Carpathian 02 - Dark Desire

power."
    "Like?" Shea prompted.
    "Mikhail is the oldest living Carpathian. Gregori is only a quarter of a century younger. Aidan and his twin brother, Julian, are perhaps half a century younger. Byron and I are the next oldest. A couple of others are close in age, but they have lifemates and are not suspect. There is Dimitri, but he is far from this land. Only an ancient is powerful enough to cloak his presence." Jacques didn't realize how much he was remembering, but Shea did, and it made the sorrow of Rand's betrayals easier to bear.
    "But Rand could have found a way to do it," Shea insisted. "It makes sense, Jacques. I don't have to like it—in fact, I hate it—but I share his blood, and there isn't another explanation. I sensed his presence in the forest because we share the same strain of blood. It has to be that."
    "You were so opposed to the idea before, Shea." Jacques' hand spanned her flat stomach. He couldn't help himself, he had to touch her, reveled in his right to do so.
    "I didn't want to face it, Jacques. But I've had some time to think about this. It's the only rational explanation. He wants me to be, and he's hoping to keep me for himself, but he knows I'm not really Maggie. And he has to kill you. He wanted you dead and he wanted Raven dead and most likely Mikhail also." Shea took a deep breath. "And Rand said something that bothered me, but I couldn't remember what. I just put it together. He mentioned Byron. He shouldn't have known that Byron was the one the humans had tortured. No one had told him, and Byron couldn't communicate with him. So how did he know?"
    Jacques' black eyes glinted like obsidian. "I did not catch that. You are right. He did know of Byron. He named him."
    Shea shoved a suddenly shaking hand through her hair. Her eyes held endless sorrow as she looked up at him. "God, Jacques, do you know what that means? He must have been responsible for bringing my brother to Don Wallace and Jeff Smith. He was responsible for their torturing and killing his own son. Is that possible? Could someone really be that insane, that cold-blooded?"
    "I am sorry, Shea. A vampire is not capable of any real feeling. The undead has chosen to give up his soul. He is wholly evil." Jacques could feel an unfamiliar lump blocking his throat. He could feel the heaviness in her heart. He admired the courage it took for her to voice her conclusions to him. "The reason the humans have such legends from the old times is because a few have experienced what a real vampire is capable of. I wish it was different. I would give anything to spare you this heartache."
    "I wish things were different, too, but I don't think they are. And I think you're in real danger. Even if Rand isn't the vampire, he's definitely a sick, bitter man, and he hates you. Please be careful. I don't want him to hurt you." Her large green eyes were alive with anxiety. She sat up, her arms circling his neck. "I want to put you on a shelf somewhere where no one can ever hurt you again."
    Jacques hastily broke the connection of their minds. Shea persisted in thinking him at risk. It simply did not occur to her, even after what she had experienced with him, what she had witnessed, that he could be the aggressor in the upcoming battle. That he might welcome the battle with his betrayer. That he would enjoy it. For all her knowledge of him, she still could not take in that he was a predator by nature. If that Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    was what it took for her to accept their relationship, he was willing for the knowledge to come to her in slow stages.
    To Jacques, that was the beauty of a lifemate's bond. Everything was there for the taking, but it was up to the partner to do what they wanted with it all. Jacques knew he would fly to the moon and haul it down for her, walk on water or swim through hot lava if that was what it took to make her happy. Shea was his life, and they had centuries to get to know one another properly. She did not need to confront his killer instincts with- her every waking breath.
    His palm cupped her face, moved lovingly to her slender neck, his thumb feathering over her soft skin.
    He ached with love for her. "I promise to be careful."
    "Really careful," she insisted.
    He found the hard edges of his mouth turning up. "Really really careful," he clarified.
    Her fingertip traced his smile. "I'm sorry I was so crazy about the healer giving me blood, but I really can't