Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS

by Christine Feehan

  Antonietta’s fingers found him, tracing over the same beautifully drawn figure. If you are not, Jaguar, what are you, Byron? Instinctively she used the more intimate form of communication. Somewhere on the other side of the wall someone skulked about the passageway with a hidden agenda of their own.

  I am of the earth. My people have been in existence since the beginning of time, in one form or another.

  Then you do shift shape! You can, can’t you? She was very excited.

  His breath was warm on her face. His lips touched her cheekbone. If I were to answer yes, would it in any way influence you to consider adding me to the Scarletti gene pool? He was listening to the furtive footsteps as they moved past their hiding place.

  That’s not funny. But laughter bubbled up anyway. And joy. It was true. She wasn’t losing her mind as she often imagined when the beast rose up strong within her, roaring to be set free. I’m too old to even consider having a baby. She said the last to sober up. She was too old to consider a permanent relationship, even if the man intrigued her and made her feel beautiful and young and filled with happiness. It was infatuation, physical attraction, a crush that would soon pass. It had to pass soon.

  His palm slid down the length of her hair, weighed the heavy braid in his hand. You do not know what old is, Antonietta.

  There was a wealth of amusement in his voice. I would like to find out who is out there. He is male, and a member of your family. Normally I can easily scan human thoughts, but the Jaguar influence is prevalent in this area. He feels like Paul, but I cannot scan many of the people here as easily as most others. If I press, he will feel my presence. But I can follow him and see what he is up to.

  Antonietta bit down hard on her knuckle to keep a protest from escaping. She had come into the maze of tunnels hundreds of times. It would be silly to be afraid of being alone. She could easily find her way back to her room once out of the history room. Byron would be the one in danger of being caught in the intricate labyrinth that ran through the many levels of the Scarletti palazzo.

  Scan them? You read thoughts? I thought it was only me, that we just had some form of telepathy together. You can read everyone?

  And you do not? In the board meetings your grandfather insists on dragging you to, do you not hear what the others are thinking? Before she could answer, he patted her hand. I will return in a moment.

  Antonietta opened her mouth. Whether she was going to agree or protest, she wasn’t certain, but he simply disappeared. His body had been warm and solid, and then it was gone. They hadn’t shifted position to open the wall entrance. She put out her hands, carefully explored all four walls. He had simply vanished. Silently. Completely.

  She pressed her hand against her open mouth and leaned against her ancestor’s wall of records, shocked. What are you? She ran her fingers over the wall, searching every word, every symbol, and every picture in the hopes of finding another shape her people were capable of shifting into. There was nothing to indicate any of them could simply disappear. She believed in shifting shapes, but completely disappearing was an altogether different proposition. Why did Byron’s ability to vanish make her so uneasy when finding her family’s history had been such a relief?

  7

  Antonietta nearly had a heart attack when Byron’s body was suddenly crowding hers in the small confines of the room. She flattened herself against the wall as his much harder frame pressed against hers, but her fingertips went to his face, reading his expression, mapping his familiar face. As often as she did it, he never flinched away, never seemed to mind. “Byron.” She breathed his name aloud, thankful he was back, wanting to know his every secret.

  Did I startle you? He kissed the corner of her mouth, left a trail of flames down the side of her neck in apology. It is Paul.

  Antonietta went still. “Paul.” She said her cousin’s name aloud. “He never goes inside the passageway. He’s never even looked at a map. He doesn’t like confined spaces. His father used to lock him in a closet when he was angry with him. Which seemed to be all the time. Are you certain? What would make him chance coming in here?” Her fingers were already searching out the hidden mechanism to open the wall. “He’s bound to get lost in here. Unless you have the map and the key to the map, you could be lost for days.”

  “It might do him good,” Byron said grimly. “He is up to no good.”

  “You don’t know that.” The door slid open without a sound, telling Byron that Antonietta came to the room often enough to keep the mechanisms running smoothly. She had that faint haughty note in her voice that always made him smile. He followed her into the passage. “Which way did he go?”

