Dark Predator d-22

by Christine Feehan

  Abruptly he turned away from her, striding from the room, unable to bear the sight of her forlorn and frightened figure one more moment. He needed distance. The rain forest. Anywhere but near that absurdly disobedient female.

  Zacarias was far more careful with the front door. He wanted to be able to lock that puzzling, baffling, annoying woman inside where she couldn’t get into trouble while he figured out what to do. He could try again to seek the dawn as the sun came up, but the dramatic end to his life no longer seemed supportable. O jelä peje emnimet—sun scorch the woman. She’d turned his world upside down. Everything would be perfectly right again the moment he couldn’t smell her scent or hear her heartbeat. The connection between the primal part of his mind would fade with distance and he would be able to breathe—and think.

  He stepped out into the rain, waving his hand to calm the storm he’d wrought with his attempt to punish the mortal woman. His breath hissed out of his lungs. He didn’t want to take that next step, to spread his arms and summon the harpy eagle for flight. He wavered, nearly transparent, mist and rain becoming one with him, one thing that normally soothed his dark soul, but the reluctance was still there. O ainaak jelä peje emnimet ηamaη—sun scorch that woman forever. She had done something to him.

  Could she have been mage-born? Had she cast a spell to entrap him? Him? Zacarias De La Cruz? Impossible. He was too old. Too cunning. She didn’t stand a chance against him, pitting herself against his centuries-old power and experience. He had half a mind to go back into the house and indulge his craving again.

  The thought brought the taste of her bursting through his mouth and a rush of heat through his body. Unfamiliar things bothered him. His reaction to Marguarita Fernandez was unheard of. No one, nothing roused his interest in centuries, and now, when he chose to end his life, she dared to disturb him. He would not go back to her trap, no longer be ensnared by whatever spell she cast. He would follow his own way, his own logic and she could wait on his convenience.

  Zacarias took to the air. The wind rushed through him, through the mist that made up his body, so that he and air were the same—he belonged here—part of the earth itself. He’d developed the trick long years ago when he was so alone and in need of some small solace. Animals and man no longer welcomed him—not even his own kin. They feared him—as she feared him. But when he was mist, with the wind moving through his body, sending him drifting through the trees, he actually could feel accepted. Animals and man rejected him but the earth was a constant, steady companion.

  Marguarita Fernandez was a puzzle he couldn’t get out of his head. The attack of the vampire on her must have unhinged her in some way. There was no other explanation for such blatant disobedience, such deliberate disregard of his direct order. No one would dare such a thing, let alone a little slip of a girl. She had to be a little ill, and if so, he had been a bit hard on her. Satisfied that he’d found the only logical conclusion to her strange and indefensible behavior, Zacarias took to the air to set things straight with her before he sought rest.

  Marguarita stayed as still as she possibly could, freezing every muscle in place, terrified he would return. He walked so silently it was impossible to tell where in the house he was, but his presence was so powerful, so strong, she knew the moment he left. Only then did she cover her face with her hands and give into hysterical weeping.

  She had never been so afraid in her life, not even when the vampire had demanded to know Zacarias’s resting place. She had accepted death and knew she would die with honor. This—this was a terrible, tangled mess she’d created. Everyone was at risk, everyone she loved. Everyone she knew. Because she hadn’t allowed a De La Cruz to die.

  She knew the truth now. Zacarias had come to the hacienda to die with honor because he was close to turning vampire. She didn’t know the process, but she knew loss of honor was the one thing every Carpathian feared. He had risen vampire and she had done it.

  She spread her fingers and peeked through them to the wastebasket where a hundred crumpled pages from her notebook gave evidence to the fact that there was no explanation. None. She didn’t know why she’d committed such a grave sin but she’d been unable to stop herself and now she’d created the very monster Zacarias had tried to avoid.

