Dark Carousel

by Christine Feehan

  "I feel no such drawing," Dragomir assured. He ran his hand just above the horse and then the chariot next to it, shaking his head. "There is power here. Blood."

  He remained totally expressionless. His tone gave nothing away. His eyes were blank and cold as if he was no longer a man. He scared the hell out of Charlotte, sadly, more than Fridrick did. She detested that she felt that way about the hunter, but unlike with Lojos, Tomas and Mataias, who were as expressionless as Dragomir, she felt there was no redemption for Dragomir. He was too far gone. Too wild. Not vampire exactly, but something else, something not human, not Carpathian, but far too powerful for his own good.

  "Can you touch it without danger?" Tariq asked.

  Dragomir dropped his hand to the horse, smoothed his palm over the back to the tail. "This blood shrinks from me. It gathers together deep inside the wood, where it tries to hide from me, but I feel it."

  "Can you remove it?" Charlotte couldn't prevent the hope in her voice. If he could, they could save the carousel.

  He shook his head, crushing her hopes. "I believe if you wish to try to track Vadim it will be safe if all of us weave safeguards and hold the blood in the center of each of these objects."

  There was no doubt in her mind that Dragomir and the others could do it if he said so. He wouldn't risk her. He wouldn't risk Tariq. Whatever code of honor he lived by, and it was different from that of the others--that was certain--he believed in protecting lifemates.

  "It's up to you, Charlotte," Tariq said, giving her the choice.

  She loved that he left it up to her--and she detested it as well. She wanted to step right up to the carousel, to show courage, but to relive the terrible moment when Tariq realized the Malinov brothers had deliberately chosen to give up their souls and they had attacked the village where he stayed, killing the people he knew, would be terrible. Still. For Emeline. For Liv. For all of them. This had to be done.

  Charlotte squared her shoulders, deliberately took a deep breath and drew Tariq deep into her lungs for courage. "We need to track him."

  "I'll be with you," Tariq said in a soft, quiet voice that always stunned her. Took her somewhere else. Wrapped her up and kept her safe.

  She didn't want him with her. She didn't want him to have to relive his terrible past, some of the worst moments of his life; this time, he'd be able to feel. Through him, so would the others. She would cause that. Without thinking she shook her head. "No, just let me do this alone." She stepped toward the carousel.

  Tariq stepped with her, keeping her locked to his side, his grip unbreakable, his face set in stone. His eyes held hers and he slowly shook his head. Simultaneously, Dragomir, Siv, Lojos, Tomas and Mataias growled. The two others as well. Growled. Like wild animals. Her gaze jumped from Tariq to their faces. Maksim and the others crowded closer to the carousel, clearly not approving of her plea.

  "Fine." She wanted to pretend she capitulated to appease them, but she knew she really had no choice. They weren't going to allow her to do this alone.

  "Are you ready, sielamet?" Tariq asked, his lips against her ear, brushing so that he was kissing her even as he asked her.

  She loved that about him, the little intimate gestures he made. She looked around at the men, all of them, even Dragomir, and she went from being afraid of them to feeling protected. They were predatory, but that danger was for someone else, never her.

  "I'm ready. I have to focus. I need to . . ." She tried to step away from him, but his arm locked her in place, a steel band around her waist.

  "Not without me."

  She had to rethink how she was going to do this. If she was going to track Vadim, she had to do so delicately, without thinking about Tariq or the cost to him. Or to the others. Her touch would have to be ultralight. She closed her eyes and blocked out everything but the thought of the carousel. How old it was. The historic value. How much she loved the past and the wonderful opportunity her gift gave her to visit that past and learn about the people who had carved such beautiful horses and chariots for others.

  She wanted to know about those wood-carvers. What they thought and felt. What their lives were like. The people they knew and why they did what they did in a time that was all about survival. She pushed away thoughts of all knowledge of Tariq. She wanted the surprise of what and who he was then, not imposing who he was now on that man carving the objects to be used for the carousel.

