Dark Desire (Dark Series - book 2)

by Christine Feehan

  She stretched out beside the hot springs and dangled her fingers idly in the water. Her body was pleasantly sore. The truth was, she didn’t want to move. “All right, wild man, but it isn’t me who’s constantly finding trouble. And if you run into Rand, just leave.” She turned over, completely oblivious of offering up her body to him. “He may be my biological father, and like any child I may have had my fairy-tale fantasies about the perfect daddy, but I don’t want you to take any chances. I’ve been thinking a lot about this.”

  “About what?” he encouraged, wanting her to sort it out for herself.

  “The reason I can feel the vampire even though he can cloak himself. The reason I felt the humans when Raven couldn’t.”

  “We should have been able to detect them,” Jacques said, inviting her to tell him more. He hunkered down beside her. Shea had an exceptional brain, and, given sufficient time, he knew she would be able to put her emotions aside and contribute much to the solution to their problems.

  “Blood. Isn’t that how everything works? All the bonds and mental telepathy? Don’t you track each other through blood exchanges? Isn’t that why the men rarely exchange blood? Rand hasn’t exchanged with any of you, has he?”

  Jacques shook his head. “No, he was very careful never to do such a thing. But then, he had a lifemate. He did not need to share; and there was no chance of his turning.”

  “But Noelle wasn’t really his lifemate, was she? He always knew it, even if no one else did. Later, perhaps, you all realized he couldn’t be her true lifemate, but he had already established a habit of never exchanging blood. He knew there was always the chance he might turn, so he protected himself.” Shea felt she was redeeming her mother. “Maggie was his lifemate. Mikhail told us Rand had risen only a couple of years ago and kept to himself. That was after the vampire murders had taken place.”

  “If that is so, then Rand could not possibly be the guilty one.”

  “If it is so. Suppose he had risen before that time and found my mother dead. You said a widowed lifemate normally chooses death. What happens if they don’t? What happens if they keep existing?”

  There was silence as Jacques digested what she was saying. “Mikhail thought Rand would be all right because Noelle was not his true lifemate. But if Maggie had been, and she was already dead when he rose, then he would turn. Yet he had his son. He may have stayed to protect him.” He inhaled sharply. “But to be able to weave a cloaking spell... There are only a few with that kind of power.”

  “Like?” Shea prompted.

  “Mikhail is the oldest living Carpathian. Gregori is only a quarter of a century younger. Aidan and his twin brother, Julian, are perhaps half a century younger. Byron and I are the next oldest. A couple of others are close in age, but they have lifemates and are not suspect. There is Dimitri, but he is far from this land. Only an ancient is powerful enough to cloak his presence.” Jacques didn’t realize how much he was remembering, but Shea did, and it made the sorrow of Rand’s betrayals easier to bear.

  “But Rand could have found a way to do it,” Shea insisted. “It makes sense, Jacques. I don’t have to like it—in fact, I hate it—but I share his blood, and there isn’t another explanation. I sensed his presence in the forest because we share the same strain of blood. It has to be that.”

  “You were so opposed to the idea before, Shea.” Jacques’ hand spanned her flat stomach. He couldn’t help himself, he had to touch her, reveled in his right to do so.

  “I didn’t want to face it, Jacques. But I’ve had some time to think about this. It’s the only rational explanation. He wants me to be, and he’s hoping to keep me for himself, but he knows I’m not really Maggie. And he has to kill you. He wanted you dead and he wanted Raven dead and most likely Mikhail also.” Shea took a deep breath. “And Rand said something that bothered me, but I couldn’t remember what. I just put it together. He mentioned Byron. He shouldn’t have known that Byron was the one the humans had tortured. No one had told him, and Byron couldn’t communicate with him. So how did he know?”

  Jacques’ black eyes glinted like obsidian. “I did not catch that. You are right. He did know of Byron. He named him.”