  With a shaking hand she touched her throbbing neck, that spot that burned through skin to mark her bones. She swallowed hard and slowly pushed herself to her feet. Her legs felt like rubber and she couldn’t stop the tremors taking over her body. What was she going to do? What could she do? She could never—ever—face that monster again. But more than that, she couldn’t allow him to kill or use anyone at the hacienda. She’d done this. She was responsible and she had to ensure everyone’s safety.

  She knew vampires made puppets—humans who did their bidding during the daylight hours when they slept. Puppets craved the blood of the vampire and feasted on flesh. It was a horrible half-life and eventually they rotted from the inside out. She would not be Zacarias’s puppet, no matter that she had been the one to cause him to lose honor. Certainly that hadn’t been her intention.

  Marguarita moistened her dry lips and forced her body under control. She couldn’t go to Cesaro and Julio because they would try to defend her and they would definitely be killed. No one could stand up to Zacarias De La Cruz. If she went to one of her aunts, he would know. Her entire extended family worked for the De La Cruz family in some capacity or other. As she tried to make sense out of the situation, she yanked open drawers and stuffed the bare minimum of required clothing into a backpack.

  She had to formulate a plan. Vampires were cunning, but they did have weaknesses. She couldn’t call in the hunters until she led Zacarias from everyone she loved. That much was certain. Vampires killed for the pleasure of it and she couldn’t risk anyone on the ranch. If she activated the call sign for a hunter, Cesaro would try to fight Zacarias. All of the workers would. She knew without a doubt she could lead him away from her family because Zacarias would follow her.

  Fortunately, she knew the rain forest and she didn’t fear it as most did. She would disappear—and he would follow. She didn’t know how she knew that he would, but she did. He would find her eventually—and probably kill her—but she had no other real choice, not if she wanted to save her family. She would make her way down river to the next De La Cruz property—a collection of cabins used when moving cattle to various pastures—and she would call in the hunters from there. If they made it before the vampire found her she would be safe, if not, at least she’d saved her family.

  She dragged on her boots and ran through the house to find her survival pack. She had a water-filtration system and tablets just in case it was needed, although she knew where waterfalls ran in abundance. She was an excellent hunter, so food wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but how was she going to keep Julio or Cesaro from trying to find her?

  Marguarita bit down on her lip and tried to still her frantic thoughts. She had to think her escape through. Zacarias showed no interest in reading her note so perhaps it would be safe to leave one for Cesaro. She would have to word it in such a way as to reassure everyone without actually lying. She didn’t want them to be so foolish as to question Zacarias. They all needed to stay as far from him as possible. If she was very lucky she would get a good head start on him before he followed.

  She forced air through her lungs and wrote a short note. I took your advice, Cesaro, and left for a few days. Will return shortly. Love to both you and Julio.

  That wasn’t a lie. And it gave nothing away. Cesaro would be frustrated with her, but he would think she’d gone to one of her aunts. Julio . . . Now, he was a different matter. He knew her much better than Cesaro and he might consider something was wrong, but once his father reassured him that he’d suggested she go to her aunt in Brazil, he’d settle down and wait a few days to hear from her.

  Satisfied that she’d done all she could to keep everyone safe, Marguarita went out her bedroom window. She didn’t trust the doors or
the fact that Zacarias had gone out the front. She was not going to run into him by mistake. She remained crouched under the window, studying the dark sky with suspicion. Zacarias could be anywhere, in any form. The thought was both disturbing and terrifying. For a moment her heart raced, her blood roaring in her ears. She made herself breathe normally, afraid he might hear her thundering heartbeat.

  Before she moved, she touched the animals in the vicinity. As soon as she’d pulled the drapes in the house, the ranch had gone on alert. Cattle and horses had been moved in close where they could be better protected. Everyone was armed and patrols had been doubled, but the animals would know before humans if evil were near. The horses were settled for the night. There was no restless stamping that would have alerted her to Zacarias’s close proximity.

