weak from lack of food, exhausted from lack of sleep.

Raven lifted her chin. These people would not commit another senseless murder. It didn’t matter that the intended victim was not Mikhail—she had to try to prevent whatever they were going to do. Harry was slowing her down, resting every few minutes. She considered slipping through the trees and getting ahead of him, but that would put enemies both at her front and her back.

Half an hour later Raven glanced anxiously up at the sky. There were thick stands of trees in places, long stretches of meadow in others. That forced her to slow down even more. She didn’t dare get caught out in the open. And now the wind was increasing enough to send splinters of cold blasting through her. In her haste to follow the group she had forgotten her jacket. The sun was still a good hour from sinking, but the gathering clouds had dimmed its light. Storms often gathered quickly in these mountains and raged for hours. Over the next ridge, Raven halted abruptly.

A meadow spread out before her covered in green grass, beds of herbs, and fields of wildflowers. A house was tucked into the trees surrounded by lush bushes. Harry had joined the others a yard or so away from the house, circling an area of ground. Harry held a wooden stake in his hand, Hans, a heavy hammer. They were chanting, sprinkling the ground with water from an urn. Jacob was clutching a shovel and a pick ax.

The first wave of nausea hit Raven, then a peculiar sensation, a wave of pain starting in her lower back, spreading around to her abdomen, tightening every muscle. Not her own pain. It belonged to another. She tasted fear in her mind, her mouth. Desperation. Raven was locked mind to mind with another. Sheneeded to get to the surface so her baby could be born.

“It’s the devil’s harlot, she gives birth,” Margaret screamed, her face a mask of revulsion and hatred. “I feel her fear. She knows we’re here and she’s helpless.”

Jacob sank the pick ax deep into the soft earth. Hans began a frenzied digging. The terrible clinking of metal on rock sickened Raven. It provided background music for the depravity of their fanatical minds.

Raven imagined she could hear the very earth scream in pain and outrage. She fought for a calming breath. She needed a plan. The woman must be caught in one of the many mineshaft criss-crossing the area, or an underground cellar of some kind. She was in pain, in labor, afraid for her life and the life of her unborn child.

Raven caught the mental footprints, followed them, blocking out everything else and concentrating on bringing the woman into focus. She waited until the contraction subsided and very gently sent a probe. The woman with the assassins can hear your thoughts, feel your pain and fear. Guard yourself and any communication with me carefully or we’re both in danger.

Shock—then nothing. Tentatively the woman responded. Are you one of them? No. Are you trapped? They’re digging up the earth.

Panic, fear, then the emptiness while the woman struggled for control. Ido not want my baby to die. Can you help me?

Us? Please help us!Another contraction seized her, took her into its grip. “She’s trying to contact someone!” Margaret shrieked. “Hurry!”

Mikhail! We need you!Raven sent the call hopelessly. What was she going to do? She was too far away to get help, the authorities, a rescue team. She needed someone, anyone, to help her figure a way to save the woman and her unborn child.

I must surface,the woman said in despair. I cannot allow my baby to die. My lifemate will attempt to fight them off while I give birth.

They will kill all of you. Try to hang on. Can you hold out for a half-hour, an hour? We II have help after that.

They will get to us first. I feel them above me, disturbing the earth. They have death in their minds.

I’ll try to buy you some more time.

Who are you?The woman was calmer now, determined to stay in control now that an outside source was working with her.

Raven took a breath, let it out. What was the most reassuring way to answer? Raven Whitney would hardly inspire confidence. I am Mikhail’s woman.

The woman’s relief spilled over and Margaret shrieked again, whipping the men into a digging frenzy. Raven stepped out of the timberline, began a slow saunter boldly across the meadow, humming to herself as she walked. Harry spotted her first. She heard his curse, his whispered orders to the others. Jacob and Hans stopped work, Hans looking uneasily up at the sky.

Raven waved to the group, flashing an innocent smile. “Hi, everybody. What are you doing? Isn’t it beautiful up here?” She turned around in a circle, arms outstretched. “The flowers are brilliant, aren’t they?” she continued gushing. She was very careful to keep a good distance between them. “I’m so mad I forgot my camera.”

