Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator

that he rejected her ministrations. His face was an expressionless mask, his eyes glittering almost red.
    Ice poured in, glaciers of it, impenetrable barriers locking her out. She was rejected both physically and mentally. He had virtually thrown her away from him without telling her what she’d done wrong. Shocked and humiliated, she sank back on her heels, struggling not to cry.

13
    Z acarias dragged Marguarita to her feet, clothing her quickly in the garments he preferred, a long skirt and blouse covering the temptation of her body. His fingers closed over her upper arms like twin vises and he forced her to look into his eyes.
    “You will do exactly as I tell you, Marguarita. You are my greatest vulnerability, the biggest liability to me. There can be nothing of you within me. No trace. No scent. Nothing. Once I withdraw, you cannot reach for me, no matter how long, or what occurs.” He gave her a little shake. “Do you understand me?”
    She shook her head, tears swimming. It couldn’t matter to him. He couldn’t look at those tears and ache inside. There could be only ice and stone, no traces of this woman who had the potential of getting thousands of people, both Carpathian and human, killed. He could have no trace of her in him or on him. He needed to shed the scent of her beloved horses as well.
    Marguarita blinked several times, shock and pain in her eyes. He’d put that there, but he couldn’t comfort her. He couldn’t be part of her. She was not yet Carpathian and she didn’t understand the way their world worked. She looked around her, as if coming out of a dream, dazed and confused. He couldn’t blame her, his entire body felt as if it had been going up in flames. He’d been very lucky he was so tuned to danger.
    The horses reared and pawed the air, slashed at their stall doors and screamed a protest. Marguarita turned toward the horses, her face going pale.
    Her breath caught in her throat. Do you feel that? They’re afraid—but not of you. There’s something else, Zacarias, something deeper. There’s a thread, a tendril . . .
    He reacted instantly, jerking Marguarita around to face him, half shaking her, his fingers biting into her shoulder like a vise. “Do not try to follow it. It is vampire. The undead has spread his tentacles out and is reaching for you even now through the very animals you love.”
    I’ll sound the alarm and the boys will help fight.
    “You will trigger the alarm that tells them to seek shelter. They would be in my way and witnessing a battle will only make them fear me more.”
    The tears spilled over and fear shimmered in her enormous eyes. Nothing can happen to you. They could help. I could help.
    He gave her a little shake. “You will do as I tell you without question. I will take you to the house quickly.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her feet from the ground. “You will stay there until I come to get you, no matter how long that takes. Do not speak to me. Do not connect with me. I expect your obedience in this.”
    He felt the urgency consuming him, the one that told him the battle was close. He had to weave safeguards over the houses and stables to prevent destruction of life and property, which vampires were prone to do just for fun. Most of all he had to banish every trace of Marguarita from his mind and body, from his heart and soul. There could be no hint of her where the enemy could catch even the faintest of scents.
    He flew with dizzying speed, masking them as he took her into the house. He went right on through to the master bedroom; the walls were the thickest there and shoved her into a tight little alcove against the wall. “Do not move. If you do, Marguarita, there will be severe consequences.”
    She drew up her knees, nodding, wrapping her arms around her knees to hold herself tight. Her face streaked with tears, but the fear in her eyes was all for him, not for what he might choose to punish her with if she disobeyed.
    Zacarias couldn’t think about the taste of her breath, or how she felt pouring into his mind, he had to shut down completely and become empty, a warrior alone and without anything to lose. He turned his back on her and hurried out to weave his strongest safeguards over every building on the property. It took strength and stamina to hold such strong weaves in the face of the approaching vampires.
    He inhaled the night. Three of them. Ruslan would not send his best on the first outright attack, but he