«He is the adopted child of Sara and Falcon and, although psychic, is human. During the day the children attend school and participate in the regular activities other children in the village have. Falcon and Sara have guardians in place. I was with several of them in the schoolhouse, but Travis had gone to attend a function with a woman who helps us out. We had no idea there was a threat in the area.»
Ivory sighed. «Master vampires have learned to hide their presence from hunters. Some of the lesser vampires have slowly been acquiring the skill as well. Your hunters should know that and take better precautions.»
Above them, thunder boomed and an answering crash blasted across the sky as if two powerful forces met and clashed in the heavens above them.
Sergey had sent another blast toward them, hoping to score a hit from a distance, but an unseen hand had sheltered them. The energy was much closer, and she knew she didn't have much time. She had to leave before the Carpathian hunters arrived.
Another burst of energy swept through the area, rocking the earth and making the trees tremble. Several rocks dislodged and rolled, drawing Ivory's attention to the pieces of metal strewn through the snow. She raised her palm, calling them back to her, careful that each piece was found and placed in a small pouch on her belt.
Gary frowned. «What are those?»
«Weapons.» She shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to draw attention to her secret. «I have to take care of my wolf. You can leave the crossbow here and go with my thanks.»
«I think I'll wait until I'm certain you're all right.»
Ivory gave a dismissing grunt, closed her eyes and laid her hands over the wolf 's broken bones, drawing as much energy as she dared to heal Farkas enough so that he could at least travel. Light burst from beneath her palms and radiated heat along the animal's spine.
«Would you give him blood?» Ivory looked up at the man standing above her.
«What?»
«I am not asking for myself. He needs blood to heal. He will not harm you, I guarantee you.» She kept her gaze locked with his. «I would not force you. It is solely your choice.»
Gary crouched down beside the woman, aware of the five large wolves pressing close to him. None of them acted threatening, but they were big brutes and fierce looking. Some had burns in their fur and around their muzzles from the acid blood where they'd taken the ghoul down. Up close he could see numerous old scars from other battles. He laid the crossbow next to her hand and nodded, rolling up his sleeve.
Ivory handed him a knife. Gary took it and without hesitation cut across his skin and pressed his wrist to the wolf 's muzzle. The wolf licked at the blood while Ivory murmured a soft healing chant. «Enough,» she said, only minutes later. «That will get us traveling. I am in your debt.»
«Let me give you blood,» Gary offered. «If you wait, the others will be here soon and they can heal your wounds.»
«We are here,» said a voice behind them.
Ivory gasped and spun around, taking up her crossbow and aiming the arrow at the heart of the newcomer. She hadn't heard him approach, nor had the wolves. One moment there was no one and the next he stood there, tall and powerful with slashing silver eyes. He kept his gaze on her, and she had the feeling he took in everything-her wolves, Gary, the battle scene and every wound.
«Are you all right, Gary?»
«She saved our lives, Gregori,» Gary explained.
Ivory had known exactly who this man was the moment she'd laid eyes on him. She'd known his elder brothers, Lucian and Gabriel, but Gregori was a legend in his own right-and she wanted no part of him. She stood slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves, keeping the arrow trained on him. She signaled to the wolves and they all moved behind her.
«We are in your debt, lady,» Gregori said, inclining his head. «I am a healer. Perhaps I could aid you in return for the great service you rendered.»
She knew he was deliberately formal in his speech, recognizing her as an ancient, but she refused to allow him to lull her into a false sense of security. She didn't trust him any more than she had Sergey. Behind him another man materialized and she heard herself gasp. For one horrible instant she was certain Draven was alive and had come for her again. It took her a moment to realize this had to be Mikhail Dubrinsky, Draven's younger brother, the reigning prince of the Carpathian people.
She took a step back, the arrow switching immediately to cover the intruder's heart. Gregori stepped deliberately in front of the prince, holding his hand palm outward toward her. «No one wants to hurt you. We are in your debt.»
Behind him, the prince gently guided Gregori to one side. «I am Mikhail Dubrinsky and we are in your debt.»
«I know who you are.» She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. «I gave my aid freely to the child, and this man has more than repaid any debt owed to me.» Farkas, on your feet now.
The wolf rose obediently and stumbled, nearly falling again. She cursed, knowing he was too weak to cross the distance on his own. She couldn't go back to her lair, not wounded and bleeding. She'd leave a blood trail in the sky. It wouldn't be visible, but the droplets could be scented and anyone who wished to could find her.
Gregori took a step closer and her other hand went to her holster. Ivory shook her head. «I do not wish to do battle with you, but if you insist, I will do so.»
«I wish only to aid you.»
«Do so by giving me free passage through your land. I will take my pack and go.»
«You are a Carpathian woman without a lifemate and in need of our protection,» Gregori said, his voice soft and compelling.
«I am an ancient warrior with a lifemate and I fight my own battles. I have no allegiance to your people and none to your prince. Know this, dark one-I will fight to the death to retain my freedom. I wish only to be left alone.» She took another step back.