The four assassins exchanged nervous, guilty looks. Margaret was the first to recover, sending Raven a serene, welcoming smile. “How lovely to see you, dear. You’re a long way from the inn.”

“I thought a hike and some fresh air would be good for me. Are you hiking, too?” Raven didn’t have to pretend to shiver as she ran her hands up and down her arms to warm herself. “It looks like we’re in for another storm. I was just thinking of turning around when I spotted all of you.” She turned her head toward the rambling stone house. “I would love to live this far out in the mountains, surrounded by nature.” She looked directly at Hans, smiling guilelessly. “Your place is wonderful. You must love it up here.”

They all looked confused and guilty, as if they had no idea what to do. Jacob was the first to recover. He dropped his pick ax and started purposefully toward her. Raven’s breath caught in her throat. She was as indecisive as they were. She didn’t dare run and give herself away, but she didn’t want Jacob to get his hands on her either.

Raven stepped back, allowing the smile to fade from her face. “Have I interrupted something?”

At that moment the woman trapped beneath the earth had another swelling contraction. It rippled through her body like a strong wave, and the woman’s pain radiated out from her. Instantly Margaret locked eyes with Raven.

There was only one thing to do and Raven did it. Gasping in horror, she ran forward toward the group. “Oh, my God! There’s someone trapped in a mineshaft and she’s in labor! Margaret! Is that what’s happening? Has someone gone for help?”

In her headlong flight she deliberately chose a path away from Jacob and toward the left, to the timberline side of the others. She stumbled to a halt on the edge of the digging site. The air was heavy, sluggish, almost difficult to breathe. She recognized a pale version of Mikhail’s safeguards. The pregnant woman’s lifemate must have thrown up a barrier hastily in an attempt to slow the progress of the fanatics.

“It will be all right,” Margaret said calmly, as if she were talking to a child. “That thing down there is not human.”

Raven’s head came up, blue eyes wide with shock. “Can’t you feel her? Margaret, I told you I have certain abilities. I wouldn’t make up something like this. There’s a woman trapped down there and she’s having a baby. There are mines all through this area. She must have gotten trapped in one of them. I can feel her fear.”

“She’s not human.” Margaret walked carefully around the site toward her. “I’m like you, Raven. We are sisters. I know how painful it was for you to hunt the serial killers you brought to justice, because I have done the same thing.”

Raven swallowed a lump of fear. Margaret sounded so sweet and refined. But she reeked of the sour smell of fanaticism. The faded eyes blazed diabolically with it. Raven’s stomach heaved. Maybe she could reach Jacques. “Margaret, you must feel her pain, her fear.” Raven’s mouth was dry, her heart pounding. “You know who I am, what I’m capable of. I would never make a mistake in something like this.”

Hans went back to work with the shovel, muttering a warning to the others. The wind tugged at their clothing, raked at their bodies. The clouds darkened to an ominous charcoal, began to roil as the wind shrieked through them. Lightning arced from cloud to cloud and thunder rumbled in warning.

“This is undead. A vampiress. She feeds off the blood of our children.” Margaret crept closer to Raven.

Raven shook her head, pressed her hands into her stomach. “You can’t believe that, Margaret. Vampires are pure fiction. This woman trapped down there is very real. Vampires don’t have babies. Come on, Jacob! You can’t believe this nonsense.”

“She’s a vampire, Raven, and we’re going to kill her.” Jacob indicated the knapsack lying open with the sharpened stakes. His eyes were overbright with anticipation. He looked eager to do the task.

She backpedaled. “You’re all crazy.”

Please! Help me! Call him!The desperate cry was edged with terror and pain. Raven reacted immediately. Mikhail! Jacques! Help us.

“The she devil is calling to her,” Margaret reported.

Please, call Mikhail. He will come for you,the woman wailed.

“Stop her,” Margaret screamed. “The vampiress speaks to her, begs her to call for help. Don’t do it, Raven. She tricks you. Don’t call Dubrinsky.”

