Carpathian 21 - Dark Peril

As the night grew closer, the parasites went from sluggish to active, stabbing at his internal organs while the vampire blood burned like acid. He needed to feed, but he was becoming more and more worried that insanity was grabbing hold and he wouldn’t find the strength to resist the temptation of a kill while feeding.

    Each rising he’d woken voraciously hungry, and each time he fed, the parasites grew louder, pushing for a kill, demanding he feel the rush of power, the rightful rush of power, promising sweet coolness in his blood, a feeling of euphoria that would remove every pain from his weary body.

    He kept to the shade of the canopy as he expanded his exploration, heading for the site of the battle, hoping the eagle could spot something the men hadn’t. He found the cave entrances, very small and made of limestone, but these didn’t seem to curve back underground to form the labyrinth of tunnels as the cave system miles away had done. There were only three small chambers and in each he found Mayan art on the walls. All three caves showed evidence of occupation, however brief, but violent in some way. There were dried spots of blood in all of them.

    He took to the sky again, a vague uneasiness in his gut. That bothered him. He had seen horrific sites of battle, torture and death. He was a Carpathian warrior, and his lack of emotion served him well. Without a lifemate to balance the darkness in him, he needed the lack of emotion to stay sane over a thousand years of seeing cruelty and depravity. Yet the sight of the blood in that cave, and the knowledge that women had been brought there by the jaguar-men to be used as they wished, sickened him. And that should never happen. Intellectually, perhaps. An intellectual reaction was acceptable, and the honor in him would rise up to abhor such behavior. But a physical reaction was completely unacceptable—and impossible. Yet . . .

    Unsettled, Dominic expanded his search to include the cliffs above the river. The rain continued, increasing in strength, turning the world a silvery gray. Even with the clouds as cover, he felt the bright heat invading as he burst into the open over the river. A body lay crumpled and lifeless in the water, caught on the rocks, battered and forgotten. Long, thick hair lay spread out like seaweed, and one arm was wedged in the crevice two large boulders made. She was faceup, her dead eyes staring at the sky, the rain pouring over her and running down her face like a flood of tears.

    Cursing, Dominic circled and then dropped. He couldn’t leave her like that. He just couldn’t. It didn’t matter how many people he’d seen dead. He would not leave her, a broken doll with no honor or respect for the woman she’d been. From what he’d gleaned from the conversation between Brodrick and Kevin, she had a family, a husband who loved her. She—and they—deserved more than her body battered by water, left to swell and decompose and be fodder for the fish and carnivores that would feast on her.

    The bird settled on the boulder just above her body, and he shifted, covering his skin with a heavy cloak, the hood helping to protect his neck and face as he crouched low and caught her wrist. He was strong and had no trouble pulling her from the water and into his arms. Her head lolled back on her neck, and he saw the bruises marring her skin and the prints around her neck. There were circles, black and blue around her wrists and ankles. Again he was shaken by his reaction. Sorrow mixed with rage. Sorrow was so heavy in his heart that it slowly blotted out the rage.

    He took a breath and let it out. Was he feeling someone else’s emotions? Did the parasites amplify emotions around him, adding to the high the vampire received from the terror his victim felt—from the adrenaline-laced blood provided? That was a possibility, but he couldn’t imagine that a vampire could feel sorrow.

    Dominic carried the woman into the forest, every step increasing the heartache. The moment he entered the trees, he scented blood. This had to have been where the second battle had taken place and Brad had been wounded. He found where the third jaguar-man had shed his clothes and gone on the hunt, hoping to circle around and take the shooter.

    There were few tracks to show the jaguar’s passing, a small bit of fur and a partial track the rain had filled, but it wasn’t long before he found the body of the cat. There had been a battle here, one between two