Carpathian 17 - Dark Celebration

she'd had problems with trust and especially intimacy.
    "Syndil!" he called out to her, striding quickly through the small cabin.
    There was no answer, only the sound of his own heart thundering in his ears. He inhaled sharply, scented the two leopards and… He stilled, fighting for calm. He inhaled again.
    Blood. Not just any blood—Syndil's blood.
    He shoved open the door to the bedroom to find the two large cats, Sasha and Forest, curled on the bed. They both raised their heads and gave him a long, slow appraisal. Sasha bared her teeth while Forest openly snarled.
    Barack's heart jumped. The leopards always traveled with the band and never acted aggressive toward any member of the band, not even when they were in a bad temper.
    He snarled back at them, closed the door and whirled around, racing back out into the night. He inhaled again and found her scent—the direction she'd taken. At once he shifted on the run, taking to the air to move more swiftly, his heart pounding in fear for her. He followed her scent through the forest until he came upon a clearing of scorched ground. A terrible battle had been fought here. Trees were bent and twisted, leaves shriveled, and in places the ground was scarred from the acid burn of the unholiest of creatures—the undead.
    He caught sight of her and his breath stilled in his lungs.
    Barack watched the woman kneeling on the blackened ground, her arms spread wide, palms hovering just above the earth. Snow fell softly over her, coating her hair and clothes so that she appeared to sparkle. From his angle he could see the concentration on her face, her eyes closed, long lashes forming two thick crescents. She appeared serene, her entire energy focused on her task. She looked beautiful—a little fey, her black hair gleaming beneath the coating of snow, flakes on her long lashes and her sinfully perfect mouth whispering a crooning song of hope and encouragement to the barren land.
    He stood, his heart pounding in his chest, the terror of not finding her safe in their home receding while love stormed in to fill every part of his heart and soul until there was no longer room for any other emotion. Syndil. His lifemate. Of course she would be healing the earth. She would have heard it moaning in pain, the evil spreading slowly through the soil, poisoning and burning every living thing. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen—could ever imagine. Beneath her hands, green grass sprang up through the snow.
    Small shrubs and trees pushed their way to the surface as she sang softly, coaxing growth.
    Desari, with her pure, incredible voice, could bring peace to people. With just her voice she could wrap an audience in satin sheets and candlelight, and make them remember old loves and tarnished hopes. Syndil's voice also held great power, but hers was bound to the earth. Scarred and damaged lands called to her. She could never ignore their summons. Few could hear the screams and cries as she did, and even fewer could heal where blisters and lesions lay raw upon the land.
    Syndil astonished him with her power. He watched as she shifted left, then right, moving up the slope, touching a badly damaged tree, enticing new growth, expunging the hideous results the undead had left behind in the soil. She stood and turned toward the small creek—
    the water no longer running, but standing still even though the creek bed was filled to capacity. Dark brownish-red stains covered the surface of the water, and tentacles spread out from a discolored gelatin-like ball altered the composition of the water. Thousands of tiny white parasites made up the round globe, and many used the tentacles as tiny arteries and veins moving out away from where the rest congealed in a large mass.
    Lifting her hands, Syndil began to sing, oblivious to Barack's presence, her entire focus on the damage to the land. He always knew the moment she was near, yet she hadn't the slightest idea her lifemate was close by. It should have upset him, but he couldn't help the surge of pride in her. Whenever she committed to healing the earth, she was totally, unswervingly focused, often expending far more energy than she could afford. Just as a healer of people was left drained and swaying with weariness, so was Syndil when she healed the earth.
    Her voice swelled with power, and the parasites writhed as if in pain. The jellied mass shook ominously. Barack moved into a better position to defend his lifemate. The air reeked,