Raven spun away from them, took off running, sending out a frantic call into the stormy air for Mikhail, for anyone. She made it into the trees before Jacob caught her, locking onto her legs just below the knees and slamming her hard into the ground.

The fall knocked the wind out of her, her head spun, and for a moment she lay still, facedown on the forest floor wondering what had happened. Jacob flipped her over roughly, straddling her, his boyish good looks twisted with lust and the urge for domination. She caught the sickening chemical odor of cocaine emanating from his pores.

Mikhail!She sent the call like a prayer, knowing what Jacob had in mind, knowing she wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

The wind increased. Far off, a wolf howled, and another answered. Farther away, a bear growled irritably.

“You think you’re so damned smart, selling yourself to the highest bidder, so innocent and untouchable.” Jacob gripped the front of her chambray shirt, jerked hard, and ripped the material right down to her small waist. Her full breasts spilled out, instantly drawing his attention. Roughly he grabbed her, bruising soft flesh.

I’m sorry.The trapped woman’s cry was edged with guilt. She had failed to guard her mental cries, had allowed Margaret Summers to hear her calls to Raven.

Mikhail! Please!Raven’s hopeless plea went out again. You must hear me. I need you. God, please help me. Help that poor woman.

Jacob roared, slapped her once, twice. “He’s marked you. My God, you’re one of them.” His hand closed over her throat, threatening to cut off her air. “He’s impregnated you like the others. I knew it was him.”

He raised his hand above her and Raven caught the glint of shiny metal. Jacob stabbed down, his face a mask of fury and hate. Pain sliced low and wicked through her abdomen; blood gushed warm. Jacob pulled the dripping knife from her flesh and raised it again.

Chapter Nine

The earth rumbled, shook, rolled. Jacob’s knife buried deep a second time. The wind unleashed its deadly power, sent leaves, twigs, and small branches flying through the air like missiles. The knife bit a third time. Lightning sizzled once, twice, three times, slammed into the earth as thunder cracked, shaking the land with the unholy sound. The knife found her a fourth time. The heavens opened up and rain poured down hard and fast, as if floodgates had burst.

Jacob was covered in blood. He pushed away from her, turning his head as the sky grew darker. He could hear the others screaming in fear. “Damn you.” He sliced down a fifth time in fury and defiance.

An unseen hand caught his wrist before the blade could find her, fingers curling hard in an unbreakable grip. The knife turned inward toward Jacob’s throat, and for one long, eternal moment, he stared in horror at the bloodied blade as it inched toward his flesh. It struck suddenly, burying itself to the hilt.

Wolves boiled out of the forest, circled the meadow, glowing eyes fixed on the three people dodging branches that were hurtling through the air. Margaret screamed and ran. Harry took off blindly and Hans lost his footing and dropped to his knees as the earth heaved and shook again.

“Raven.” Mikhail materialized beside her, fear for her clawing at his guts. He ripped the jeans away so he could see the extent of her injuries.

The earth rolled again, split the meadow open. Mikhail clamped his hands over the pumping holes in an attempt to stem the terrible flow of blood. Jacques shimmered into view, then Eric, Byron. Tienn arrived, and Vlad.

Gregori blasted out of the sky toward the three human assassins surrounded by the wolf pack. There on the meadow, with the world coming to an end, he took the shape of a huge, black wolf, a wolf with the hungry, mad eyes of retribution.

“My God.” Jacques was on his knees beside Mikhail, gathering handfuls of rich soil. “Go, Byron, for the herbs. Hurry!”

Within minutes they had packed Raven’s wounds with their poultices. Mikhail ignored them, cradling Raven in his arms, his large body bent protectively to shield her from the onslaught of the pounding rain.

Mikhail’s entire being was concentrated, focused on only one thing. You will not leave me,he commanded. I will not release you.Lightning sizzled, whipped across the sky, slammed into the earth. On its heels thunder boomed, shook the mountains.

“Jacques! Eleanor is going to give birth.” Vlad was desperate.

“Get her into the house. Call Celeste and Dierdre.” Jacques toed Jacob’s body contemptuously as he added his large frame as a shelter over Raven.

