Mikhail caught her chin firmly. “These people are dangerous, Raven, fanatical. I found that out tonight.”
“Can they identify you?” All at once she couldn’t breathe. She was becoming desperate to have his friends take care of his wounds.
“No way. And there is no way they will know. I found out two more names. Eugene, very dark, a Hungarian accent.”
“That would be Eugene Slovensky. He came in on the train with the tour group.”
“Someone named Kurt?” He lay back against the pillow, no longer able to block out the pain in his thigh. It was cutting at his nerve endings like a rusty saw blade going through his skin. He had slowed the bleeding and sent as much healing light into his body as he could without betraying their abilities to Raven.
“Kurt Von Halen. He was on the tour also.”
“There was a third man. No one spoke his name.” His voice revealed his weakness. “He was about seventy, gray hair, a thin gray mustache.”
“That must be Harry Summers, Margaret’s husband.”
“The inn harbors a nest of assassins. The worst of it was, the midwife told her husband, told all of them, that Noelle was not of the undead. How could they believe such nonsense when she gave life to a child? God! What a terrible waste of life.” Grief washed over him anew, adding to his burden of pain.
Raven could feel his grief hammering at her insides cruelly. “I’m going to go now so they can help you, Mikhail. You’re getting weaker by the minute.” She bent to kiss his forehead. “I can feel their anxiety.”
He caught her hand. “Put my ring back on your finger.” His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist. “I want you to wear it. It is important to me.”
“All right, Mikhail, but only so you’ll rest. We’ll sort it out when you’re feeling better. Call your friends now. I’ll drive your car back to the inn.” She touched his skin.
He was cold, very cold. Raven pushed the ring back on her finger. He caught at her again. “Do not go near those people. Stay in your room. I will sleep through the day. You rest, and I will come for you in the evening.”
“Very ambitious of you.” Gently she pushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I think you’ll be in bed for a while.”
“Carpathians heal quickly. Jacques will see you home safely.”
“That really isn’t necessary,” she declined, uneasy in the presence of strangers.
“It is necessary for my peace of mind,” Mikhail said softly, his black eyes imploring her to give in to him. At Raven’s small nod he pushed his luck. “Before you go, please try another glass of juice. It will go a long way to alleviate my worry for you.” He knew by reading her mind that she had tried some juice earlier. Her stomach had rebelled before the first sip had even passed her lips. He cursed himself for that. He was directly responsible for her body’s rejection of human nutrients. Raven was already far too thin. She couldn’t afford weight loss.
“The smell of it makes me sick,” she admitted, wanting to humor him but knowing it was impossible. “I think I really do have the flu. I’ll try later, Mikhail.”
“I will help you.” He murmured the words softly, his dark eyes clouded with worry. “I need to do this for you. Please, little one, allow me to do this simple thing.”
Behind her, the door opened and his three friends entered. One stood to the side of the door expectantly. He looked like a gentler version of Mikhail.
“You must be Jacques.” Raven touched Mikhail’s cold hand once before leaving the room.
“And you are Raven.” He was looking at the ring on her finger, not even trying to hide his smirk.
She lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t want him upset. It seemed the quickest way to get out of here so you people can help him.” She had been unable to use Jacques to “see” Mikhail. His mind shield had been too strong to penetrate. Byron had been an easier target.
When she headed for the front door, Jacques shook his head and crooked his finger at her. “He wants you to drink some juice.”
“Oh, give it a rest. I didn’t say I would.”
“We can stay here all night.” He shrugged broad shoulders and flashed a quick, lopsided grin. “I would not mind. Mikhail’s house is comfortable.”
She scowled at him, tried to look fierce when something in her was beginning to find the entire lot of them comical. Males thought they were so logical. “You’re just like him. And don’t take it as a compliment either,” she added, when he looked pleased.
He grinned again, that lopsided, heart-stopping grin that must break hearts everywhere he went.
