Carpathian 02 - Dark Desire

moving away.
    Jacques ? Shea's query was soft, worried.
    He is close by.
    She read his mind easily. Jacques wanted her with him, close, so he could protect her, so that no other male would presume to claim her as he had. He feared if she returned to him, she would come straight into the vampire's trap, yet Jacques could not bear the separation, could not leave her unprotected. His mind was beginning to crumble, fracture, and his need of her was great.
    Shea leapt from the camper and flung herself into the driver's seat. I will be with you soon. She felt his smile all the way to her heart. Jacques was beginning to remember humor. You really like that I go my own way and make my own decisions, don't you? she teased him, wanting to keep his mind as stable as possible until she was with him to give him an anchor.

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    Do not bet on that, little red hair. Instant obedience is the ideal.
    You wish. Shea found herself laughing in spite of being afraid. It was silly to feel so lighthearted when they were facing danger and a difficult move ahead. Where could they go on such short notice? By the time she reached the cabin, three or four of their precious hours would be lost.
    Jacques stretched slowly, cautiously. His body protested sharply. Pain had been his world for so long that he allowed it to wash over him, through him. He could live forever with pain. He could not live without Shea. He dragged himself to a sitting position. The room lurched, spun crazily before righting itself. Almost immediately he could feel warm, sticky blood running the language of his people. He knew pain intimately, had forgotten gut-wrenching agony. It did not matter. Nothing mattered but that he protect his lifemate.
    Shea drove like a woman possessed, finding trails where there were none, over rotting logs and into rocky ravines. Sometimes she made good time, other times she crawled. It was interesting driving at night. She no longer needed headlights. She could see as clearly as if it was day. The moonlight spilled down to bathe the trees and bushes in silver. It was beautiful, all colors of the spectrum vivid and detailed.
    Far away, a huge owl banked, circled a large, rambling house built into the cliffs, and approached it warily. As the bird landed on a stone gate column, folded its wings, and shimmered into human shape, the wolf pack in the surrounding woods began to sing in warning. Almost at once a man emerged from the house. Lazily he glided from the fog-shrouded verandah across the grounds to the gates. He was tall, dark-haired. Power emanated from his every pore. He moved with the grace of a great jungle cat, the elegance of a prince. His eyes were as black as the night and held a thousand secrets. Although there was no expression on his handsome, sensual features, there was danger, a quiet menace in the way he held himself.
    "Byron. It is long since you have visited us. You did not send a call ahead." No censure roughened the soft, musical, black-velvet voice, yet it was there in volumes.
    Byron cleared his throat, agitated, his dark eyes not quite meeting the other's penetrating gaze. "I am sorry, Mikhail, for my bad manners, but the news I bring is unsettling. I came as fast as I could and still cannot find the right words to tell you this."
    Mikhail Dubrinsky waved a graceful hand. One of the ancients, one of the most powerful, he had long ago learned patience.
    "I was late going to ground this dawn. I had not fed, so I went to the village and summoned one of the locals to me. When I entered the area, I sensed the presence of one of our kind, a woman. She did not look as we do; she is small, very slender, with dark red hair and green eyes. I could tell she was weak, had not recently fed. Using our common mental path, I tried to communicate with her, but she did not respond."
    "You are certain she is one of us? It does not seem possible, Byron. Our women are so few, one would not be wandering unprotected, uncared for, at dawn, unknown to us."
    "She is Carpathian, Mikhail, and she is unclaimed."
    "And you did not stay with her, guard her, bring her to me?" The voice had dropped another octave, so Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    soft it whispered with menace.
    "There is more. There were bruises on her throat, ragged wounds, several of them. Her arms, too, were bruised. This woman has been ill-used, Mikhail."
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