Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator

in your veins. It is ancient blood, very powerful, and you will learn quickly to wield that power.” He had to hurry before the next swelling pain came.
    “You know the earth will rejuvenate you.” He made it a statement.
    Her lashes fluttered and fear crept into her eyes, but she nodded. What do I do if I find myself trapped beneath the earth?
    He brushed another caress through her hair more because he needed to touch her than because it was in her face. “You will it to move. Command it. Picture the soil in your mind, doing what you wish. It may take a few times, but if you do not panic and think as a human, that you are buried alive, then you will be fine.”
    Her heart accelerated when he used that phrase, buried alive , but she nodded.
    “I will be with you to ease your way,” he assured.
    It’s coming. She didn’t plead with him to take her away. There was no asking, no pleading. Marguarita made it clear, even in her exhausted state, that she would not be asking anything of him.
    He felt the swell just as she did and he took command instantly, demanding she sleep deeply, the healing, rejuvenating sleep of his people. Carpathians shut down their hearts and lungs and lay as if dead while Mother Earth used her rich nutrients and minerals to aid them to full recovery and strength. He stopped Marguarita’s heart and lungs as gently as possible.
    He lifted her into his arms, cradling her gently against his chest, his eyes burning and his heart shredded. She lay limp, her long hair sweeping to one side, revealing the curve of her cheek and her long lashes. She looked so young and innocent, a beautiful woman, ravaged by the conversion, disillusioned by the man sworn to cherish and protect her.
    Zacarias carried her through the house to the master bedroom, waving his hand to move the bed out of the way. The hand-woven rug followed and the floor opened to the sleeping chamber deep beneath the structure. Another wave of his hand opened the beckoning soil, almost a black loam rich with minerals. He felt the earth reaching for her as he floated them both down into that warm cocoon of an environment.
    Very gently he laid her down, careful of her hair, bending to brush his mouth over hers. She wouldn’t feel him—wouldn’t know how silly he was acting when she was in a deep sleep, but he felt free to stroke his fingers down her arm to her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers, tenderness welling up unexpectedly.
    Could he have lost her? She had pulled away from him. Rebuffed him. It hurt. Plain and simple, her rejection had been so complete, when she’d needed him the most. She would rather have suffered than allowed him into her mind, melding their spirits. His refusal to enter into the modern world could have cost him everything.
    He sank down beside her, his eyes burning, his chest aching. He kept possession of her hand, his fingers caressing hers. He’d had everything in Marguarita. She’d offered him a world he could barely conceive of, let alone long for. He hadn’t known how much he wanted it. Not the people, not the friends; he knew himself. He was a loner, but he could tolerate others for her sake. He should have paid attention to what those ritual binding words meant. Her happiness. Her care.
    He was a man who was confident for a reason. He couldn’t shove his responsibility off on Marguarita. If he expected her to follow where he led, he needed to place blame where it belonged. None of this would have happened if he had taken Solange’s blood when it had been offered. He didn’t want anything to do with the new world and its modern ways. He wanted to stay where he was comfortable. There would have been no question of taking command of the situation and protecting his lifemate. He didn’t have the tools available to him because of sheer stubbornness.
    He groaned and shook his head. He had the means right in front of him to provide his woman with protection and happiness, but he’d been too arrogant, too filled with his pride and honor to take advantage of the gifts handed to him. No more.
    He was a fighter. That was who he was and Marguarita Fernandez was a woman worth fighting for. He was the one who was meant to walk beside her. Zacarias brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed her hand, little butterfly kisses, his heart aching for both of them.
    Stay with me, mića emni kuηenak minan — my beautiful lunatic. I promise you, I will be a better man, a better lifemate to you. You gave