“You’re related to him, aren’t you?” Raven guessed, certain she was right. How could he not be? He had that same charm, the same eyes, the same good looks.
“When he claims me.” He poured a glass of fresh apple juice and handed it to her.
“He wouldn’t know.” It was going to kill her to drink it.
“He would know. He knows everything. And where you are concerned, he can get a mite testy. So drink.”
She sighed in resignation, and tried to force herself to swallow the juice without disturbing Mikhail. She knew Jacques was right about Mikhail. He would know if she didn’t drink it, and it seemed so desperately important to him. Her stomach rolled, heaved in protest. Raven gagged, coughed.
“Call to him,” Jacques instructed. “Let him help you.”
“He’s so weak, he doesn’t need this.”
“He will not go to sleep until you are taken care of,” Jacques persisted. “Call him, or we will never get out of here.”
“You even sound like him,” she murmured. Mikhail, I’m sorry. I need your help with this.
He sent her warmth, love. The soft command allowed her to drain the glass and keep the juice in her stomach. She rinsed the glass in the sink and turned it upside down. “You were right. He wouldn’t let them treat him until I drank it. He’s so stubborn.”
“Our women come first always. Do not worry about him, we would never allow anything to happen to Mikhail.” He led the way out of the house to the car hidden under the canopy of trees.
Raven paused. “Listen to them. The wolves. They’re singing to him, for him. They know he’s hurt.”
Jacques opened the car door for her. His dark eyes, so like Mikhail’s, slid over her. “You are very unusual.”
“So Mikhail says. I think that’s beautiful, that the wolves are calling encouragement to him.”
Jacques started the engine. “You know you cannot say a word to anyone of Mikhail’s injury. It would put him in danger.” He made it a statement, but she could sense his deep need to protect Mikhail.
Raven liked him all the more for that, even felt a bond with him, but she sent Jacques a little frown of reprimand all the same. “You people are so arrogant. You insist on believing that because the human race does not have great telepathic abilities, we’re somehow lacking in intellect. I assure you, I have a brain, and I’m perfectly capable of figuring that out all by myself.”
He grinned at her again. “You must make him completely crazy. The hotshot thing was great. I would be willing to bet it was the first time he was ever called that.”
“It’s good for him. If more people gave him a little trouble, he would be more—” She hesitated, searching for the right word. She laughed softly. “He’d be more something. Amenable.”
“Amenable? There’s a description that we can never use in the same sentence with Mikhail. None of us have ever seen him happy like this. Thank you,” Jacques said softly, with some of Mikhail’s Old World charm.
Deliberately he drew the car into the shadows. “Be very careful tonight and tomorrow. Do not leave your room until Mikhail contacts you.”
Raven rolled her eyes, made a face at him. “I’ll be fine.”
“You do not understand. If anything happened to you, we would lose him.”
She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “You will take care of him, won’t you?” She didn’t want to say it, but she fe
lt as though part of her was missing, a chunk wrenched from her soul. Her mind cried out for contact with Mikhail, just a touch. Anything to reassure her that he was perfectly fine and they were still united.
“They know what to do. He will heal fast. I must get back to him. Without Gregori, I am the strongest, the closest to him. He needs me right now.”
Nine
Mikhail was weak, consumed with pain, hunger clawing at him along with guilt. He had hurt her, had come close to losing her. How could he make so many mistakes when she was all that mattered to him? He should never have told her an untruth over something so unimportant. Raven. He needed to reach out to her, touch her mind with his, feel her, know she was there. Despite pain and weakness and hunger, the worst of it was the terrible aching hole in his very soul. Intellectually, he knew the ritual binding them together had caused this overwhelming need, but the knowledge didn’t alleviate his need to touch her mind.
“Mikhail, drink!” Jacques materialized beside the bed, caught his older brother to him, his face a mask of fury. “Ku´cak!—stars, Eric, why did you allow him to go without aid? You’re lucky Gregori isn’t here, both of you.”
“He thought only of the woman,” Eric said in self-defense.