  She kept her eyes closed to block out the sights of the men crowding close--and they were up against her now, touching her. One hand on her. One hand on the carousel. Each of them. That made it much more difficult to block them all out. She knew which hand belonged to which man. Dragomir smelled feral. Danger radiated off of him in waves. The others were just as bad. Even Tariq. They were a pack of wolves waiting to tear into something. Fierce, experienced fighters. She was surrounded by them, needed space, and knew they wouldn't back off.

  Charlotte blew out her breath, exasperated. She had to think of a way around their protective instincts so she could do her job. She thought about the why of it. The who. Little Liv. Vadim had made her nights hell and the child was only ten. She had already suffered in a hell deep below the city, where insanity reigned. Emeline. No one but Emeline knew the horrors she'd suffered--and was still suffering.

  There was Tariq. She focused on him. How did he get to be so strong? So compassionate? What would give a man such courage to face enemy after enemy for centuries? Without a family, a woman to call his own. She could understand why he wanted a woman for himself, but the children? What man would take on such a terrible burden as five traumatized children? Genevieve. Emeline. The Waltons. His family was growing, and all of them, in their own way, were broken.

  She reached for a carousel horse, her palm hovering for a moment, feeling the pull of the ancient wood. Hearing the cries of children and their parents. Laughter. Sobs. Whispers. So much history. She needed to go deeper, to find the wood-carver. She caught his scent. She'd know it anywhere. Masculine. The forest. Primal. She followed that faint scent until she heard the sound of his voice.

  Do you blindly follow Ruslan? What is wrong with you all? Do you know how insane this plan is? The Dubrinsky line is the vessel for our past and present. The power is what keeps our people alive. You can't replace that because you don't like the prince.

  Do you blindly follow the prince? That was Fridrick's voice. A sneer. Wiping out his family will do nothing but get rid of bad leadership. We should be the rulers of this world. Instead, we're kept like prisoners in these mountains or forced to hunt our brethren. Our women grow scarce, and yet he does nothing. He protects that son of his, Draven . . .

  The name was uttered and even Tariq winced, although she had no idea who Draven was, only that the loathing for that person was collective. She saw Tariq now. He was standing tall in the middle of several men--men he'd grown up with. Men he'd called his friends. They surrounded him, some with fists doubled. Their face flushed. Teeth clenched. A strange red glow to their eyes.

  Draven should have been put down long ago. Any other with that streak of insanity, harming our women, betraying them to vampires, murdering them, would have been hunted down and sentenced to death, but he refused to do anything about him and now Ivory is gone to us. Dead. That was Vadim. She recognized his voice.

  Tariq shook his head and ran one hand through his hair in agitation. Mistakes have been made, but to plot to assassinate our prince--not only our prince but his lifemate and the other children--is lunacy. Surely you see that.

  At any other time she would have stayed and listened to history playing itself out. It was fascinating to catch a glimpse of Tariq's world. Of the man he'd been then, standing up to his friends when he was the lone dissenter. Clearly he stood up for what he believed. Still, she had to find out what Vadim had done to the carousel horses and the chariots. That required adjusting the timeline. Already the cold was seeping into her bones, a warning she'd learned to heed after traveling into the tunnel. Shivering, she
moved forward to the next night. It wasn't safe staying too long.

  The world was on fire. There was a terrible orange-red glow and smoke was thick, so thick she was afraid to take a breath. The sounds of weeping, of screams, rose on the wind while the smoke swirled and the flames crackled. She caught glimpses of Tariq fighting viciously, ferociously, his body in constant movement, shifting from one shape to another. He moved with blurring speed and his hand plunged into the chest of one man and ripped out the heart. It was the most gruesome thing Charlotte had ever seen.

  She concentrated on the carousel. The horses lay on their sides, beautiful and colorful, but when she looked closer she could see splashes of blood on them. The chariots were scattered in the dirt, flung there by unseen hands. To her horror, she saw the leg of a child peeking out beneath one, streaks of blood on the calf and heel. Another covered a woman, facedown in the soil, her arms flung wide. There were cracks in the wood as if whoever had thrown them was in a rage.