  Shea shoved a suddenly shaking hand through her hair. Her eyes held endless sorrow as she looked up at him. “God, Jacques, do you know what that means? He must have been responsible for bringing my brother to Don Wallace and Jeff Smith. He was responsible for their torturing and killing his own son. Is that possible? Could someone really be that insane, that cold-blooded?”

  “I am sorry, Shea. A vampire is not capable of any real feeling. The undead has chosen to give up his soul. He is wholly evil.” Jacques could feel an unfamiliar lump blocking his throat. He could feel the heaviness in her heart. He admired the courage it took for her to voice her conclusions to him. “The reason the humans have such legends from the old times is because a few have experienced what a real vampire is capable of. I wish it was different. I would give anything to spare you this heartache.”

  “I wish things were different, too, but I don’t think they are. And I think you’re in real danger. Even if Rand isn’t the vampire, he’s definitely a sick, bitter man, and he hates you. Please be careful. I don’t want him to hurt you.” Her large green eyes were alive with anxiety. She sat up, her arms circling his neck. “I want to put you on a shelf somewhere where no one can ever hurt you again.”

  Jacques hastily broke the connection of their minds. Shea persisted in thinking him at risk. It simply did not occur to her, even after what she had experienced with him, what she had witnessed, that he could be the aggressor in the upcoming battle. That he might welcome the battle with his betrayer. That he would enjoy it. For all her knowledge of him, she still could not take in that he was a predator by nature. If that was what it took for her to accept their relationship, he was willing for the knowledge to come to her in slow stages.

  To Jacques, that was the beauty of a lifemate’s bond. Everything was there for the taking, but it was up to the partner to do what they wanted with it all. Jacques knew he would fly to the moon and haul it down for her, walk on water or swim through hot lava if that was what it took to make her happy. Shea was his life, and they had centuries to get to know one another properly. She did not need to confront his killer instincts with- her every waking breath.

  His palm cupped her face, moved lovingly to her slender neck, his thumb feathering over her soft skin. He ached with love for her. “I promise to be careful.”

  “Really careful,” she insisted.

  He found the hard edges of his mouth turning up. “Really

  really

  careful,” he clarified.

  Her fingertip traced his smile. “I’m sorry I was so crazy about the healer giving me blood, but I really can’t stand it yet, even thinking about it. When we’re together, it seems different, something beautiful and natural, but the thought of anyone else—” Her stomach lurched, and she broke off.

  Jacques’ mouth skimmed her face, settled on her lips for a brief, disturbing moment. “I understand. I am stronger now, little red hair. I can care for you properly.”

  Her eyebrows shot up, and she frowned. “That isn’t exactly what I meant. Don’t go all macho on me. That would make me sicker than finding some cute human male to feed off.”

  She was teasing him. Intellectually he knew it, but for a moment a red haze of jealousy clouded his mind. Rage welled up, and he forced it under control. He knew immediately that he was lucky she didn’t want to take sustenance from another man. Something in his fragmented mind, or perhaps it was his possessive nature, would not stand for it. No man, human or Carpathian, was going to be completely safe until he learned to control his fear of losing her. Jacques raked a hand through his hair. “I have a long way to go before I will be normal again.”

  She burst out laughing. “No one has said you ever were normal, Jacques.”

  He felt the flood of warmth at her teasing and basked in it. “Stay here, l
ittle red hair. Stay safe for me.”

  She lay back, lazily reclining on the flat rock. Her bright red hair spread out around her like strands of silk. The clean lines of her nude body, her full breasts and tight, fiery curls beckoned to him. Jacques backed away from her. He was going to have to learn a lot about self-control over the next few hundred years. He turned abruptly and walked away.

  Once through the small passageway leading back to the tunnel, he shape-shifted as he hurried through the maze of pathways. His body compressed, smaller, even smaller, until he was the very creature Shea was terrified of. Small wings took him gliding quickly through the network of tunnels, upward to the shortcut. It was a tiny chimney cut by centuries of water constantly trickling through solid rock. He charged up it and out into the night sky. Almost instantly his body reshaped itself in flight, taking on the larger, more powerful, and much more formidable shape of an owl. Razor-sharp talons and hooked beak, thick feathers and eyes that easily pierced the night, served him well. He winged his way over the forest canopy toward the cabin housing the three hunters.