  The rain settled into a steady drizzle and the ferocious wind calmed as she made her way across the paddocks and pastures to the very edge of the rain forest. She’d always loved the way the natural growth continued to creep back to reclaim what had been taken. Roots snaked across the ground in long tentacles. Creeper vines slid over stones and up fences, even wrapping around rocks in an effort to take back the land.

  She slipped into the outer edges of the trees, hurrying along a narrow trail she was familiar with. Insects formed a moving carpet on the thick vegetation, centuries of fallen plants and trees. Large spiders clung to the branches and lizards scooted under leaves for cover. Tree frogs peeped out at her as she hurried by.

  Marguarita walked with confidence, knowing exactly where she was going. It was easy to get lost in the rain forest. Most traveling was done on the rivers, but she and Julio had explored the area closest to the ranch almost from the time they could walk and they’d marked their trails with signs both recognized easily. There was a wonderful little cave back behind one of the numerous waterfalls, a small, difficult-to-find grotto where she and Julio had camped several times. It had been their secret place whenever they hid from their parents. Julio often got in trouble in those days. He carried a man’s share of work from an early age and traipsing around in the rain forest was frowned upon—especially with a female.

  The cave was located on a deep, wide stream that fed the great river. Julio had carved out a canoe from cedar with his machete. The wood was light enough for the craft to float, yet not so soft that it wasn’t strong enough to stand up to the river. They had stashed the canoe behind the waterfall. She could make it there, get the boat and take one of the streams that fed into the Amazon. The De La Cruz camp wasn’t far from there.

  Marguarita accepted her role in the house and reveled in the fact that she was acknowledged for her gift with horses, yet she loved the rain forest and the way it made her feel so free. She knew Julio felt the same things and together they encouraged one another in running off to explore every chance they got. Julio got in far worse trouble than she had, although she had endured countless lectures about a woman’s duties. Now, she was grateful for every trip they’d made.

  Fireflies flashed tiny sparkles in the various trees providing her with a little comfort. In the trees, the night was inky black, although the rain forest wasn’t completely dark. Phosphorescent fungi gave off an eerie glow. Night monkeys poked their heads out of tree holes to stare at her with enormous eyes and their presence offered her a sign that she wasn’t followed—yet.

  Zacarias could take any shape in his pursuit of her and he was fast. He could use the sky and cover territory in minutes that might take her hours. She had to run to get to the canoe, and that was extremely risky at night in the jungle, but she had no real choice. She had to keep ahead of him until dawn. Once the sun came up, she could make her way to the De La Cruz cabins and hopefully call in help. Zacarias would be away from the hacienda and everyone else would be safe. It all made perfect sense, but she had to get there fast and that meant running.

  She picked up the pace, sprinting, needing to get to shelter. She didn’t want to be out in the open, even under the canopy. Where the trees were thick, there was little light and she had to use her headlamp, but it also meant there was little vegetation on the floor. Without light penetrating the canopy, it was difficult to grow much. Saplings had to wait for a tree to fall, providing a gap in the canopy, allowing the sunlight through.

  She sent out a wave of energy ahead of her, trying to give the insects on the forest floor the heads-up that she was coming through. Hopefully they would clear the trail. Tiny colorful frogs leaped from branch to trunk, their sticky feet clinging to the surfaces as they followed her on her precarious journey.

  She tried not to race, knowing she wouldn’t have the stamina. She had to set a grueling pace, but one she could continue for a long time. Hours. It was a long time before the sun came up. She sent out a call for aid, her plea strong enough to wake the animals resting in the canopy above her. Immediately answers came. Monkeys went on alert. Flocks of birds called to one another, all looking for a common enemy.

  Centuries of leaves and branches concealed twisted roots that would easily trip her up, and her headlamp caught the animals creeping out of holes to sit on the roots, so that as she ran, she could choose a path with the least obstacles. She rounded a bend, winding her way around a thick tree trunk and a capibara stared at her, crouched directly in her way. She swerved to her right, the only possible direction and realized as she flashed by, that the animal had guided her away from a labyrinth of creeper vines that would surely have sent her sprawling.