  Her breath caught in her lungs and she found herself jerking back involuntarily. She recognized Fridrick, but just barely. Just a day earlier he'd been handsome and fit. Now he appeared twisted. Evil. There was a maniacal cruelty in his eyes and his teeth appeared sharper and longer. Even his fingernails were longer. The man with him had to be Vadim. She recognized him from the earlier vignette.

  Vadim threw everything in his path out of his way. Two men rushed him, both with swords. Charlotte wanted to scream a warning, but she stayed silent. This was history and it had to play out the way it had happened. Vadim laughed, the sound both evil and chilling. He slammed both arms down against the swords, blocking the blades and sending them spinning away, and then he grabbed both men by their heads.

  Look away. That was Tariq. Her Tariq. Standing with her, watching all over again as the village where he lived and worked was destroyed and the people he loved were brutally murdered.

  She did as he asked because he was suffering. He needed her to look away. She found him in the battle, whirling through the attackers, a lone man standing up to an army of vampires. How did you do it? There were so many.

  They were newly made. I didn't save many of my people.

  My people. That was telling. It wasn't true that he hadn't saved many; already she could see the vampires retreating, killing as they went, but falling back, unwilling to engage the hunter as he cut them down.

  Vadim's movement caught her eye and she turned her attention to him once more. The two men he'd killed lay like broken dolls and he kicked their bodies out of his path. One by one his brothers joined him. Then Fridrick and two others. They cut their wrists and dripped blood collectively into the wood of each horse and chariot, a black spell spewing from their vengeful mouths.

  While Tariq fought off the small army of recruits, the Malinov brothers defiled his creation with their tainted blood. Then Vadim stood over each of the horses and chariots. Charlotte watched in horror as a small shadow was wrenched from him at each of the carvings. The shadows seemed alive, writhing as if in pain, wiggling like tadpoles. Vadim's blood was dripped onto the things, and then each man spit, mixing his saliva with Vadim's blood. The small, shadowy, wormlike creatures desperately tried to return to their maker, but Vadim sent the shadows deep into the wood.

  One of those things was inside her. It had entered her, and even Tariq couldn't remove it. She shivered, the cold so far into her bones that now she felt frozen. There was more to do, more to understand.

  She fought to stay close to Vadim, although his presence repulsed her. The battle raged in the background and yet he didn't even look at the army he'd created that Tariq was fast destroying. Vadim turned his head and muttered something to Fridrick, who grinned insanely and nodded.

  First Fridrick brought a child to Vadim, a young boy no more than ten. Vadim barely looked at the boy. He simply picked up the child and tore into his throat. Blood sprayed over a horse. Vadim moved in a circle making certain the blood hit each of the horses. He murmured words while he did so. At first she could only see the dying child.

  Come back now.

  She couldn't. There was something more. Something she had missed. Fridrick brought another victim to Vadim. A woman this time. He did the same thing without sparing her a glance. He tore into her throat and sprayed her blood over the horses and chariots. This time, Charlotte didn't look at the woman or Vadim. She looked at the blood. The shadow rose up and swam through the blood, taking with it tiny cells she would never have seen if she'd been looking through human eyes. She was looking through eyes that were mostly Carpathian. The shadow consumed red blood cells.

  That was how the curse worked. The victim of the splinter would wither and die. But how did the splinter multiply? How could there be more than one victim per horse or chariot?

  Come back now or I will force you to do so.

  Tariq was already doing so. She felt him yanking at her, pulling, but she barely heard his voice. Icicles formed on her skin. In her hair. She breathed them into her lungs until she had to fight for every breath she took. It was right there. Right in front of her. The wasting illness. The splinter somehow consumed the red blood cells and no amount of transfusions could save the victim once enough time had passed. Vadim would know instantly where that victim was and he could, at his leisure, should he be in the area, find and kill the man, woman or child.

  But how did the splinter multiply? What had he done to make certain the cycle could repeat itself victim after victim? She tried to think about it but her brain felt mushy. Detached. She was cold. Icy even, but she couldn't think what to do about it. The splinter was wholly Vadim's, yet the same one could be used over and over. How? How had he done that?

