Carpathian 01 - Dark Prince

was hoarse and strangled, mingled with her soft throaty threads of sound as he took them both careening over a cliff, scattering them to the very heavens, to the rolling seas.
    I cannot lose you, little one. You are my best half. I love you more than I can ever express. Mikhail rubbed his face over hers and kissed her damp hair.
    She touched her tongue to a bead of sweat, smiling up at him tiredly. "I think I would always recognize you, Mikhail, no matter how damaged my mind."
    He rolled over, taking her with him so that his weight would not crush her smaller body. "That is how it should be, Raven. You suffered much these past days, and it will stay fresh in my mind for all eternity.
    Tomorrow night we must leave this region. The vampire is dead, but he has left behind a trail that could destroy our people. We must move to a more isolated area, where perhaps our people can survive the coming persecution." He brought up her arm to examine the long, deep scratches left by Andre.
    "You're so certain it is coming?"
    A faint, bitter smile touched his mouth as he waved to snuff out the candles. "I have too often in my lifetime seen the signs. They will come, the assassins, and humans and Carpathians alike will suffer. We will retreat for a quarter of a century, perhaps a half century, give ourselves time to regroup." His tongue found the angry marks, and bathed them gently with his healing touch. It was comforting and felt right to her.
    Her lashes drifted down, their combined scents lingering in the bedchamber, a soothing fragrance. "I love you, Mikhail, all of you, even the beast in you. I don't know why I became so confused. You aren't evil; I can see so clearly inside of you."
    Sleep, little one, in my arms where you belong. Mikhail drew up the quilt, wrapped protective arms around her, and sent them both to sleep.
    It was a small group that gathered in the darkness of the tiny churchyard on consecrated ground.
    Jacques was wan and pale, his wound a raw scar still in the stages of healing. He slipped his arm around Raven's slender shoulders, swaying a little unsteadily. She glanced up at him with a quick reassuring smile. Behind Jacques, Byron stood close to make certain his friend didn't fall. Off to one side Aidan stood alone, tall and straight, his head bowed slightly.
    The churchyard was on the castle grounds, old, with exquisite ancient architecture, the chapel small but beautiful. Stained-glass windows and a high rising steeple threw a darker shadow across the small graveyard. Scattered tombstones, angels, and crosses were silent witnesses as Mikhail waved a hand to part the welcoming soil.
    Out of respect, Gregori had fashioned a wooden box, intricately carved with ancient figures of reverence. He lowered the box slowly into the waiting arms of the earth and stepped back.
    Mikhail crossed himself, recited the burial ritual, and sprinkled holy water on Edgar Hummer's coffin.
    "He was my friend, my guide when I was troubled, and he believed in the need for the continuation of our race. I never met a man, human or Carpathian, with more compassion or light in him. God shone in his heart and through his eyes."
    Mikhail waved his hand and the earth filled in until it was as if it had never been disturbed. He bowed his Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    head, fought unexpected grief, felt the blood-red tears that escaped unchecked. It was Gregori who secured the headstone and Gregori, a nonbeliever in Mikhail's faith, who led the final prayer. Their voices, so beautiful and mesmerizing, rose in a Latin chant in the priest's honor.
    Mikhail inhaled the night air, sent regret to his wolves. The answer was a chorus of mournful howls echoing through the dark forest.
    Gregori's body bent first, feathers shimmering iridescent in the moonlight. A six-foot wingspan spread and he glided to the high branch of a nearby tree, razor-sharp talons digging into a branch. The owl's body went motionless, blended into the night, simply waited. Aidan was next, a peculiar golden color, powerful and lethal, just as silent. Byron's form was shorter, more compact, his feathers a mantle of white. Mikhail's solid form wavered in the shadows and he launched himself into the night sky, the other three following.
    As if in perfect understanding they soared higher, shimmering feathers beating strongly as they raced silently toward the clouds high above the forest floor. The wind rushed against their