Carpathian 17 - Dark Curse

death.
    Nicolas De La Cruz walked the length of the village with long, slow strides, his face turned from the people who shared the walkways with him to prevent them from seeing his eyes. He knew the normally dark, midnight-black color glowed a deep ruby red. Icy cold swirled in the pit of his gut, and deep inside, where his soul should have been there was only a small black piece left-and that, too, was filled with holes. The centuries of hunting and killing the vampire had long since taken their toll.
    He lifted his face to the swirling clouds laced and heavy with snow. This was his last night. He was done with his fight. He had served his people and his family with honor, held fast through the centuries and hunted more of his fallen comrades than most. Tomorrow he would walk into the sun and end his long, barren existence.
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    Christine Feehan: Dark Curse
    He was far from his home and his brothers. His oldest brother, Zacarias, would be unable to stop him from such a distance, in fact, wouldn\'t sense his end until it was far too late to stop him. He wondered how long it would take for the sun to burn him clean. A long time with the stains on his soul, but still, his brothers wouldn\'t have to share the intensity of the suffering of his last few minutes of life.
    He shivered, grateful for the cold on his face and skin, grateful he could feel physical sensations. Emotions-he had lost those so long ago they were a distant memory, or maybe not really his memory at all. Three of his brothers had found life mates and shared their newfound emotions with him. In some ways their happiness made it so much harder to bear being so alone.
    He had come for one last walk through the village before meeting with Mikhail Dubrinsky-prince of the Carpathian people. He\'d traveled far to deliver a warning, yet now, he wasn\'t certain it was safe for a face-to-face meeting-especially in the close confines of the local inn. Already heartbeats were loud, bombarding him with the need for rich, hot blood. Sharp teeth pushed against the inside of his mouth and saliva gathered in anticipation of the feast.
    It wouldn\'t take much to let himself taste-just for a moment, one time-the hot rush of adrenaline-laced blood that would give him a glimpse of lost emotion. And a woman... He would love to feel a woman\'s soft skin, inhale her scent, pretend for just a moment he had someone who belonged to him, would look at him with love-genuine love-not that greedy heat that came the moment a woman knew his material wealth.
    If he could feel regret, it would be not for the countless times he had to destroy an old friend, not for the many souls he\'d freed and laid to rest, but that he\'d never felt the true need for a woman. He\'d never held a woman he loved in his arms and worshipped her with his body.
    The whispers in his mind grew stronger, tempting him with the things he had never known in his long life.
    Women had been attracted to his looks, his power and his money. He had used them for sustenance, but he\'d never been able to know what it was like to feel the pleasures a woman could bring his body, the peace she could bring to his mind. One taste. Just one. He could sink his teeth into soft skin and feel the flow of life, hear the quickening rhythm of her heart beating in tune with his. She would fear him, his domination, his complete supremacy over her. Life or death. He had that power.
    His heart slammed hard in his chest. His body stirred to life. He scented prey. A fragrance beckoning to him.
    Calling out from the beauty of the night. He had only to take that one last taste and he could experience everything before the sun rose and burned him clean. He turned his head and saw her standing in the shadows.
    The breath left his body in a rush.
    Her skin was pale and flawless. Her hair was pulled back in a long, thick braid. Her eyes were wide, large and sparkling, glowing slightly. She seemed to be waiting for someone. A man? A low growl rumbled in his chest and he felt his body react to the thought. Detached as he was from his actions, he found it all interesting. He had never felt threatened by man or beast or monster, yet looking at this young woman, he knew he would fight to the death for a chance to taste her blood, to feel the softness of her skin, to hear her heart match the rhythm of his.
    For the first time in his long life, he actually had erotic images of his own, not drawn from someone else\'s mind. They rose up to taunt