Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator

scorched Zacarias’s skin. Still those talons remained hooked in his sides, locking them together while the vampire began to sizzle, his rotting skin bubbling. Smoke rose. The stench of burning meat filled the air. Ruslan screamed, the sound tearing through his chest and throat to startle the birds in the nearby trees into flight.
    Zacarias looked up. Vultures began to circle. His own skin burned only because Ruslan’s body touched his. He didn’t try to fight it. His body hadn’t turned to lead as of yet, but his arms and face prickled, wanting to shrink from that mass of red-hot churning threads.
    Holes burst through Ruslan’s body. The stench increased until Zacarias wanted to gag. The talons loosened, and without the thick plug of those razor-sharp hooked nails, blood began to leak onto the ground, forming a small pool around him.
    Stay with me, Zacarias, Marguarita urged.
    Her calmness astounded him. She should be in a panic, yet her mind was much clearer than his. He was too tired to think.
    Give yourself to me, she whispered. Trust me to keep you safe.
    He had never trusted anyone. If he did as she asked and passed his spirit into her keeping, there would be nothing she did not know about him. His inability to feel without her shamed him. He would never know the true love of his brothers unless she was anchored in his mind. He would always be uncomfortable in the presence of humans. He could barely tolerate that world and she would know. She would see that he felt nothing even for those serving him. She would see too much. How much could a woman take?
    Give yourself to me. Freely—as I gave myself to you.
    Losing her to death was perhaps an act of cowardice rather than allowing her to face the true monster that she had given herself to. He had claimed her. Bound them together. Through it all, she had been the one to give herself to him over and over, meeting his every demand.
    Ruslan burst into flames, shrieking his hatred of the world. The talons fell from Zacarias’s skin, freeing him, and Zacarias dragged himself away from the burning vampire. Black smoke shot into the sky like a beacon.
    Zacarias watched until that white-hot heat consumed every inch of the master vampire, until he was certain the heart was gone and not so much as a sliver of him remained anywhere. Only then did he lay his head back and let his body turn into a limp rag doll.
    He took a breath and then a leap of faith that she would want him anyway, as dark and shadowed as he was. He sent his spirit outside his physical body, into her keeping. Just before he closed his eyes, he heard the sound of a helicopter and he smiled. That piece of equipment was of the modern world—her world. Maybe there was something to it after all. His resourceful lifemate had obviously used his blood bond with either Julio or Cesaro, and Lea Eldridge was flying them to his rescue.

20
    W hat did it take for a Carpathian to heal such horrific wounds? A week? Two? A month? Marguarita slowly walked through the dark house, toward her own bedroom and bath. She had learned to take blood from Julio and Cesaro, a difficult task. She had learned to part the horrible dirt, wiping frantically at her hair and body, terrified of spiders crawling over her. There was so much she didn’t know, so much she needed to learn.
    Every evening she went out to the stables to her beloved horses, but even riding her Peruvian Paso, one of her greatest joys, could no longer stop the crush of sorrow welling up in her. It didn’t matter how often she told herself Zacarias was safe, was in fact, lying in their sleeping chamber. It didn’t matter how many days she lay beside him, holding him, brushing his long hair aside to study every line carved into his face, she still feared for him—mourned for him. At times she feared she might lose her mind.
    More than once, waking with Zacarias beside her and spiders crawling over her, she’d smacked him in a fit of temper, remembering the mass of spiders she’d fallen into with no comfort from him. But mostly, she tried not to weep for him, tried not to beg him to wake and be with her. She needed him desperately, but she refused to be weak when he needed to heal.
    There were so many things to work on, to occupy her time. She still couldn’t quite get the clothing right. She usually took a bath and dressed as she always had. She preferred to take a bath because she couldn’t rid herself of the terror of spiders. She slept in the ground