Carpathian 20 - Dark Slayer

little enough remained. I believe he had it in his mind to kill me, but when the aunts escaped, he needed my blood to keep him alive. He is determined to gain immortality. As you can see, there is little left of me, and he grew weak trying to build his new fortress.―
    Ivory took a deep breath and let it out. He could see she struggled with herself before she made the offer.
    â€œYou need to feed.―
    Her voice was low, trembling, and his heart turned over in his chest. It had been long since another had offered a kindness to him.
    â€œI thank you for your offer, but I must regretfully decline. I have taken enough blood from those I should have protected and I will not take yours.―

    She frowned at him. “I can feel your hunger.―
    â€œI know. I cannot control the needs spilling into the close confines of this room. I am truly sorry for causing you distress.―
    He didn’t want her dwelling on the hunger crawling through his body, every cell crying out for sustenance. He could smell her blood, rich and hot and flowing in her veins, calling to him.
    He could barely think with his teeth already lengthened and his saliva in his mouth. Her heartbeat matched the irregular beat of his own, and that worried him.
    He knew little of lifemates, and the last thing he had ever wanted to do was feel real emotion. It was bad enough to remember what it was like to love and feel remorse for the vile things he had done, even under another’s compulsion, but she had brought it all into his mind and heart and made it real again. Where before he had been numb for hundreds of years, now every terrible, brutal act—the violation of women, feeding from his own children, stabbing his aunt, betrayal of every single person he loved and cared about—all of it was in front of him, filling him with self-loathing and disgust.
    His soul was so black. The emotions poured into him with his memories. His beloved sister—he’d fought to save her, but in the end he’d betrayed her. His aunts—he’d tried so hard to save them, yet Xavier had controlled his body and he’d been the one to plunge a knife into his aunt’s chest.
    He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find air to drag into his lungs.
    His throat felt raw and he choked, closing his eyes, trying to shut out the guilt and horror of his actions. It mattered little that he had not been in control—that in itself was a terrible guilt—or that he hadn’t been strong enough to stop Xavier. Fighting him every inch of the way hadn’t been enough, and now this stranger, this woman, brought every horrifying, vivid and disgusting detail into his mind and branded his soul unredeemable.
    â€œRazvan.― Her voice was soft. Gentle. “Look at me.―
    He couldn’t move. Couldn’t face her. No, not her— himself . He cursed his body’s resistance to death.
    How could he ever face anyone after the terrible crimes he’d committed? Bile rose and he choked on it, a bitter, metallic taste. He wiped at his face and his palm came away smeared in blood.
    He scented her, although she made no sound as she drew closer to him, as silent as her deadly wolves. He shook his head.
    â€œStay back. Don’t come too close.― Because hunger turned him savage, while guilt made him a little insane. Now it wasn’t Xavier he feared; it was himself. He knew what even the best of his kind could do when starved, and he was so far from the best. He was damned—cursed, even—cunning and... so hungry. Ravenous.
    Ivory crawled toward him. “You need to feed. I feed my pack often, it is truly of little importance. Just take the blood from my wrist.―
    Between his fingers he could see her now, in front of him, concern on her face, although she was smart enough to be wary. She didn’t trust him—it was there in her eyes. One fingernail lengthened, razor sharp, and she reached down toward her wrist.
    Razvan caught her hand, the rush of fear and adrenaline combining to give him strength when he really had little left.
    â€œNo! I will not.― The thought sickened him. Her offered wrist conjured up a vision of a greedy mouth tearing at a small wrist. He choked again and turned away from her.
    How do you tell someone you are damned? He shook his head.
    â€œYou have to take me to the surface and let me