He ran his fingers through her silky hair. “I know, mon bébé, we’ll find him and destroy him. We won’t let him keep hurting people.”
“Xavier was a monster. He really was, but while he enjoyed other’s pain, it was his experiments he was obsessed with. Don’t get me wrong, he loved hurting others, but not like Xaviero. Xaviero had to torture. It was the only thing that ever made him happy. Xavier despised Carpathians and he was determined to ruin them, to wipe them from the face of the earth. But he was somewhat dispassionate about his tortures as a rule.”
“He sounds despicable.”
She nodded, threading her fingers through his and walking a little faster as if she might outrun the conversation. “He was despicable. But Xaviero was worse. He needed to torture others, especially women and children. He thrived on it. Nothing made him happier. I could tell when it had been too long for him. He was moody and irritable even with his brothers, and Tatijana and I would stay as still and as quiet as possible. Eventually Xavier or Xayvion would tell him to go have fun and we knew what that meant. There is no possible way that he could have been in the Lycan world and not tortured others. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself.”
“I believe you.” Zev ran his hand through his hair. “Bodies turned up in other packs and other countries. I know, I investigated. Most were women, some children. We put it down to vampires stalking the packs. Or rogues. It’s happened before. I even considered a serial killer, a human. We never found enough evidence. Sight, scent, it just wasn’t there, but I did suspect many of the killings were connected.”
“Xaviero thought snatching children out from under their parent’s noses was such a thrilling feat. He got the pleasure of tormenting the child, torturing him or her and then allowing the parents to discover the body. He wanted to see their sorrow. He often spared them so they would have to live with guilt and turn their grief into anger at one another.”
Zev was silent a moment. “Rannalufr counseled those who lost children. The suicide rate definitely rose sharply, but no one ever suspected soft-spoken, kind Rannalufr of pushing grieving parents to kill themselves.”
“He would have enjoyed that power immensely.”
“And Xayvion?” Zev asked, knowing she needed to talk.
He kept her walking, away from the village, doubling back toward the forest where he knew she felt safer. Trees closed around them, branches reaching up to the night sky. A few stars had emerged from the strange, violent storm that had come out of nowhere earlier. The last of the dark clouds dissipated to allow the half-moon to reappear.
Zev knew Fen had called in Daciana and Makoce, the two Lycans he trusted the most, to attend Arno and Arnau’s bodies. The Carpathians would have to go to ground soon. Branislava was worn out, and in truth, he was as well. Traveling outside one’s body took a toll, especially when fighting demons in another realm. Had someone told him he’d be doing such a thing a year earlier he would have laughed at them.
“Xayvion was always quiet. He rarely said much, and Xavier always seemed in charge, but if Xaviero got out of hand, it was Xayvion who stopped him, usually with a look. It was eerie when it happened. Unbelievable almost. And it was rare. Xayvion conducted all the experiments with his brothers, but it was as if he was disconnected completely from everyone. He didn’t see us, or their victims as anything alive. When he laughed, it never seemed real to me. He sounded hollow. Dead. I don’t really know how to explain it, you’d have to see him in action.”
Zev guided her toward their home. If they had time, he would have taken her back to their crater in the snowcapped mountains, but she needed to go to ground and he needed to be up as early as possible to help the Lycans prepare for the service. He wanted it done and over before the mage had a chance to know where or what they would be doing.
“Zev, why did you insist on Arno and Arnau being burned at a service when you know what a risk it is to have everyone together in one place like that?”
He winced. He should have known she was shrewd enough to figure out it was the last thing he would do if he wanted to keep the other council members safe. He had hoped she wouldn’t ask him that question.
“They’re already in danger from Xaviero. If he can kill Arnau, one of my best men, and then kill Arno, who was already leery of everyone, he can get to anyone. Better to draw him out where all the Lycans and all the Carpathians will be waiting for him.”
“They won’t get him,” she said.
“No, they won’t,” he agreed. “But if he comes to the funeral pyre—and after you described him, I know he will for certain—he won’t be able to resist seeing everyone’s pain and guilt, and then I can track him. I’m mixed blood and elite. I know what to look for. I can track him back to his lair.”
Branislava looked at him with wide, green eyes. “That’s what I thought,” she said softly.
18
Beneath the ground, Zev’s eyes snapped open and he was instantly alert. What had disturbed his sleep? Waving his hand, he opened the dirt above him so that he could see the basement floor like a ceiling over his head. It was intact. He lay quietly, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. Nothing seemed out of place. No sound. No movement. He just had this odd feeling in his gut.
Beside him, Branislava lay quietly, her head on his chest, one arm thrown around his waist while her leg was sprawled carelessly over his. She was like the fierce kitten he often called her, cuddly one moment and capable of lethal claws the next. He ran his palm over her strikingly beautiful face.
Seeing her, he relaxed, the tension draining from his body. She looked like an angel to him, a being from a heavenly realm rather than one from earth, one caught up in blood and death. He rubbed his hand over her face again, and then he touched her reverently with the pads of his fingers, marveling at the contrast of her soft skin and his much rougher hands.