Jacques swore softly. “She is safe in her room, Mikhail. You must drink for both of you. One cannot exist without the other. If you do not survive, you doom her to death, or at best a half-life.”
Jacques swallowed his anger, took a deep calming breath, used his teeth to tear open his wrist and thrust it to his brother’s mouth. “Saasz hän ku andam szabadon—take what I freely offer. My life is your life, my blood your blood. Together we are strong.” He used the formal words, meaning every one of them. He would have given his life for their leader. The others began the ritual healing chant. They spoke in a hypnotic rhythm, and the ancient tongue was beautiful.
Behind him, Jacques heard the murmur of voices, smelled the sweet aroma of soothing, healing herbs. Carpathian soil, so rich in healing properties, was mixed with herbs and saliva from their mouths and placed over the wounds. Jacques held his brother in his arms, felt his strength, his life, flow into Mikhail, and he thanked God for his ability to help him. Mikhail was a good man, a great man, and his people could not lose him.
Mikhail felt strength pouring into him, into his depleted muscles, into his brain and heart. Jacques’s strong body trembled, and he sat abruptly on the edge of the bed, still cradling Mikhail in his arms, still holding his brother’s head to make it easier for him to replenish what he had lost.
Mikhail resisted, surprised at how strong Jacques still was, how weak he remained despite the transfer. Stop, Jacques, I endanger you. He said the words sharply in his mind because Jacques refused to release him.
“It is not enough, my brother. Take what is freely offered with no thought but to heal.” Jacques continued the chant as long as he was able, signaling Eric when he was growing too weak to continue.
Eric slashed his wrist without thought, without wincing at the gaping, painful wound, offering his wrist to Jacques, who continued to supply Mikhail with his life’s blood. Eric and Byron provided the soft rhythmic words of ritual while Jacques replenished himself and Mikhail.
The room itself seemed filled with warmth and love, and smelled clean and fresh. The ritual healing signaled a new beginning. It was Eric who called a halt when he could see Mikhail’s color had returned, when he could hear the steady beat of his heart and feel the blood flowing freely, safely, in his veins.
Byron put a supporting arm around Jacques, and helped him to a chair. Without a word he took Eric’s place, supplying life-giving fluid to Jacques.
Mikhail stirred, accepted the pain of his injury as part of the healing process, as part of the mechanics of living. He turned his head. His dark gaze sought and found Jacques, rested on him like a touch.
“Is he all right?” His voice was very soft, but commanding all the same. Mikhail was authoritative no matter the circumstances.
Jacques looked up, pale and wan, flashed a grin, and winked. “I spend a lot of time pulling your butt out of trouble, big brother. You would think a man a good two hundred years older than me would have the sense to watch his own backside.”
Mikhail smiled tiredly. “You get pretty cocky when I am lying on my backside.”
“We have four hours till sunrise, Mikhail,” Eric said gravely. “Byron and I must feed. You need to go underground. Soon the separation between you and your woman will begin to eat at you. You cannot afford to expend the energy for mind touch. You need to go to ground now before you cannot stand it.”
“I will set the safeguards and sleep a few feet above you to ensure your protection,” Jacques said softly. He had lost his sister to the assassins; he was not about to lose his brother. He needed the rejuvenating soil himself. Even with Eric and Byron to replenish him, he knew he was still weak and needed the healing sleep.
Mikhail lifted an eyebrow. “Five minutes in her company, and you are ready to mutiny.” A small, weary smile softened the hard line of his mouth.
He closed his eyes tiredly, guilt washing over him. It would be Raven who bore the brunt of this night. He would be deep in the ground, far beyond pain, beyond knowledge of separation, beyond grief and the hatred for his species. Raven would be surrounded by the assassins, in danger every moment. More than that, she would have to endure the loss of their mind touch. Csitri—little one. He put a wealth of love in his summons.
You are better? Relief.
I am getting there quickly. Are you in bed?
