Carpathian 06 - Dark Fire

is a threat to us-unless, of course, he's one of them himself."
    Cullen bit back his retort. What was the use? Brady Grand had become as fanatical as William Wallace in the last few years. They carried weapons constantly and trained a small army. They both seemed to think they were fighting a war. Cullen simply believed that if something as evil as a vampire existed, it should be exterminated. He believed it because he had been in San Francisco a few years back when a serial killer was on the loose. Except it was no serial killer. The creature had murdered Cullen's fiancee right in front of him, draining her blood and laughing while he did so. The police didn't believe him-no one did. Until Brady Grand found him. Now Cullen wasn't certain anymore whether the bloodthirsty Grand and Wallace were much different than the vampire.
    Cullen glanced once more at the picture of the laughing redhead. She was beautiful, with joy and warmth in her smile, compassion in her face, a sweet innocence in her stance. Beyond her slender body and wealth of red hair, he saw someone worth something. He saw a woman with the same natural goodness his fiancée had possessed. He sighed and pocketed the photograph. It was amazing to him the others couldn't see the innocence in her face. She had nothing to do with vampires.

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    "I'll leave now," he said gruffly. "I'll be calling in to see if anyone picked up any leads, so have someone on the phones."
    Brady regarded him strangely. His nod was slow, and his cold snake eyes followed Cullen as he went out the door. Cullen inhaled the fresh, crisp night air deeply, wanting to rid himself of the stench of fanaticism. He had followed the society members out of a need to avenge his fiancée’s hideous death.
    Now that need didn't seem so great. He wanted to be free of anger and hatred and start his life over again.
    The photograph seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. The smart thing to do would be to disappear. Get out. Hide. But he knew Brady Grand. The man liked killing and thought that in the society he had found a legitimate outlet for his psychotic tendencies. Even the U.S. armed forces had kicked him out, discharging him for his repeated vicious attacks on new recruits and civilians. There had been two incidents noted on his record, two suspicious deaths no one could quite prove were murders. Cullen knew all about those; he'd had a friend access the military reports. Brady Grand was not the kind of enemy he wanted hounding him for the rest of his life.
    Cullen's Jeep started easily, but the photograph continued to burn through his clothing to his skin.
    Suddenly he swore. He couldn't just leave the redhead hanging out there. He would have to find her and warn her. The singer, too. She might have the best bodyguard in the world, but if Brady Grand was persistent enough, sooner or later the society would get to her.
    Pounding the steering wheel in sheer frustration, Cullen turned the vehicle north.
    Far away, deep within the bowels of the earth, Darius held Tempest to him. Something was moving through his mind, a warning signal, one that had stood him in good stead these many centuries. It was strong enough to bring the beast roaring to life. In his mouth he felt the ominous lengthening of his fangs.
    He lifted his head, his ice-black gaze sweeping the interior of the chamber. Slowly he turned his head toward the south, toward danger. Something threatened Tempest, something coming from that direction.
    Nothing would harm this woman he held in his arms. Nothing, he vowed.
    He glanced down at her face, so young-looking and vulnerable in her sleep. The light from the candles caressed her skin lovingly, throwing tempting shadows across her, inviting his touch. Darius felt the surge of need rushing through his body and allowed it to happen. It would take centuries to sate his appetite for her. Centuries. But he had chosen otherwise. Had chosen to keep her human and die with her when her time came. So he would have to be more careful in his possession of her; he could not afford to keep taking her blood during mating.
    He was out of control when his body demanded hers, dangerous for both of them. But he wanted her.
    He would never stop wanting her. It felt savage and primitive, yet tender and gentle. But he was not a gentle man. The long centuries had seen to that, honing his ruthless side, his predatory nature. Yet he