  “To the left.” He placed his lips close to her ear. “What is to the left.”

  “The vaults. How would he know that? Only Nonno and I know the exact location of the vaults. He can’t be going there.” To her annoyance, she didn’t sound certain.

  “Perhaps he had help. When you come in here to catalogue, do you have a pair of eyes? I would venture to say Justine knows exactly how to get to the vault room.”

  “She wouldn’t—”

  “She is in love with him.” Byron paced along behind her in the narrow confines of the tunnel. His breath was on the nape of her neck. His body heat warmed her. “What would you do for the man you loved, Antonietta? Would you betray your family? Your friends? Would you do anything for him?”

  “Any man I loved would not want me to betray my family and friends.” She lifted her chin as she moved confidently through the twists and turns. “If he did, he wouldn’t be worth loving, now would he?”

  “How do you know where you are going?”

  “I count. I memorize everything.”

  “You are amazing.” There was sincere admiration in his words, in his tone.

  The genuine compliment made her insides glow. No one said things like that to her. No one else ever gave her personal compliments. Not even her grandfather. Her talent as a musician and composer was taken for granted. Don Giovanni simply shrugged and said with all the lessons she’d been given, she better be considered one of the best in the world. A Scarletti could never be second.

  Byron’s hand simply rested on the small of her back, but it generated so much heat, so much desire, she felt her skin melting beneath this touch. The physical awareness was so great she had trouble concentrating. Antonietta reveled in the intensity of her craving for him. It had never happened to her before, and at thirty-seven, she never thought it would. She was determined to enjoy every moment with him if she could, as long as she had him, even here, in the dark passageways of the Scarletti palazzo with her idiot cousin sneaking to the vaults.

  Antonietta could feel the pressurized air flowing through an open door. She instinctively slowed down, keeping her footfalls soft on the cool tile. It was only then that she realized that, although she was very aware of Byron, she couldn’t hear him. She could feel his hand melting through her back, at times his breath on her skin, but he moved so silently, she would never have known he was there without her heightened senses.

  Her heart was pounding overloud in alarm. In regret. Not so much at what her cousin was doing but the fact that Justine had to have helped him. Her Justine. Antonietta’s eyes and ears in the palazzo. In the business world. In her profession. She trusted Justine implicitly. She had to. The door opened to the vault room tore apart her heart, shaking her hard-won confidence.

  Byron’s heart was breaking for her. His Antonietta, who loved and trusted her cousins and Justine. She had made them her world, and yet they thought nothing of what it cost her. Anger swirled inside his gut, a hot, roiling emotion that thickened the air in the passageway, making it difficult to breathe. The tension magnified until raw energy ran through the tunnels, a forerunner of immense danger.

  Looking over Antonietta’s shoulder into the vault room, Byron could see Paul examining several gold artifacts. Several times, he picked up an intricately detailed ship made of gold and put it back down. It was l
arge, and he couldn’t find a way to hide it under his shirt. He is helping himself to the Scarletti treasures. At the moment he cannot choose between a golden ship or a necklace of rubies and diamonds. Even from the distance, Byron recognized the glittering piece. He had crafted the necklace with great care, his hands fashioning the gold into the intricate setting for the beautiful gems. It had been a lifetime ago. And he thought of his lifemate while he worked, making it with infinite care, knowing he was making it for the bride of someone considered important in the political world. It fascinated and intrigued him that a Scarletti bride had worn his creation. A soft hiss of anger was trapped in his throat as he watched Paul’s greedy hand grasping the necklace to him.

  Show me.

  He hesitated but shared the images reluctantly.

  Antonietta made a single sound. A soft cry of despair. She remembered that necklace, one of the few things she did remember from her days of sight. She had loved it, been fascinated by it, and the thought of her cousin stealing it, taking its elegance and fire out of the family, was horrifying. That small sound of heart-wrenching despair called to the demon already roaring for release buried within Byron.

