Carpathian 21 - Dark Peril

allegiance to the prince. The Malinov brothers would become the De La Cruz brothers’ most bitter and unrelenting enemies.

    Dominic’s logical line of reasoning had been confirmed by the vampire he had killed in the Carpathian Mountains, a very talkative lesser vampire who wanted to brag about all he knew. Dominic had made his way, taking no prisoners, so to speak, surprised at how the parasites were such a fantastic warning system.
    It had never occurred to the Malinov brothers that any Carpathian would dare to ingest the blood and invade their very camp.

    Going closer to the cave entrance, he was hit by the noise first, the sounds of birds and monkeys and the incessant hum of insects in spite of the steady rain. It was hot, and steam actually rose from the floor just outside the cave as the moisture poured down from the skies. Trees hung over the swollen banks of the river, their root systems great gnarled cages, the thick tendrils snaking over the ground to create waves of wooden fins.

    Dominic was impervious to rain or heat; he could regulate his own temperature to stay comfortable. But those thirty feet or so from the entrance of his cave to the relative safety under the thick canopy were going to be hell, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Traveling in the sun, even in another form, was painful, and with the sensation of glass shards ripping his insides to shreds, he had enough to contend with.

    It was difficult not to reach for the dream. In her company, the pain eased and the whispering in his head ceased. The constant murmurs, the parasites working on his acceptance of the masters and their plan, were wearying. The dream gave him solace in spite of knowing his lifemate wasn’t real.

    He knew he had slowly built up his lifemate in his mind—not her looks, but her characteristics, the traits that were important to him. He needed a woman who was loyal beyond all else, a woman who would guard their children fiercely, who would stand with him no matter what came at them, one he would know was at his side, and he wouldn’t have to worry that she couldn’t protect herself or their children.

    He needed a woman who, when it was just the two of them, would follow his lead, who would be feminine and fragile and all the things she couldn’t be during the times they would have to fight. And he wanted that side of her completely to himself. It was selfish, maybe, but he had never had anything for himself, and his woman was for him alone. He didn’t want other men to see her the way he did. He didn’t want her to look at other men. She was for him alone, and maybe that was what a dream really was—building the perfect woman in your mind when you knew you’d never have one.

    He was well aware of her fighting skills. He saw the battle scars. He respected and admired her when he walked with her, yet he couldn’t really hold her image for long. In dreams she came to him, shielded by a heavy veil, their exchanges in images more than words. It had taken a long time for either to reveal any part of themselves other than the warrior. They’d built trust between them slowly—and he liked that about her.
    She didn’t give her allegiance easily, but when she did, she gave it wholly. And it was to him.

    Again he found himself smiling inside at such a ridiculous fantasy at his age. It must be a sign of his mind deteriorating. Senility had set in. But how he missed her when he couldn’t bring her to him. She seemed closer there in the heat of the forest, with the rain coming down in silvery sheets. The veil of moisture reminded him of the first time he’d managed to peer through that haze in his dream and see her face so clearly. She’d stolen his breath. She’d looked so frightened, as if she’d deliberately revealed herself—
    finally taken a chance, but stood trembling, waiting for him to pass judgment on her.

    At that moment he’d felt closer to actual love than he ever had before. He tried to compare the feeling with what he’d felt for his sister, Rhiannon, in the early days when they’d all been happy and he still had his emotions. He’d held on to the memory of love all those centuries, yet now, when he needed the feeling to complete his dream, before he went out fighting, the feeling was entirely different.

    Feeling. He turned the word over and over in his mind. What did it mean? Memories? Or reality? And why would his memories be so sharp all of a sudden, here in the forest? He smelled