“She is not dead,” Mikhail hissed, seeing the compassion in his brother’s eyes. “She is dying, Mikhail.” Jacques’s chest hurt with the knowledge.

Mikhail dragged her to him, bent his head until his cheek lay against hers. Iknow you can hear me; you must drink, Raven. Drink deeply.

He felt the faint stirring in his mind. Warmth, regret. So much pain. Letme go.

No! Never! Do not talk. Just drink. For me, if you love me, for me, for my life, drink what I offer.Before Jacques could guess his intent and try to stop him, Mikhail jabbed deeply into his own jugular.

Dark blood spurted. Mikhail forced her to him, used every power he possessed to force compliance. Her will obeyed; her body was almost too weak to follow. She swallowed what poured into her but could not draw deeply on her own.

Bolt after bolt of lightning slammed to earth. A tree exploded, rained fiery sparks. The earth heaved again, rolled, came apart at the seams. Gregori loomed over them, the darkest of the Carpathians, his pale eyes ice cold and holding the stark promise of death.

“The wolves did their job,” Eric reported grimly. “The lightning and earthquakes will do the rest.”

Jacques ignored him, gripping Mikhail’s shoulder. “Enough, Mikhail. You grow too weak. She has lost too much blood. She has internal injuries.”

Black rage filled Mikhail. He threw back his head and roared his denial, the sound exploding through the forest and mountains like the booming of the thunder. Trees burst into flames around them, exploding like sticks of dynamite.

“Mikhail.” Jacques refused to relinquish his hold. “Stop her now.”

“She has my blood; it will heal her. If we can keep blood in her, get her into the soil and perform the healing ritual, then she will live.”

“Enough, damn it!” Jacques voice held very real fear.

Gregori touched Mikhail gently. “If you die, my old friend, we have no chance of saving her. We must work together if we are to do this thing.”

Raven’s head lolled back, her body limp like a rag doll. Mikhail’s blood ran unchecked down his chest. Jacques leaned into his brother, but Gregori was there before him, closing the gaping wound with a single stroke of his tongue.

Mikhail was nearly oblivious to his surroundings, he was directing his entire being, his entire disciplined focus on Raven. She was slipping away from him, fading slowly but surely. Her heart beat erratically, one beat, a miss, a single beat. There was an ominous, eerie silence.

Swearing, Mikhail laid her flat, physically breathed for her, manually stimulated her heart. His mind sought the trail of hers, found a small, huddled light, dim and fading. She floated on a sea of pain. She was weak beyond his imaginings. Breathe, massage. Call her back, reinforce it with an order. Repeat the process.

A torrent of water raced down the rocky canyon behind them, a solid wall gathering speed and force. The ground shook again. Two trees exploded into fiery conflagrations despite the heavy rains.

“Let us help,” Gregori ordered softly.

Jacques moved his brother gently aside, took over CPR while Gregori breathed for Raven. In and out, Gregori filled her lungs with precious air. Jacques forced her heart to continue. It left Mikhail free to concentrate on his mental quest. A stirring in his mind, the lightest of touches, but he knew it was her and he locked onto that trace and followed it ruthlessly. You will not leave me.

She tried to move away from him, up and away. There was too much pain in the direction in which he called her.

Panicked, Mikhail screamed her name. You cannot leave me, Raven. I cannot survive without you. Come back to me, come back to me, or I follow you where you lead.

“I have a pulse,” Jacques said. “It is weak, but it is there. We need transport.”

There was a shimmering in the gathering darkness. Tienn appeared beside them. “Eleanor has given birth, and the child lives,” he announced. “It is a male.”

Mikhail let out his breath in a long, slow hiss. “She betrayed Raven.”

Jacques shook his head in warning when Eric would have spoken, would have tried to defend the woman. Mikhail was in a killing rage. The slightest mistake might provoke him. Mikhail’s fury was triggering the turbulent weather, the raging storm and heaving earth.