  Startled, shocked, Paul swung around, his face twisted with fear and purpose. There was only one heartbeat of time to see the shiny metal object clasped in Paul’s hand as he turned. Time slowed, tunneled, as Byron dissolved into molecules, to materialize once again in between Paul and Antonietta.

  The blow to Byron’s chest was so hard it knocked him backward, off his feet, slamming his body into hers, driving them both against the opposite wall. In the small confines of the passageway, the explosion was deafening. The bullet tore its way through his body and out his back, slamming into Antonietta’s shoulder. As he fell on top of Antonietta, his body protecting hers, he tried to focus on Paul, focus on his throat to cut off all air. He could not leave Antonietta, helpless and vulnerable, alone with her treacherous cousin.

  Paul coughed, staggered, nearly went to his knees. The gun in his limp fingers wavered alarmingly. Byron’s vision blurred. He was losing too much blood too fast. Without shutting down his system, he would be unable to recover. Animal instinct turned his head to see Celt racing toward them.

  The borzoi had sensed trouble and managed to nose open the hidden door. A silent hunter, the animal ran full out, his long legs covering ground like a well-oiled running machine. The eyes were fixed and focused on prey. It mattered little that it was human. Celt leapt over Byron and Antonietta, going straight for Paul, teeth slashing at the arm holding the gun. Paul screamed in pain and dropped the weapon.

  “Antonietta! I didn’t know it was you!” Paul yelled, struggling to hold off the dog. Already his arms were a mass of cuts from the slashing teeth. “Call him off, call off the dog!”

  “Celt!” Antonietta used her most authoritative voice. She could see nothing. Byron’s motionless body covered hers, pinning her to the floor. Her back hurt as well as the front of her shoulder. “Stay, boy. Paul, if you make one move toward me or Byron, I’m letting him loose, and I won’t call him off.” She had no idea what had happened, but she smelled blood. Her sensitive fingertips found liquid, warm and sticky. Pools of it.

  “It was an accident. I didn’t know it was you. The gun just went off by itself. You startled me.” Paul realized he was babbling and started toward his cousin.

  The borzoi stood between them, head down, eyes alert, still in hunting mode. Paul stopped at once. “He won’t let me get to you, and Byron’s bleeding all over the floor. Dio, Antonietta, I think I’ve killed him.”

  “You shot him?” Antonietta fought down hysteria and panic. “Get over here and move him off of me. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and help me save him.”

  “The dog—”

  “Is going to tear you apart if you don’t do exactly what I say! Now come here and move him. Be very careful, Paul. If he dies, you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison. I won’t even help with your defense!”

  “I’m telling you, Antonietta…” Paul carefully skirted around the dog. “I didn’t shoot anyone on purpose. I didn’t know what was down here, so I brought protection with me. I never even came in the tunnels when I was a child.”

  Antonietta felt Byron’s body shift, move off of her, allowing her to crawl out from beneath him. “You were an idiot to bring a gun with you. Where in the world did you get a gun, anyway? Why would you even have one?” She was frantically trying to find the wound, searching for a pulse.

  Paul moaned loudly. “He’s dead, Antonietta, there’s no pulse.”

  She shoved her cousin hard. “Get away from him! He’s not dead. I won’t let him be dead. Byron! Don’t you dare leave me alone. Come back! Damn you, Paul, how could you do this?”

  She couldn’t find a pulse either, and for a moment her world stopped. There was no air to breathe. Her vocal cords wouldn’t work. There was nothing. Emptiness. A black void where there had been life and laughter and her music. She had nothing.

  The struggle started in her mind. A voice whispering to her from far away. Soothing her. Telling her it wasn’t so. I must see him. The words were the first she understood. Look at him. I must see him. She had never heard the voice, but it was low and compelling and insistent on obedience. He spoke in her language but with a definite accent, so velvet soft he seemed to purr.

  Antonietta took a breath, let it out slowly, her hands gripping Byron as if she could hold him to her. She forced herself to follow the path of that faraway voice. She wouldn’t waste time on fearing it. She feared that the meaning of her entire life was spilling blood on the tiles there in passageway. Nothing mattered to her but to save Byron. I am blind. I cannot show you what I see. The borzoi pushed his nose against her face as if to remind her he was there.

