Carpathian 18 - Dark Possesion

younger sister and cousin freedom. He would insist on bringing them back to the ranch to protect them, and neither would come willingly. That wouldn't stop Zacarias. He ruled with a snap of his bared teeth and his enormous power, expecting—and getting—everyone's instant obedience.
    It is best if no one is here when we contact Jasmine and Solange. Jasmine needs MaryAnn's help, and neither she nor her cousin will come forward voluntarily if you and Nicolas are here.
    Do not cater to stupidity, Riordan. I realize you must make your lifemate happy, but not at the expense of endangering women, especially potential lifemates . Just like that, Zacarias was gone, giving his opinion and expecting that Riordan would follow his advice. It wasn't that easy if you had a lifemate. Solange would fight him to the death for her freedom, and if he put so much as a scratch on her, Juliette wouldn't forgive him.
    Riordan sighed and once more tried to reach out to Manolito. The man was hiding. He had risen, and he was most likely close to the fertile bed of terra preta. As badly as he was wounded, he would need the rich black soil to survive.
    MaryAnn was very aware of Riordan's scrutiny. She didn't turn around to look at Juliette, but she knew they were talking telepathically about her. She didn't quite trust them; after all, what did she really know about them?
    Juliette prodded Riordan. Why am I feeling so upset ?
    I believe it is the woman broadcasting. She may be a much more powerful psychic than we were led to believe. I, too, am feeling her emotions. Is it possible she is jaguar?
    Juliette inhaled MaryAnn's scent and watched the movements of her body closely. MaryAnn was nearly running in her fashionable, high-heeled boots, the soles barely skimming the forest floor. She looked utterly out of place but… There is no sound, Riordan. She makes no sound when she moves. No leaves crackling, no branches snapping. She should be awkward — she feels awkward — but she moves like one 'born and bred here. But she is not jaguar .

    Riordan sucked in his breath, slowing the pace just a bit so that MaryAnn wouldn't notice. Was the woman part of a trap? What did they know about her after all? Manolito had never claimed her openly, as any lifemate would. He had never told his brothers to watch over her, as a true lifemate would do. Riordan probed gently, keeping the touch light and casual.
    MaryAnn brushed her head with her hand as she continued walking, and Riordan felt the psychic slap as if she'd actually struck him. He jerked back to himself and threw a quick glance at his lifemate, truly shocked.
    What are we dealing with, Juliette?
    MaryAnn had been protected by no less than three powerful Carpathian hunters. If she was vampire, surely they would have detected it. Deliberately, just to be safe, he turned the wrong way, moving away from where he knew his brother had been buried.
    MaryAnn took three steps and immediately everything in her shifted and reached back in the other direction.
    The feeling was so strong she stopped. "That's the wrong way. He's not there. He's…" She gestured, her heart pounding.
    What was Riordan doing, leading them the wrong way? Didn't they want to find him? Why were they keeping him away? The seeds of suspicion were growing, and she couldn't suppress them. She turned away from the direction Riordan was leading, suddenly confused. She couldn't figure out why she thought she knew where Manolito was. She tried repeatedly to reach for him, to brush her mind against his, but she couldn't do it, couldn't find him. The more she tried, the more she knew she wasn't in the least psychic. She had no talents, and no ability to be anyone's lifemate. Still, she was afraid the man was in trouble, and she had to get to him.
    Confused, she took another step away from the Carpathians and stumbled over the stabilizing buttress roots from one of the taller emergents, an enormously tall tree bursting through the canopy to tower over the other trees. The roots were twisted into an elaborate, artful shape, roaming along the surface of the ground, tips probing for nutrients. A small tree frog, bright green in color, leapt from a particularly thick root to land on MaryAnn's shoulder.
    She stifled a scream and froze. "Get it off. Get it off me, right now," she ordered, her hand closing around the small canister of pepper spray.
    Where are you? I need you. Please be alive . Because she wasn't a woman made for tree frogs and