Carpathian 21 - Dark Peril

of ground beneath it, setting itself, waiting. The moment the swell subsided, she charged Demyan, rushing at him from behind. His attention was on Dominic, directing the vines that were imprisoning him. The jaguar hit the master vampire full force, teeth sinking into the back of his head. Powerful jaws clamped down on his skull as the momentum of the jaguar’s attack drove him forward to impale his chest on Dominic’s outstretched fist.

    As Solange jumped back, Zacarias picked up Dominic’s discarded sword and, with a fierce swing, cut the blade through Demyan’s neck. His head went flying and Solange turned away, unable to look at the sight of a head rolling across the ground, right into the fire. His screams raked at her insides, and even in her jaguar form, she felt bile rising. Dominic tossed the heart into the blaze and the two Carpathians stood, heads down, breathing hard, while around them the ground blazed with fire and the vampire blood burned through skin to bone.

    Solange made her way to the tree where she’d left her ragged clothes, not looking back. She knew the two Carpathian males were seeing to their wounds, healing themselves as best they could before trying to clean up the area and remove all the vampire blood as well as parasites to aid the forest recovery.

    She dressed behind some brush, considering making a run for it, but she was too tired to even try it. She couldn’t help with the cleanup. She’d be lucky to find a safe place to sleep. Steeling herself, she squared her shoulders and turned, nearly bumping into— him.

    6

    My dream lover and lifemate,
    You know every part of me.

    SOLANGE TO DOMINIC

    S olange stared up—and up. Dominic was far taller and larger in life than he seemed in her dream. This was no shadowy figure, but a real man, flesh and blood standing before her. He was an imposing figure, his shoulders wider, his chest more muscular, everything just more. Her gaze traveled up his body, noting every wound, noting the narrow hips, the tapered waist and the ripples of muscle over the flat belly. Her lungs refused to draw air. She literally had no idea how to react to him.

    Her gaze got stuck on his mouth. He had a beautiful mouth, his lips very sculpted. She just stood there, her heart pounding, her mind screaming, staring at his mouth, unable to look away or look further up his face.
    She felt small and insubstantial beside him. She felt feminine. Like a girl. A young, silly girl who had no idea of the world between man and woman. She was at such a disadvantage.

    She was likely to blurt out something insulting. She pushed people away when she felt vulnerable, and she’d never felt more vulnerable in her entire life. This man could break her heart. She knew that just by standing in his presence, and when her heart was involved, she was at her most lethal. Her claws were tipped with venom. She could be very mean, capable of cutting him into little pieces with insulting words.
    She had perfected her sarcastic, uncaring attitude until it was an art form.

    She’d already lost him and she hadn’t even opened her mouth. She couldn’t do this. She could fight any battle asked of her, walk unafraid into the heart of the enemy’s camp and steal a woman out from under them to set her free, but she couldn’t do this. She pressed her lips together tightly, legs trembling, turning to jelly, wanting to run. She tasted fear in her mouth. Fear. Her. Solange Sangria, afraid of a man. She detested the feeling.

    Solange with a man. For the first time in her adult life, she was terrified. Absolutely terrified. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t face this—the one person on earth she had given her soul to. She had opened her soul to him, told him every secret desire, every fear, everything. Jaguar-women were naturally submissive to their males. They fought until the strongest, most aggressive dared to mate with them, and they submitted to the male. She was preprogrammed for that fight/submit dance between male and female, and it terrified her. She could never acknowledge that side of her personality. She could never submit, yet that part of her wanted to, so she pushed it deep, submerged it totally beneath the fighter, hidden from all eyes—all but his.

    She shivered—or trembled; she honestly didn’t know which. He caught her chin between his thumb and finger in a firm grip. Birds took wing in her stomach. His touch was just as she imagined, gentle but impossibly firm,