Carpathian 21 - Dark Peril

blood—hers—riding him hard. He wanted more than her blood. The beast was still too close, needing to carry her off, keep her safe. He had every intention of laying down the law in a way his lifemate could understand, but right now, when his entire body was still in shock from the terror of those teeth in her veins and the ruby-red eyes of the near-vampire marking her as prey right under his nose, he couldn’t find it in him to be gentle with her.

    “Is she going to live?”

    Was there a tremor in her voice? He caught her chin and lifted her head until her eyes met his. She was trembling like a little bird. The pad of his thumb strummed across her soft lips.

    “She will live. Her people will take care of her. I am the only one taking care of you, and I am not doing a very good job of it.”

    She frowned, her lashes fluttering. She looked confused, the color rushing into her face. “Why would you need to take care of me? I did make the one mistake, but I realized it immediately. There is no need to worry about me. I’m sorry I knocked the vampire off you. I should have known you had a plan.” Her words tumbled out, a breathless explanation, almost painfully delivered. She could barely force herself to look at him.

    “You are a warrior of great skill and I have no quarrel with the way you helped this rising. You kept Cesaro from being killed and Zacarias from dishonoring himself while I was slaying the vampire.” He gave credit where it was due. “I was proud of you.”

    She swallowed hard, her eyes a deep green, almost emerald. The long lashes fluttered and she looked away.
    She wasn’t used to compliments—or attention. Dominic turned away from the sheer vulnerability on her transparent face. She gave that only to him. It was a privilege, a treasure, and yet, a great responsibility.

    “You’re upset with me.” She made it a statement.

    “Not with you, kessake . I am upset with myself. Stay alert. The undead are traveling in packs. I have not had the time yet to remove all evidence of his presence.”

    She opened her mouth and then as abruptly closed it, nodding once before turning her attention to Marguarita.

    Dominic didn’t touch Solange as he wanted. He strode from the room and went into the smaller bedroom where Etienne first had questioned Marguarita. This was her room. She kept the house for the absent owner while her father and Cesaro ran the large cattle ranch. She’d probably never met Zacarias, but loyalty was so ingrained in the families—from birth, the secret of the Carpathians entrusted to their lineage—and all of them would rather die than betray their honor.

    He sighed as he meticulously repaired the damage to the structure and removed all evidence of the attack.
    Etienne’s master would know he was dead and he would want to know where it had happened and how. If he came looking, he would find no evidence of Zacarias or Etienne in this place. He would remind Cesaro to exercise caution with the body of Marguarita’s father. It would be best to incinerate it. The undead riddled with parasites often left them behind in the ragged wounds and they would call to their masters.
    Marguarita had none in her bloodstream, but Dominic had interrupted the attack so that the vampire hadn’t had the time to inject his passengers into her.

    He glanced around the room. A woman’s room. Did Solange have a woman’s room hidden away somewhere? He doubted it. She would be ashamed to acknowledge that side of herself. She considered the warrior strong and the woman weak. She would hide the softer side from everyone who knew her. His body reacted to that thought. She wouldn’t hide it from him. He would peel back the layers until the woman was exposed and given exclusively to him. His. Like Solange, he’d never had anyone of his own. He’d never belonged to anyone. The idea that she was his and his alone and would never want to be anyone else’s was an intriguing thought.

    As he worked fast in the room, he noted everything: the brushes, the mirrors and the perfume bottles.
    Everything in the room suggested Marguarita was ultrafeminine, and yet she’d had a backbone of steel, refusing to give up her employer in the face of certain death. The hideous, vile creature tormenting her hadn’t broken her. Women could be many things. They came in all shapes and sizes with vastly different personalities, but no matter what was on the surface, it was what lay beneath that counted to