Branislava moved slightly, her eyes suddenly opening, showing that gift of green emeralds. She smiled at him, a soft, loving smile that stole his breath and pushed need and hunger into his body.
What is it? Do you have need of me?
The Carpathian paralysis was at its heaviest and yet she managed to return to him. Again, he was a little in awe of his luck. I’m just wondering how a man of war like me could be so lucky as to get a woman of grace like you.
Her long lashes swept down, but not before he saw the pleased amusement in her eyes.
I am the lucky one, Wolfie, and I am well aware of it. Sleep. You need to rest.
She called him Wolfie when she loved him so fiercely she felt a little overwhelmed by it and had to lighten the moment. He found himself smiling. Happy. Content. Except for the fact that he was awake when he should have been fast asleep. There was just a nagging feeling of unease. He knew he had no choice but to check it out.
Branka, I’m going to walk around a bit and make certain everyone is safe. Continue to rest. I’ll return as soon as I’ve made the rounds.
A small frown came over her face. He couldn’t help but rub his finger over her full, pouting lips. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t lift them. Answering wings fluttered in his stomach, teasing his groin into growing in length and girth.
You’re Carpathian, you can’t go out this time of day.
I’ve always been able to go out this time of day. Why should anything be any different just because the ancients acknowledged me?
Her little frown deepened. His heart did a slow somersault in his chest and this time he smoothed the line between her eyes.
I forgot about the Dark Blood lineage. They are the only ones to be able to do such a thing. Combine that with your Lycan blood and there you go. Not a good thing when your lifemate can’t do the same.
Her petulant tone made him smile. And why is that? he asked her, bending down to brush his mouth gently across hers.
Who knows what trouble you’ll get into without me.
He laughed softly, once again finding himself happier than he’d ever been in his life
. It mattered little the circumstances surrounding them, the danger or the battles, only this fiery woman lying curled so close to him.
He cupped her breast, his thumb sliding over her nipple. She shivered and her nipple peaked. He had known that even during the time when Carpathians couldn’t move, she would respond to his touch. He was fascinated by her body, the shape of her, those soft curves, all that silky satin skin.
Mmm, she whispered. Your touch always makes my body sing.
She was more than half asleep to say something like that to him. His smile broadened. I like the way your body sings for me. Have you ever dreamt of making love during the time you cannot move? Your body seems so alive to me.
To tease her, he ran his hand down her flat stomach to the junction between her legs. There was smoldering heat when the rest of her body felt cool to his touch. I do believe you’re dreaming of me. He cupped her mound and felt the small rush of liquid response.
She gave a little sniff of disdain, her lips curving into a smile. Not really. A wolf man? Why ever would I do that?
Because, my darling woman—he bent his head again to draw her breast into the heat of his mouth—if you dreamt of another man and responded like this, wet and ready with your fire growing, I would have to hunt him down and kill him. He flattened his tongue, stroking and teasing, using the edge of his teeth while he suckled, showing her the wolf lying in wait.
She laughed softly, the sound vibrating through him, teasing his body like the touch of her fingers. You’re such a big bad wolf sometimes.
You have no idea just how bad a wolf can be. Here you are lying so helpless, and I have no problem taking advantage of you.
His teeth nipped his way down to her belly button, his tongue easing the sharp sting. His sank one finger deep into her waiting body, feeling her readiness, that eager reception he always anticipated.
Should I be afraid? I believe my body belongs to you. It is saying so right this minute.
Her laughter teased at his groin, as if her mouth was so close to him, breathing warm air over the burgeoning shaft and sensitive head. He could have sworn he felt the brush of her tongue over him. His cock jerked and he circled his girth with his hand, already on fire for her.
You’re playing with fire again, she said softly, intimately, into his mind. Her tone was pure seduction. A temptress with her body calling to his and her mind touching him with her fingers and tongue and mouth.
Hunger was savage. Tearing at him unexpectedly the way it often did when he was close to her. The scent of her called to the wolf in him, and his body reacted with urgent, brutally hard need. He plunged two fingers into her tightness, trying to prepare her when he knew he would join them fast and hard.
I am always ready for you, my love, always. I look at you and my body drips with welcome. My breasts cannot wait for your mouth and hands. I am more than ready.
Zev didn’t waste any more time. He parted her thighs and moved her body so he could slide into her fiery sheath in one, fast forceful surge, burying himself to the hilt. He went so deep he felt her womb, that warm, snug place she would carry their child. Despite the hour of the day, her sheath was hot vibrant silk, moist and ready for him, opening reluctantly and then clamping around him like a tight fist of pure fire.
His breath hissed out as he began to move, locking her hips in place while he pounded his body into hers, burying himself over and over in that scorching blaze. She couldn’t move, couldn’t stop him from doing anything to her body, and the wonderful thing was, she didn’t want to. He could touch her anywhere, kiss her, taste her and just explore, and his woman gave herself into his keeping.
He gave himself up to sheer feeling, letting the sensations pour over him and into him. There was a kind of wonder in being able to always be what he was—a wolf, an alpha, a predatory animal claiming his mate. Branislava never objected to the wild pounding or rough handling, matching him flame for flame.