Mikhail sank back into his mind, holding Raven to him, taking as much of her pain as he could. The trip home was a blur to him, the rain pelting the windshield, lightning sizzling and snapping. The village was deserted and dark, the electricity out in the terrible ferocity of the storm. Inside their houses, people were huddled and praying, hoping to live through the ferocious storm, not understanding their very lives could depend on one small human woman’s courage and tenacity.

Raven’s body, so limp and lifeless, was stripped of her bloodstained clothing and placed on Mikhail’s bed. Healing herbs were crushed, some lit. The poultices were replaced with newer, stronger ones to try to stem further blood loss. Mikhail touched the dark bruises on her face with trembling fingers, the dark marks that stood out starkly against her full white breasts where Jacob had deliberately hurt her in his jealous, drugged rage. Fury seized Mikhail and he longed to crush Jacob’s throat beneath his hands. “She needs blood,” he said abruptly.

“So do you.” Jacques waited for Mikhail to draw the sheet over Raven before he offered his wrist. “Drink while you can.”

Gregori touched his shoulder. “Forgive me, Jacques, but my blood is stronger. It holds immense power. Allow me to do this small thing for my friend.” At Jacques’s nod, Gregori drew a single mark over his vein.

There was silence as Mikhail availed himself of Gregori’s rich blood. Jacques sighed softly. “She has exchanged blood on three occasions with you?” He forced his voice to be neutral, not wanting to appear to reprimand his leader and brother.

Mikhail’s dark eyes flickered warningly. “Yes. If she lives, she will most likely be one of us.” It was left unsaid that she might live to be destroyed by the very one who had converted her.

“We cannot seek human medical aid for her. If our way does not work, Mikhail, her doctors will be useless anyway,” Jacques cautioned.

“Damn it, do you think I do not realize what I have done? You think I do not know I failed her, that I failed to protect her? That by my selfish actions I put her life in jeopardy?” Mikhail stripped off his bloody shirt, balled it in one hand, and threw it to the farthermost corner of the room.

“This is senseless, looking back,” Gregori said calmly.

Mikhail’s boots hit the floor, his socks. He dragged himself onto the bed beside Raven. “She cannot take blood our way; she is too weak. We have no choice but to use their primitive transfusion methods.”

“Mikhail...” Jacques said warningly.

“We have no choice. She did not take all that she needed, not even close. We cannot afford the delay of argument. I ask you, my brother, and you, Gregori, as my friend, to do this for us.” Mikhail cradled Raven’s head in his lap, sat back among the pillows and closed his eyes tiredly while they began the primitive process.

If he lived another thousand years, Mikhail would never forget that first stirring of unease in his mind while he lay as dead beneath the earth. Knowledge had exploded in his brain, spread terror in his heart and fury in his soul. He had felt Raven’s rippling fear. Jacob’s hand on her precious body, the brutal blows, the tearing sensation of the knife as it sliced through skin and into her soft insides. So much pain and fear. So much guilt that she had failed to protect Eleanor and her unborn child.

Raven’s weak touch had slipped inside his mind, so whispery, edged with pain and regret. I’m sorry, Mikhail. I’ve failed you.Her last coherent thought had been for him. He loathed himself, loathed Eleanor for not having the discipline to learn mental communication, focused and pure.

In that one second of understanding, as he lay helpless, locked in the soil, the very foundations of his life, his beliefs, had been rocked. As he burst free, Jacques rising with him, he had mentally reached for Jacob, had buried the bloodstained knife to the hilt in the murderer’s throat.

The storm enabled Vlad to break Eleanor and him free without the fear of blindness or that one moment of complete disorientation that would have given the assassins the time to kill his laboring wife.

Mikhail sought Raven’s mind, crawled to her with warmth and love, his arms a shelter. The needle jabbed the inside of his arm, pierced hers. He had no doubt that his brother would monitor the transfusion closely. Jacques held Mikhail’s life along with Raven’s in his hands. If she died, Mikhail followed her. He knew in his heart, the black fury that remained would endanger anyone near him, Carpathian and human alike. He could only hope that Gregori was up to the job of dispatching Carpathian justice to him swiftly and accurately if Raven should die.