Carpathian 02 - Dark Desire

anyway, and sore, every part of her aching. Her lashes drifted down, a heavy lethargy stealing over her. She would easily trade her life for Jacques'. He wasn't taking anything from her she wasn't willing to give.
    "You're killing her, Jacques," Mikhail said quietly. "Is that what you want?" He stood there motionless, his black eyes watchful, thoughtful.
    "Stop him," Byron grated between his teeth. "He's taking too much blood. He's deliberately hurting her."
    Mikhail's cool black eyes swept over Byron just once, but it was enough of a command, enough of a warning. Byron shook his head but remained silent.
    "He will not kill her," Mikhail said in his same quiet voice. "He is waiting for one of us to try to stop him.
    It is the two of us he intends to kill. He thinks to draw us to him. He will not take the chance of leaving her side, so we will not be idiotic enough to go near him. He will not harm her. Go outside. While you are out there, find something to repair the door. I will follow you."
    Byron went reluctantly, waited on the porch for Mikhail to join him. "You are taking a chance with her life, Mikhail. She is no vampiress, and he is clearly abusing her. She cannot afford such blood loss.
    Jacques was my friend, but what is in that cottage is no longer one of us. He recognizes neither of us.
    You cannot control him. No one can."
    "She can. He has not turned. He is injured, sick." Mikhail said it softly, his black-velvet voice certain.
    Furious, Byron turned away. "I should have taken the woman."
    "Make no mistake, Byron, as weak as he is, Jacques is still extremely formidable. Before his disappearance he spent many years studying. The last years he hunted. With his mind so damaged, he is more beast than man, a predator, but with the intelligence and cunning of a learned one. And you were not paying attention in there. Whoever the female is, she is fighting to save him at great cost to herself. I believe she has chosen."
    "The ritual has not been completed. She has not lain with him. We would know," Byron said stubbornly and began to pace restlessly. "There are many of us without a woman, and yet you allow this risk."

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    "There is only one lifemate. She obviously belongs with Jacques."
    "We do not know that. If he were not your brother…" Byron began.
    A low snarl stopped him. "I see no reason for you to question my judgment in this matter, Byron. I have had more than one brother, and I have never let fraternity stand in the way of what is just or right.
    "It was Gregori who hunted your other brother," Byron pointed out.
    Mikhail turned his head slowly, black eyes catching the whip of lightning cracking across the sky. "At my order."

Chapter Seven
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    Jacques sat on the floor, aware of the wall at his back, the woman lying so still in his arms. Dark, violent emotions swirled; his body shook with the need to kill his enemies. A ribbon of sanity moved through his mind, caught his attention. Both intruders had been familiar to him. Someone he knew and trusted. A silent snarl revealed his sharp fangs. Betrayers sometimes ran in packs. They thought him weak, but he was faster than all but the ancient ones. He had honed his fighting skills, his mental powers. They would not torture and kill his woman.
    Shea. Her name was a soft, clear breeze blowing gently through his mind. Shea. A single candle leapt into flame, a light to guide him through the layers of black fury. He felt her then, small and slender in the circle of his arms. Her skin was soft, her hair, against his bare chest, like skeins of silk. He dropped his chin to the top of her head and rubbed gently, tenderly. It took a few moments before he realized her body was limp, cold, nearly lifeless, laboring for blood.
    An anguished cry broke from him. He pulled her head back, saw the bruises and torn flesh at her throat.
    Shea, do not leave me! The plea was wrenched from his heart. Had he done this? The fingerprints were not his, but the ripped flesh? Had he done this to her?
    A ripple of unease ran through the very land, the ground shifting, rolling. Do not leave me, Shea.
    Jacques tore at his wrist with his teeth, trickled life-giving fluid into her mouth. Come on, little red hair, try. His life force ran down her throat. He stroked the swollen column, forcing her to swallow. You cannot leave me in darkness. He could not remember attacking her, yet somehow, his