This time, because she couldn’t move, there was a sense of power mixed with lust and love, an intoxicating combination. The knowledge that she trusted him implicitly, that she would allow him to use the sanctuary of her body during this hour, was the most sensual of all.
His hands moved over her, stroking and kneading her body, feeling the answering response as her muscles clamped down around him tight. The heat built and built until even the ground seemed to glow with a red-orange hue. He lifted her buttocks and surged forward again and again, driving into her so that each stroke sent her breasts swaying.
Her mouth formed a small round O and her eyes glazed. He could see the marks of his possession on her skin, all those nips and bites, the press of his fingers, marking her, claiming her as his own. Satisfaction rose along with a primitive need to possess her. A wolf chose his mate wisely, and Branislava would always be his choice. His destiny.
You are becoming more wolf by the moment, she hissed, her mind chaotic with the building pleasure. His hands seemed to be everywhere, bringing her body to life when the sun had drained her of all strength. He had magic in him, a beast bringing mind-numbing pleasure bent on her destruction. And she was more than willing to give herself up to him, to allow them both to burn in her fire.
His thrusts were strong and the rhythm a fierce pace, a machine driving through her soft folds, feeling like a steel piston covered in velvet. She knew the meaning of velvet over steel now. The friction turned her body into a firestorm, hot and needy and seeking the wind to fan the flames. She felt him swelling more, an amazing feat. It seemed impossible to accommodate him and yet, there was always more pleasure, a never-ending coiling of tension building in her until fear skittered down her spine and she feared he might tip them both over the edge to insanity.
A good way to go, he observed, leaning down to bite at her breast and then suckle strongly. I could just eat you up. I’ve thought about it enough times. I could spend hours devouring you and all that cinnamon-honey that really belongs to me.
She squirmed at that thought, her sheath flooding him with scorching hot liquid. I’m not arguing with you. You get anything you want, you know I’m crazy mad about you.
He laughed softly. You’re crazy mad about what my body can do to yours.
Okay, that was the truth as well. And right now, she desperately needed him to give her release, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t bring her hips to his. He was using his arms now, bracing himself as he pounded into her. She could almost hear the flames crackling around them. The glow in the soil deepened.
Zev. Just his name. Her miracle. The man who could remove every ugly bit of her past and replace it with such blissful experiences and memories. I need . . .
I know what you need, amoureux, I’ll always know. He moved in her, against her, filled her, the friction building over her most sensitive spot until her body seemed to go up in flames, the orgasm tearing through her like a crown fire, leaping from her groin to her belly, up to her breasts and bursting down her thighs.
Zev threw back his head and howled like the wolf he was as her body took his with it on that fiery ride of sheer bliss. He stayed locked with her a long time, sharing one body, one skin, complete in each other.
Kiss me and let me go back to sleep.
All over again, she sounded drowsy and sensual, enough that his cock jerked and thought about coming to life. She opened one eye and managed a small laugh. You’re insatiable. You’re lucky I love you that way.
He thought about all the things he could do with her. She was sleepy and needed to rest and rejuvenate in the soil. And there was that strange nagging feeling he couldn’t quite put to rest, but still, the temptation of her body . . .
••
“Does it ever bother you that you’re not Carpathian and everyone else is?” Travis Amiras asked Paul Chevez as they tossed a ball back and forth in the front yard of the house where the Carpathian children were housed together to better protect them while the adults slept.
Paul was twenty, a man already filled out with wide s
houlders and defined muscles. He was already battle-scarred at his young age. He’d fought vampires, helped to run a massive cattle ranch, had been shot and recently helped to save Dimitri from death by silver. Travis hero-worshipped him.
“I’m not quite ready for that yet,” Paul said. “Carpathians age at a much slower rate than we do. My friend Josef is in his twenties, but is considered a kid. I work hard on the ranch and take care of my little sister. It would annoy me to be treated that way. Besides, I take looking after Ginny seriously. I wouldn’t want to be in the ground while she was above it.”
Travis nodded. “I can understand that. You’ve only got one sister to look out for. I’ve got seven brothers and sisters, now that Sara has had the new baby, little Isabella.” His voice went soft when he mentioned the baby. “It’s hard for Sara and Falcon to go to ground and leave us all. They rely on me.”
Paul nodded. “Falcon talks about you all the time. He was upset that Gary was no longer able to be with you during the day.”
Travis shrugged. “I have to admit, I don’t like it, either. Gary is cool. He teaches us the most interesting things. Marie, the nanny for the kids, can be a little boring. She looks after the little ones and sometimes tries to boss me around. It drives me crazy.”
“But Slavica and Mirko, the innkeepers, have that beautiful daughter, Angelina. I’ve noticed you like spending time with her,” Paul observed with a faint grin.
Travis tried to look innocent and then broke out laughing. “She’s really cool, too. She doesn’t treat me like I’m a kid.”
“I noticed her coolness,” Paul said. He caught the ball and looked uneasily toward the west. “Travis, let’s go inside.”
The smile faded from the younger boy’s face. His eyes turned old and he took a long look around him. “You feel something, don’t you? Something is wrong.”
Dark Blood (Dark Series Book 26) Page 33