«If you leave without aid, you will be vulnerable to any attack,» Gregori answered, his voice more gentle than ever. «As a Carpathian warrior, a male, the healer of our people, I cannot allow you to go without first seeing to your care.»
Her sword swung up, her dark eyes catching fire even as despair swept through her. «Then know it will be a fight to the death. I want no help from you or from any of your people.»
Her wolves spread out, even Farkas, facing the Carpathian males-enemies now-circling the men with teeth bared.
CHAPTER 4
Razvan came aware slowly. At first he thought he was dreaming, but dreams such as lying in soil had long ago disappeared from his imagination. He was certain though, absolutely certain, he could feel loam, rich in minerals, surrounding him like a warm comforting blanket, the earth cradling him, his body warm, hunger a distant memory. And that made no sense.
His eyes snapped open, power consuming him, shaking him, more than he'd ever imagined, more than he'd ever conceived of or dreamt. It ran through his body like a rising tidal wave, rushing through veins, pumping through his heart, exploding through organs and sinew until he was filled with power. Light radiated from his body as he burst through the layers of soil to the surface. Dirt geysered up, hitting the high rock ceiling above his head and spraying across the room.
He landed in a crouch, senses flaring out, scanning, his mind racing, trying to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. He had escaped at last. His mind almost couldn't grasp the truth of it. He remembered running through the snow, shivering, his strength so far gone he couldn't control his body temperature, but he forced himself to keep going until he didn't have a single ounce of strength left. He had to get far enough away that Xavier and his servants wouldn't find him before the sun rose. The sun. Every Carpathian's last resort was to cleanse their soul with the bright white light. Even that had been denied him.
Xavier had been careless. Fear had been his downfall. Fear that if he fed Razvan too much, he would lose control of him, so the mage had forced his grandson to go for weeks without blood. Yet Xavier took from him daily-until finally Razvan was too weak and sick to
stand, or to supply the greedy mage with the life-giving Carpathian fluid.
He remembered that empty, weak feeling, the near insanity of hunger, his body crying out, his teeth sharp and needy every moment that he was awake. Chained, he couldn't hunt for his own food. There were not even animals near to call to him. Every cell, every organ cried out, until his brain was nothing but a red haze of need. Now he felt only mildly hungry, not the constant gnawing hunger that had ruled his life for so many centuries.
He looked around him, realizing he was still deep beneath the earth, but it was warm. Somehow, glittering moonlight streamed in from above, yet he was deep beneath the earth in a rock cavern. He heard the sound of water but little else. He waved his hands, and candles sprang to life all over the room, instantly transforming it into a feminine sanctuary. The layers of rock above them were intricately carved with beautiful pictures, sweeping landscapes and trees and shrubbery, as if the outside world had been brought inside one small piece at a time, until the walls were a thing of beauty.
Feminine-the woman-the reason he was seeing in blazing color. The light and the color dazzled his eyes, burned after so long of seeing in gray and black and white. He remembered the soothing touch of her hands; her voice, soft and compelling; the way her blood tasted, addictive and hot as though made specifically for him. She had saved him when he'd told her not to do so. She'd worked a compulsion on him in spite of all his warnings, and now . . .
He felt. Everything. All of it. The guilt and the rage and the sense of absolute loneliness. He had no idea how to behave in civilized society. He had no knowledge of much other than deceit and torture, and now here he was, completely unprepared to be alive and well for the first time that he could remember in his centuries of existence.
Razvan stretched, feeling the play of muscle beneath his skin. His body felt so different, warm, alive, steel running beneath skin, so much power he trembled with it, uncertain how anyone could wield such strength without harming everything around him. He drew in a shaky breath and looked around again.
The woman-his lifemate-must have taken hundreds of years to carve out her home. It was unusual, but it appealed to him. There was something safe and comforting about it. He was upset with her for saving him. He couldn't stay to reprimand her or be tempted by her, of course, but at least he now had a fighting chance when he went after Xavier, and he knew he would. He couldn't allow the mage to continue spreading his evil through the world. He had to stop him, and now he might have the ability.
Razvan knelt to examine the large basin of soil. The depression was made of sheer rock. Impenetrable rock. The circular hollow that was her bed had been carved out, deep and wide, and then filled with the richest, purest, most heavily mineraled soil he'd ever seen. Unable to resist, he sank his hands into the black loam, feeling the soothing, rejuvenating properties.
Where had it come from? He sank back on his heels and studied the wide, deep hole. This soil had been brought here, one small bit at a time, yet now it was so many feet deep, he almost hadn't realized there was a bed of rock beneath it.
Who had the kind of patience it would take to first carve out a large chamber in a rock bed and then fill the basin with soil? It must have taken hundreds of years, yet she had conceived the idea and then painstakingly done it. He stood in one fluid motion, shocked at the way his body responded to the strength running through it, but he was more interested in the woman and what she had wrought than in how his body worked.