  Jacques had deliberately ordered their compliance. They would stay the night, unable to figure out why it was so important but unable to defy his hypnotic suggestion. He had taken their blood, directed their minds, and could call them to him at will. The hunters had not intended to stay, as the land was inhospitable to them and they were beginning to believe the superstitions of the locals. He knew the memories he had implanted would remain for as long as he wanted and that they would always answer his bidding if he so desired.

  The beauty of the night, seen through the owl’s eyes, was incredible. Far below, on the forest floor, small animals scurried for cover. The green canopy blanketing the trees swayed and danced in the wind, a beautiful ballet. The breeze caught at feathers, lifted them and rushed at him with a feeling of sheer joy and power. He spotted the cabin below and swooped down toward it.

  Almost immediately he realized something had to be wrong. No smoke came from the chimney, and on a night like this the three hunters would need warmth. The owl banked sharply and glided in, talons extended. He landed as a man, on his feet, his senses alert to any impending dangers, flaring out to scan the area. He caught no signs of life, but he smelled death. The stench was in his nostrils, along with the pungent scent of terror. Someone had died violently, and had known it was coming. Jacques moved carefully, cloaking himself against the sight of humans. He detected none in the immediate area—but then, he hadn’t found Smith or Wallace either. He could find no threat, yet he continued to move warily toward the darkened cabin.

  He found the first body beside the porch. The man was mangled, his throat torn, the wound gaping and brutal, as though a huge animal had attacked and killed him. He was drained of blood. Jacques stood beside the hunter’s body for a moment, angry with himself for exposing the human to danger needlessly. Of course Rand would know he would need to feed often; he would look for Jacques’ source and cut it off.

  Jacques remained very still while he took stock of his surroundings. The kill was fresh, minutes old, the body still warm. The vampire was somewhere in the immediate vicinity, waiting for him. Jacques had no doubt he was next on the vampire’s list. Jacques could not detect any evidence of him, yet he knew with a certainty he was being stalked. He inhaled sharply and allowed the demon inside to awaken with an ugly roar. Jacques could feel the faint stirring in his mind, the gentle, warm inquiry.

  Do not attempt to contact me, Shea. The vampire is attempting a trap. I cannot be distracted. Then I will come to you!

  Shea was very alarmed.

  Jacques could almost see her face, the enormous green eyes wide with worry, her chin determined.

  You will do as I bid, Shea. I cannot worry about both of us and succeed.

  He used his firmest voice, sending a reinforcing push toward her.

  He could feel her reluctance to obey him, but she did not protest further, believing she might endanger him. Jacques moved up the stairs stealthily. The door was slightly ajar, the wind pushing it gently to and fro. The hinges were old and rusty and squeaked with each shift of the wind. Jacques slipped inside to the smell of death and fear, the overwhelming scent of blood.

  The floor was a pool of dark, nearly black liquid, sticky and thick. The two bodies had been flung carelessly aside after the vampire had sated himself on the adrenaline-laced sustenance.

  He had deliberately drained the rest of the blood from the bodies so that the smell of it would further trigger Jacques’ need to feed. He also made certain there was nothing left for Jacques to use to ease that biting, gnawing hunger. It was growing in him every moment, weakening his body, preying on his strength.

  No, it’s not, Jacques.

  Shea’svoice was a soft, clean note in his head.

  You are not weak. You are strong, very strong and healthy. The vampire has set another trap for you. Get out of the house, get into the open air. You are young and strong. There is nothing he can do to you.

  In her mind there was complete confidence in him, not so much as a shadow of worry or doubt. She believed in him. Jacques could do no other than to follow her lead and believe in himself.