  She ran with more confidence then, dependent on the animals, feeling comforted by their presence, knowing they would raise the alarm the moment Zacarias came near. They would know he was close. They had to be as sensitive to his presence as the horses and cattle on the ranch. She should have known when all the animals on the ranch had acted so uneasy that evil walked with Zacarias De La Cruz.

  Marguarita frowned as she ran. Her lungs began to burn and her legs ached. She swerved to avoid a series of termite mounds her lamp barely managed to pick up before she was on them. Why had she felt so compelled to save him? She couldn’t stop herself. Even when he’d demanded her compliance, she hadn’t been able to leave him in the sun. She wasn’t squeamish. She’d grown up on a working ranch and she did her share of work, no matter how difficult.

  She ignored the stitch in her side and jumped over one of the many ribbons of water running downhill to feed into the river system. The ground was muddy as she slipped and slid her way up the slopes, sometimes clawing her way in the mud. All the while her mind continued to puzzle out her strange behavior. She’d been programmed since birth to obey a De La Cruz. It was life or death in their world and one wrong misstep could spell catastrophe for those living on the various ranches. They all knew the danger of vampires. Monsters were very real in their world.

  A small sob escaped. Carpathians fed on the blood of humans, yet they didn’t kill. Vampires killed. She didn’t fully understand the thin line between them, but she knew it was thin and somehow she had pushed Zacarias over the edge. And what had his blood done to her?

  She had awakened from the vampire attack with a torn throat, unable to talk, her world turned upside down, but all her other senses were heightened from the blood Zacarias had given her to save her life. Her sight was much better. She could actually spot insects in grass and see birds in the thickest branches of trees. She spotted tiny frogs and lizards hidden in the leaves and creeper vines. Her hearing was even more acute. Sometimes she thought she could hear the men talking out in the fields while they worked. Certainly she could hear the horses in the stable.

  With that first blood he’d given her to save her life, she knew he had changed something in her. Her hair, always thick, had grown faster and more lustrous. Her skin had a sheen, almost a glow to it. Her lashes were thicker and longer, everything about her was just more. She noticed Julio stayed closer to her and the hacienda whenever the other men were near, and she was aware of them as men, instead of simply people she’d grown up with. She felt the weight of their
eyes and at times was uncomfortable, afraid she was reading lecherous thoughts. None of that had ever happened before. And the changes weren’t all physical.

  She shouldn’t be able to run so fast for such a distance even with animals guiding her on the trail. She used her headlamp less and less and was guided more by pure instinct. She could hear her heart beat and it had settled to a slow, steady rhythm. Her lungs had been burning for air, but the farther she ran, the more they began to work efficiently.

  Her skin tingled when there were obstacles near her, much like radar warning her which direction to turn, where to place her feet, how to move and slip through the trees without a misstep. She might not be able to speak, but she certainly had acquired other much sharper senses and skills.

  She’d been hearing the stream for some time. The rain had fed the water on the ground so that it ran downhill, taking the least line of resistance until it found its way to the narrow stream, deepening the dark water, swelling the ribbon until the banks were nearly overflowing. The waterfall in the distance sounded like continuous thunder and relief flooded her. That meant the water route was open and deep enough to take her downstream rapidly. If conditions were right, she could make it all the way to the Amazon. That would increase her chances of getting to the De La Cruz pastures before Zacarias discovered her. Marguarita increased her speed, running flat out to the falls.

  4

  The harpy eagle swooped through the canopy, ignoring the sloth, its favorite food, and circled back toward the hacienda, driven by some inner compulsion it couldn’t ignore. Deep inside the giant bird’s body, Zacarias sighed. He was no closer to the truth than he’d been when he set out. The threads binding him to the woman had grown stronger, not weaker, and he couldn’t get her out of his mind.