There was something extraordinary about the room, and not just the sheer work it had taken. The feel of it intrigued him. He placed his hands palm out toward the walls. Power crackled. Warmth and peace filled him. He frowned and dropped his hands, turning his head to study the rich carvings. Each wall, about thirty feet high in the shape of an oval, was carved with intricate drawings. A forest took up one wall, each needle and limb and gnarled trunk in rich detail. He moved closer. A second wall held a waterfall spilling into a pool of water, a pack of silver-tipped wolves, six of them, was etched in various positions in and around the forest and pool. He noted the shrubbery and flowers and the round moon and stars. Along the bottom of the wall, near the chamber basin where she rested, she had carved a single phrase.
Kuc3ak es kune jelaam es andsz entolam sielerauhoet, andsz entolam pesadet es andsz entolam kontsiverauhoet: May the stars and moon be my guiding light and grant serenity of the soul, protection from all harm and a warrior's heart-peace.
It was more than a work of art. Embedded into each letter, every loop and whorl, the vines running in and out of each word, was the feeling of tranquility. When he ran his hands over the sentence, an inch away from the wall, he could feel vibrations and knew that woven into those words, into the very rock itself, were powerful safeguards.
Razvan laid his hands on the rock wall. Again the wall hummed with life. The walls were solid rock, impenetrable like her basin of soil. But more than that, each wall held safeguards, potent ones. He recognized the beginnings as mage, but they were so different it would be nearly impossible to unravel them. Nothing was going to get through those walls. No one would ever find her, and she was perfectly safe.
He groaned aloud. She had brought him to her sanctuary. He was probably the first person to ever see her home, and with him, he brought an enemy beyond all others. Xavier could possess his body, and now that it was strong and fit and filled with power, the evil mage would want Razvan's body for his own more than ever.
Razvan touched her violin, and felt the joy and artistry of her music. Her emotions were everywhere, buried in the art she created in the warmth and sanctuary of her home. He went up smooth, polished rock steps and through the narrow opening into the largest room. This was obviously her living quarters, where she spent the most time. The cavern walls had been etched out one inch at a time until she had created a round tower, rising up a good forty feet. Although relatively small, the chamber appeared spacious in its simplicity.
There were a couple of chairs and a thick rug of wool with a bit of wolf hair clinging to it here and there, giving evidence that her pack often lay in this room. He found a book of poetry and another on samurai battles and strategy and code of honor. Both were old and lay on the small carved table by a chair. He picked up the samurai book, told in an ancient language, and thumbed through it, noting the small writing in the margin and the underlining of phrases on every page. The book was worn, and obviously read often.
As in the bedchamber, the walls were covered in drawings, each stroke carved into the wall, which must have taken years to complete. The craftsmanship told him something about her. She was patient. She was meticulous. And a perfectionist. She was an artisan whether she knew it or not. The faces of ten young men stared out at him. Each face held an expression of love. When he lifted his hand and ran his fingertips over the smooth etchings, he felt the love. Her love. Their love for her. Anguish and sorrow at her loss of them. This, then, was her monument to her lost family.
Razvan had known love. His father and mother. His sister, Natalya. He carried those memories long after his emotions had faded-and it had taken a long time, even when he embraced that darkness in him, reached for it, desperate to be numb so he couldn't feel loss and guilt and an overwhelming sense of failure and despair. The blood in him ran strong whether he wanted it or not. When he touched those faces, the love there, the sorrow, nearly drove him to his knees. Every single stroke of the implement used to forge those beloved lines from memory was done with tears running down her face and absolute love in her heart.
As the pads of his fingers traced over the hair and foreheads, down to the eyes, noses and mouths, he felt the difference in her. At first those hands had been innocent of knowledge of the fate of her brothers. Little by little, the knowledge had been gained over centuries, until she knew of the betrayal of her five older brothers. His hands stilled and he drew in his breath sharply. Vampires. Betrayers. Master vampires banding together and plotting the downfall of the Carpathian people with…
His heart sank. Her enemy. Her worst enemy. Xavier.
It was all there in the stone. Every detail, every emotion, the blood and the tears and every ounce of love and forgiveness she had in her. She resolved never to see them as they were now, only to remember them with love in her heart where she could touch their faces here on this memorial and remember nothing but love from them.
He wanted to weep for her, for her lost family. He couldn't imagine what strength it must have taken for her to go on, so alone, so lost, the pain of her loss nearly intolerable, the strength of her love enduring. The other five faces were family-yet not blood. He felt her deep love for them, the caring, but fear was woven in there. She dreaded knowing their fate, and so he had stopped looking, afraid that they had taken the path of her brothers. The love shone through along with her dread of the truth.
Below the faces of the ten men were six wolves, carved in exquisite detail, so real looking he touched the rock to see if the fur was really of stone. Each face was different, as if she'd studied a wolf and transformed the living creature into part of the earth for all time. The room was beautiful yet very simple and felt like home and love.
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