  She shivered, hearing a call, one she needed to answer, but she'd forgotten how. The saliva, she murmured. Something Vadim did when the others mixed their saliva with his blood. It hurt to think, but she had to know. They had to know, but now she wasn't positive who they were. She shivered uncontrollably, trying to conjure up the scene in her mind, to pay attention to Vadim, not the others, as they spat onto the wiggling parasites and mixed saliva with Vadim's blood.

  His lips were moving. His hands waving. She pushed the memory into her mind so Tariq could see. So the others, whoever they were, could see. It hurt, a thousand icicles stabbing her brain, but she managed it.

  Tariq ripped her back through the tunnel. His hold was ruthless, impossible to ignore. It wasn't so much on her body; Tariq had always been locked with her, his arm a band around her chest, but this was in her mind. He had commanded and now he was forcing obedience. Her barriers were down. All of them. It was the only way to enter the time tunnels. The journey back seemed longer than ever. Colder. She didn't think she would have made it back on her own.

  When Charlotte found herself in the present time, she was wrapped in Tariq's arms, but each of the other males had a hand on her. Her head. Her shoulders. Both legs. One circled her ankle. The terrible shaking of her body made her teeth chatter. She couldn't stop it. She was consumed by the cold. Every breath she took, she wheezed and struggled for air. Her lungs labored and hurt. So bad.

  "You have no choice," Siv stated.

  That sounded ominous. Charlotte tried to look up at Tariq to question what Siv meant. What choice? About what? But she couldn't think. She was cold. So cold. And exhausted. Her lashes drifted down, weighted, she was certain, by icicles. She meant to tell Tariq to get the ice off of her, that she couldn't get warm with it surrounding her like a blanket, but the effort was too much.

  "Sielamet, you cannot go to sleep," Tariq said. "Stay with me. Talk to me."

  She had the sensation of moving and knew he was carrying her, taking her somewhere. She tried to turn her head into his shoulder to burrow deeper, but his usually hot body wasn't even warm. She only found more ice. Sheets of it.

  "Safeguard," she whispered. "He used the word safeguard." She hadn't known what that meant when Tariq had used it, but now she knew Vadim had somehow turned the tables on her. Wh
ile she spied on him, she hadn't thought that he might have safeguarded his cruel work in some way.

  No. No. No. Tariq felt the blow like a terrible punch to his gut. His heart stilled, stopped beating and then became frantic. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't control his heart as it hammered out a protest. This couldn't be happening. Not after finding her. Not after being with her. Laughing with her. Falling in love with the woman she was. Tariq crushed her frozen body against the warmth of his. She was fading too fast. Her heartbeat far too slow.

  "Maksim, Dragomir, any of you, did you catch the weave he used for the safeguards he erected around the horses and chariots just before he removed all evidence of his having been there?" Tariq wanted every single man to give input. He couldn't afford to get it wrong. He had an extraordinary memory when it came to spells and weaves, but this was too important.

  He found himself praying to whatever gods there were, every one he'd ever heard about in his long life. Don't take her. Whatever happened, he would follow. He would never allow her to travel into the unknown without him but . . .

  The children. She stirred. In her mind. Sluggish. Can't think.

  That was bad--very bad.

  Sielamet. Hang on for me. Hang on to me. Stay in my mind. Stay with me. He was begging. Running so fast he was a blur, but holding her spirit in his mind. He could see that weak flickering light. Pleading with those gods he wasn't sure existed, but imploring anyway.

  He knew the others followed him as he took her through the maze in the basement. They were all just as worried. Every breath Charlotte took was labored. Every puff that emerged from her mouth was coated with ice, tiny particles that were slowly freezing her lungs. Even the shivering had stopped, and that was a very bad sign. He couldn't afford to wait another minute. He glanced at Maksim and nodded his head.

  Maksim took off ahead of him, moving through the basement walls until he came to what appeared to be a solid concrete wall. Palm facing the solid slab, he flicked his hand to his left and the concrete slid out of his way revealing dark, rich loam. Minerals sparkled throughout the bed of soil. It was spread completely under the basement, a rich reservoir painstakingly brought from the richest soils found in the United States. This was a place of healing. This was where Tomas had stayed for two weeks and had recovered. He had offered the same to Val, but the ancient had refused and had gone to another place in the forest to heal.