Carpathian 01 - Dark Prince

wouldn't survive.
    He sighed heavily, rose once more. He needed to replenish himself, get to work. Again he crushed healing herbs, then thrust her more deeply into sleep. He was meticulous about the safeguards in his home and added a command to the creatures in the forest. If anyone came near his lair, threatened her in any way, he would know immediately.
    At Mikhail's call, Jacques and Byron met him in the trees above Noelle and Rand's home. Once the body had been discovered, it had been properly burned, as was their way. "You touched nothing else?"
    Mikhail asked.
    "Only the body. All of their clothes and personal items were left as we found them," Byron assured him.
    "Rand did not go back in the house. You know they must have some sort of trap set for you. The body was left deliberately as bait."
    "Oh, I am certain of that. They will use all the modern technology they can come up with—cameras, videos." Mikhail's dark features were brooding. "They believe all the legends. Stakes, garlic, beheading.
    They are so predictable and primitive." There was a snarl in his voice, contempt for the murderers. "They take so much trouble to learn about our kind before they condemn us to death."
    Byron and Jacques exchanged an uneasy glance. Mikhail in this mood could be lethal. His hooded eyes, burning with fury, slid over them. "You stay and observe. If I get into trouble, you get out. Do not show yourselves." He hesitated. "If something goes wrong, I ask a favor."
    Mikhail had slipped into old-word formality. Byron and Jacques would lay down their lives for him. It was a rare privilege to be asked a favor by the prince of their people. "My woman is sleeping deeply.
    She rests in my home. The safeguards are many and perilous. You must be careful and take great care to unravel them meticulously. She is to be healed, taught how to shield herself, and if she chooses, to stay in your protection. Through our bloodline, Jacques, you will inherit the mantle of leadership. I believe it should be offered to Gregori at this time, to give you the time you will need to educate yourself to lead. If Gregori should refuse to accept—and most likely he will—my mantle must pass to you, Jacques. You will find it not to your liking, as I suspect you are already aware. If such becomes the case, you will have to ensure Gregori's loyalty to you and to our people. You will do these things for me. Byron, you will aid Jacques as Gregori has aided me. Both of you will give your sworn allegiance to Gregori should he accept."
    Both answered formally, speaking the words that bound them to their vow. Byron cleared his throat.

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    "Have you… that is, is she one of us?" He ventured the question with great caution. They all knew vampires had attempted the conversion of human women. They had even discussed the possibility that they try, because they were in such a desperate situation. The risk far outweighed the advantages. The women that had been converted had gone mad, had murdered small children, and had been impossible to save. Carpathians were born with their abilities and taught rigid discipline. The few who broke their laws were dealt with instantly and harshly. The race respected all forms of life. Because of their tremendous power, it had to be that way.
    Mikhail shook his head. "I know that she is my true mate. The ritual was hard on her. I had no choice but to replenish her." His words were terse, surly, daring them to continue the inquisition, warning them that it would be at their peril. "I did not bind her to me. She is mortal and it would be wrong."
    "We will do as you wish," Byron reiterated with an uneasy glance at Jacques, who looked more amused than worried.
    Mikhail dissolved effortlessly, streamed down through the heavy branches of the fir tree. Once on the ground he took the form of a wolf. Mist couldn't scent, and he needed the unique capabilities of his furred brethren. He would find spoor and follow it. After all, first and foremost, above all else, he was a predator. His shrewd intellect only served to enhance his hunting abilities.
    The wolf circled the clearing warily, nose close to the ground, examining each tree in the vicinity near the house. The wolf smelled death. It filled his nostrils with its sour, pungent odor. He began to crisscross the ground, covering every inch in his search pattern, identifying Rand's odor, Eric, and Jacques. He found