Always the bed thing. I heard you earlier, your fear for Jacques. I know it was Jacques. You have affection in your thoughts of him. Is he okay too?
He is tired. He gave me blood. It was draining to make the contact, to cover the distance, but he needed it desperately for both their sakes.
I can hear your weariness. Sleep now. You’re not to worry about me, she instructed softly.
She ached for the touch of his fingers, the sight of him, and that gave him satisfaction. She was already missing him—just as he was missing her.
“Mikhail, you are speaking with her,” Eric thundered. “You cannot.”
Jacques waved a dismissing hand at Eric. “You should have known he would do so. Mikhail, if you wish it, one of us can send her to sleep.”
It will be uncomfortable for you. You will find it difficult to sleep, to eat. You will need to be with me. Your mind will seek mine, yet you will be unable to reach me. I do not have the strength to aid you this night in sleeping. Will you allow Eric or Jacques to command you?
Mikhail didn’t like the idea. Raven found herself smiling. He had no idea how much she could read of him. He wanted her safe, wanted her asleep while he was, but he didn’t like the idea of another man doing something so intimate as commanding her to sleep. I’ll be fine, Mikhail. The truth is, it’s hard enough for me to accept that kind of thing from you. I could never accept it from one of them. I’ll be fine, I promise.
You are—sivamet—of my heart. I love you, little one. Those are the words of both your people and mine, and they come from my heart. Mikhail used a last burst of strength to send a plea to the only human he could trust to ensure Raven’s safety.
Raven closed her eyes, knowing she had to let him go before his strength was gone. Sleep, Mikhail. In the words of your people, you are my lifemate.
Raven stared up at the ceiling for a long time after Mikhail had withdrawn. She had never felt so alone, so completely barren and cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, sat in the middle of the quilts, and rocked herself in an effort to relax.
She had spent a lifetime alone, and had learned to enjoy her own company as a young child. Raven sighed. It was so silly. Mikhail was going to be perfectly fine. She would take the opportunity to read a book, continue her study of the language—Mikhail’s language. His was an ancient language, different from what the villagers spoke, yet she loved the few words he’d whispered to her. Sivamet. Sh
e walked barefoot around the room—hugging the word to her, allowing it to settle in her mind. She felt cold, and the memory of that soft whispered word warmed her.
Snapping on the lamp, Raven dragged the latest in paperback fiction from her suitcase, determined to get into the tangled web of deceit and murder spiced with romance. She stuck to it for an hour, reading the same paragraph two and three times. It happened repeatedly, but Raven was determined until she realized she had not comprehended a single word. She threw the book across the room in frustration.
What was she going to do about Mikhail? She had no family left in the States, no one who would care if she never returned. Raven paced the room while she considered her options. She had no desire to return to the type of work she’d been doing. This vacation had been all about healing herself and learning to say no to any pleas for assistance.
After everything that had happened, she still wanted to be with Mikhail, needed to be with him. Common sense dictated that she should leave before it went on much longer, but she didn’t seem to have room in her mind or heart for common sense. Raven swept a hand tiredly through her hair. She had no wish to return to the work of chasing serial killers.
So what to do about Mikhail? She hadn’t learned to say no to him. She knew what love was. She had met a few couples who shared the genuine article. But what she felt toward Mikhail was so far beyond that emotion. It was more than passion and warmth, it bordered on obsession. Mikhail was in her somehow, flowing in her blood, wrapped in her insides, around her heart. He had somehow entered her mind, stolen some secret part of her soul.
It wasn’t simply that her body craved his, burned for his, that her skin crawled with need for him. She was like a drug addict desperate for a drug. Was that love or some sick obsession? And then there was what Mikhail felt for her. His emotions were so sharp, so intense. The way he felt around her made what she felt seem a pale imitation. He frightened her on some elemental level, as if he were capable of tapping into something hidden deep within her. He was so territorial, so possessive, so wild and untamed. He was dangerous, a man who ruled others and was used to having complete authority. Judge, jury, and executioner. So many people depended on him.
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