  Very carefully he searched the interior of the cabin, looking for hidden traps. When the feeling of doom persisted in creeping into his mind, he reached for Shea’s reassuring presence. She was always there, utterly loyal, determined to make him see himself as she saw him. Her belief in him enabled him to see how the vampire’s trap was preying on his mind. He found himself smiling grimly, without humor. He acknowledged the vampire’s power and expertise in illusion, but Shea had broken the spell with her unfailing belief in him. Jacques was strong enough to deal with the undead; it was only a matter of perceiving the traps for the illusions they were.

  Jacques made his way outside into the cool night air. The wind tugged at his clothing, raked at his long hair. A lone wolf howled, endlessly calling for a mate. The sound caught at him, touched a spot in him, and he lifted his head and crooned softly into the night. The wolf was wandering far from its companions, alone, an outcast to those who did not understand its predatory nature.

  A sound alerted him, a mere rustle in the underbrush, but it was enough to draw his mind away from the wolf and back to the enemy stalking him. He lowered his body into a crouch, centering himself for the attack. When he turned his head, Rand moved out into the open. He was smeared with blood, his fangs exposed, his eyes red-rimmed, and his nails long, clawed tips. His skin, flushed from his recent kills, was stretched taut against his skull so that he had the look of death clinging to him.

  “I knew you would leave your bride to feast upon the humans. You could not resist when blood was there for the taking,” Rand said in a voice edged with contempt.

  Jacques’ eyebrows rose a fraction. “You seem to help yourself to whatever you desire. Does that include other men’s lifemates?”

  Rand’s mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. “You took my lifemate from me. You and your brother. Yet now both of you have found the very thing you would never allow me to have. I will destroy Mikhail and his woman, and I will take back from you what is rightfully mine.”

  “Maggie is dead, Rand, and only you are responsible. You left Noelle to the human butchers while you rushed out to see your lifemate, yet you did not have the courage to bring her before Mikhail and announce her as such. She would still be alive if you had.”

  “Noelle would have murdered her. She threatened to do so many times.”

  “Mikhail would never have allowed such a thing, and you know it. It was your own lack of courage that killed her. Any Carpathian male worth anything will stand up for the one he chooses for his lifemate. Is it possible, Rand, that you were so warped with all your womanizing that you simply did not want to make a full commitment to Maggie? Perhaps you liked having the two women, liked to taunt Noelle. Perhaps the two of you had a twisted, perverted relationship, and you could not quite bring yourself to give it up for something so
right and pure.”

  Rand roared, his head back, the sound issuing forth one of anger and agony. “You go too far, dark one. You think I cannot see what you really are? You are a killer. It is plain to those of us who see you with clear eyes. Do you not feel the need to destroy? Do you not enjoy the power? You are one with me, whether you choose to see it or not. Your nature is dark and ugly, like the world you and your brother forced me to occupy. I do not need to destroy one such as you—you will do so on your own. The woman will see what you are eventually.”

  “Shea knows exactly what I am, and she is willing to live with me. You chose your own life and your own fate, Rand. You rose before your time—”

  “I felt the rending tear when my lifemate chose death!”

  “That does not excuse your responsibility in the matter. She would not have chosen death had you been man enough to take her before Mikhail and show the world she belonged to you. And you could have chosen to follow her to her fate, but again you left her to face the unknown by herself. Instead you blamed others for your inadequacies and set out to revenge yourself. Tell me, Rand, why did you deliver your own son into the hands of those butchers? He was a boy, a mere eighteen. What had he done to deserve such a terrible fate?”

  Rand’s face twisted into a snarling mask of hatred. “I gave him a chance to join me, to seek retribution for what Mikhail and you had done to me. I went to him, his own father, and explained my plan. He was so brainwashed by you, by Mikhail, that he called me vampire. I could see you had twisted his mind. He would not listen to me. I could not allow such a traitor to live. My slaves dealt him with. They thought they controlled me, but I put thoughts into their heads at will. They named me Vulture and thought to destroy me after they had used me. It was amusing to turn them against one another, to force them to set each other up for the kill. Wallace and Slovensky were evil men and easy to ensnare. Smith was weak, a follower, a good sacrifice.”