Carpathian 01 - Dark Prince

paused. "Listen to them. The wolves. They're singing to him, for him. They know he's hurt."
    Jacques opened the car door for her. His dark eyes, so like Mikhail's, slid over her. "You are very unusual."
    "So Mikhail says. I think that's beautiful, that the wolves are calling encouragement to him."
    Jacques started the engine. "You know you cannot say a word to anyone of Mikhail's injury. It would put him in danger." He made it a statement, but she could sense his deep need to protect Mikhail.
    Raven liked him all the more for that, felt a bond with him, but she sent Jacques a little frown of reprimand all the same. "You people are so arrogant. You insist on believing that because the human race does not have great telepathic abilities, we're somehow lacking in intellect. I assure you, I have a brain, and I'm perfectly capable of figuring that out all by myself."
    He grinned at her again. "You must make him completely crazy. The hotshot thing was great. I would be willing to bet it was the first time he was ever called that."
    "It's good for him. If more people gave him a little trouble, he would be more—" She hesitated, searching for the right word. She laughed softly. "He'd be more something. Amenable."
    "Amenable? There's a description that we can never use in the same sentence with Mikhail. None of us have ever seen him happy like this. Thank you," Jacques said softly.

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    Deliberately he drew the car into the shadows. "Be very careful tonight and tomorrow. Do not leave your room until Mikhail contacts you."
    Raven rolled her eyes, made a face at him. "I'll be fine."
    "You do not understand. If anything happened to you, we would lose him."
    She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "They will take care of him, won't they?" She didn't want to say it, but she felt as though part of her was missing, a chunk wrenched from her soul. Her mind cried out for contact with Mikhail, just a touch. Anything to reassure her that he was perfectly fine and they were still united.
    "They know what to do. He will heal fast. I must get back to him. Without Gregori, I am the strongest, the closest to him. He needs me right now."
    Mikhail was weak, consumed with pain, hunger clawing at him along with guilt. He had hurt her, come close to losing her. How could he make so many mistakes when she was all that mattered to him? He should never have told her an untruth over something so unimportant. Raven. He needed to reach out to her, touch her mind with his, feel her, know she was there. Despite pain and weakness and hunger, the worst of it was the terrible aching hole in his very soul. Intellectually, he knew the ritual binding them together had caused this overwhelming need, but the knowledge didn't alleviate his need to touch her mind.
    "Mikhail, drink!" Jacques materialized beside the bed, caught his older brother to him, his face a mask of fury. "Why did you allow him to go without aid, Eric?"
    "He thought only of the woman," Eric said in self-defense.
    Jacques swore softly. "She is safe in her room, Mikhail. You must drink for both of you. One cannot exist without the other. If you do not survive, you doom her to death, or at best a half life."
    Jacques swallowed his anger, took a deep calming breath. "Take my blood. I give it to you freely, without reservation. My life is your life; together we are strong." He used the formal words, meaning every one of them. He would have given his life for their leader. The others began the ritual healing chant.
    They spoke in a hypnotic rhythm, and the ancient tongue was beautiful.
    Behind him, Jacques heard the murmur of voices, smelled the sweet aroma of soothing, healing herbs.
    Carpathian soil, so rich in healing properties, was mixed with herbs and saliva from their mouths and placed over the wounds. Jacques held his brother in his arms, felt his strength, his life flow into Mikhail, and he thanked God for his ability to help him. Mikhail was a good man, a great man, and his people could not lose him.
    Mikhail felt strength pouring into him, into his depleted muscles, into his brain and heart. Jacques's strong body trembled, and he sat abruptly on the edge of the bed, still cradling Mikhail in his arms, still holding his brother's head to make it easier for him to replenish what he had lost.
    Mikhail resisted, surprised at how strong Jacques still was, how weak he remained despite the transfer.
    No! I endanger you!