  A dog is with you? This dog was Byron’s dog? I have it now. Yes, the wound is bad. He is not dead but has shut down his system to conserve blood. He will need special care. Do you have help?

  My cousin. Paul is the one who shot Byron.

  There was a moment of silence and Celt shifted his body, his dark eyes focusing on Paul. “I don’t like the way that dog keeps looking at me,” her cousin said. “I think it wants to tear my throat out.”

  “I should let him,” Antonietta snapped, furious that Paul would want sympathy.

  Are you near soil of any kind? Rich soil? You will need to pack the wound with it. The bullet exited and tore a hole through his back. Your shoulder is injured as well.

  “I’m going for help, Antonietta. We’ll need the doctor,” Paul said decisively. “I think you were shot, too.”

  She didn’t notice, she concentrated on the voice. Tell me what to do. She had to believe that distant voice. Who are you?

  Jacques. Byron has family in the area. If you can get him out of there into the open, they will come and care for him.

  I want to care for him. But Antonietta was already on her feet, tugging at Byron’s dead weight, trying to drag him down the tunnel. The dog caught at Byron’s jacket, adding his strength to hers.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Paul demanded. “He’s dead, Antonietta. We have to get you medical attention.”

  “Just help,” she snapped. “Don’t say anything, or I may pick up that gun and shoot you myself! I can’t believe you brought that thing into my home.”

  “I have people after me,” Paul admitted, reaching down to help pull Byron along the floor. “I got into some trouble with some people I owe money to. They aren’t the kind of men you want to meet up with without a gun.”

  “I thought you quit gambling, Paul.”

  “Aren’t we going the wrong way? We’re going downhill, toward the cove.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You aren’t going to just dump the body, are you, Antonietta? I mean, grazie, but we have to inform the authorities. I could have killed you, too. We have to give them the body, well, we should give them the body, but if it was found in the sea, or never found—”
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br />   “He isn’t dead,” she said between her teeth. “Shut up and concentrate. We have to get him outside.”

  “You aren’t making sense, Antonietta.” But Paul continued to help pull the body down through the maze of tunnels until he could smell the sea.

  It took hard work, but between Antonietta, Paul, and the borzoi, they managed to get Byron outside. The rain was falling steadily, sheets of it, so that they were instantly soaked through. The wind whipped at them.

  “Find me soil, Paul, rich soil, not sandy sod. I want good soil.”

  Paul muttered and shook his head, but he did as his cousin wished, taking off his shirt to heap the soil from the beds the gardener had planted just above the cove. He was well aware Antonietta had remarkable powers as a healer, but even she couldn’t bring back the dead. He rushed back to her side and knelt to watch as she packed the wounds, front and back, with the soil. “If you did manage to bring him back, he’d just die again with gangrene.”

  “That’s not funny.” Antonietta wanted the reassurance of the voice again. We’re outside, near the cove. I’ve packed the wounds with soil, but he isn’t responding.

  Call to him. He will hear you.

  Antonietta didn’t hesitate. Her insides were churning, and she wanted to scream and scream. To let the wind carry her horror and the fear held so tightly in check out over the sea and away from her. She never wanted to feel so afraid, so empty and dead again. She leaned close, sheltering his face from the rain. Byron. Byron, open your eyes. Her hand trembled as she stroked back his hair in a small caress. Don’t leave me now that I’ve just found you. Wake up before I begin to weep and scream and plead like a ninny. I’m really afraid, and I need you.

  Byron became aware of many voices. At first he couldn’t sort them out. There was chanting in the ancient tongue. Antonietta, summoning him imperiously back to her. Someone was yelling his name. He identified his sister Eleanor’s voice. She sounded close to him, yet he knew she was far away. A man’s voice called to him calmly yet with command. Jacques. Byron was certain he was hallucinating. He hadn’t spoken telepathically with Jacques in years. “Maybe I really am dying.” He muttered the words aloud to test his voice.