An anguished cry broke from him. He pulled her head back, saw the bruises and torn flesh at her throat. Shea, do not leave me!The plea was wrenched from his heart. Had he done this? The fingerprints were not his, but the ripped flesh? Had he done this to her?
A ripple of unease ran through the very land, the ground shifting, rolling. Donot leave me, Shea.Jacques tore at his wrist with his teeth, trickled life-giving fluid into her mouth. Come on, little red hair, try.His life force ran down her throat. He stroked the swollen column, forcing her to swallow. You cannot leave me in darkness.He could not remember attacking her, yet somehow, his heart in his throat, Jacques knew he had done this. He was insane.
Outside the wind rushed through the mountains, and thunder cracked. The dark clouds burst, and rain pelted down in sheets. Out of the trees loped a huge black wolf with pale, burning eyes. As he approached the small porch, the powerful body contorted, stretched, shape-shifted into a heavily muscled man with wide shoulders, long dark hair, and slashing silver eyes. He stepped onto the porch out of the pouring rain and regarded the two men facing him. The tension was tangible between Mikhail and Byron. Mikhail, as always, was inscrutable. Byron looked like a thundercloud. The newcomer’s eyebrows went up, and he leaned close to Byron. “The last time someone got Mikhail seriously angry, it was not a pretty sight. I do not wish to attempt to replace major organs in your body, so go take a walk and cool off.” The voice was beautiful, with a singsong cadence—compelling, soothing even, yet it clearly commanded. It was a voice so hypnotic, so mesmerizing, even those of their kind were drawn into its power.
Gregori. The dark one.Ancient, powerful, instrument of justice. He dismissed Byron by simply turning his back and addressing Mikhail. “When you sent the call, you said it was Jacques, yet I cannot detect him. I have tried to touch him, but there is only emptiness.”
“It is Jacques, yet he is not the same. Not turned, but he has been severely injured. He does not recognize us, and he is extremely dangerous. I cannot restrain him without further injuring him.”
“He fought you?” The voice, as always, was mild, even gentle.
“Absolutely, and he would again. He is more wild animal than man, and there is no reaching him. He will kill us if he can find the strength.”
Gregori inhaled the wild night air. “Who is this woman?”
“She is Carpathian, but she does not know our ways or respond in any way to our normal means of communication. She seems trained in the human practice of healing.”
“A doctor?”
“Perhaps. He protects her, yet he is abusive, as if he cannot separate right from wrong. I think he is trapped in a world of madness.”
The silver eyes flickered. There was a latent cruelty in Gregori’s dark, sensual features, the clear stamp of a dangerous predator. “You have no knowledge of what happened to him?”
Mikhail shook his head slowly. “I have no idea, no explanation. I did not ask the woman. I attacked her, would have killed her, thinking her my brother’s assailant.” Mikhail confessed it without changing tone, a simple, quiet admission. “He was in bad shape, in obvious agony, sweating blood, and she stood over him, digging in his wound. There was so much blood, I thought her a vampiress, deranged, tormenting him, trying to eviscerate him.”
There was a small silence, only the wind and rain daring to comment. Gregori simply waited, his body as still as the mountains.
Mikhail shrugged. “Perhaps there was no thought, just reaction. I could not touch his mind with mine. The suffering on his face was more than I could bear.”
“The storm is not yours,” Gregori stated. “Jacques has grown far more powerful than I realized. There is a darkness in him unlike any I have ever observed. He is not vampire, but he is truly dangerous. Let us go in and see if I can repair the damage.”
“Go carefully, Gregori,” Mikhail cautioned.
The silver eyes glittered, reflected the driving sheets of rain. “I am known for my careful ways, am I not?” Gregori glided through the broken door; Mikhail, shaking his head over the outrageous lie, followed one step behind.
Jacques’ head snapped up, a black fury smoldering in his eyes as he tracked them. A long, slow hiss of warning escaped from deep in his throat. Gregori stopped, held his hands away from his sides in the age-old gesture of a peacemaker. Mikhail leaned against the doorjamb, so completely still, he seemed to become part of the wall itself. He was well aware that he had made a major mistake in his attack upon the woman.
“I am Gregori, Jacques.” Gregori’s voice was power itself, yet soft and soothing. “A healer for our people.”
Shea was lying across Jacques, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed. She groaned—a low, husky sound that added fuel to Jacques’ rage. His fingers brushed the dark smudges along her swollen throat, and he turned a murderous gaze on Mikhail.
“Leave us alone.” Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and raw. She did not open her eyes or try to move “I can help him,” Gregori persisted, using his same compelling tone. The woman was so obviously the key to reaching Jacques. It was in the way he held her, the protective posture of his body, the way his eyes moved possessively, even tenderly, over her face. His hands were continually caressing her, stroking her hair, her skin.
At the underlying command in Gregori’s beautiful voice, her long eyelashes lifted, and she studied his face. He was savagely beautiful, a blend of elegance and untamed beast. He looked more dangerous than the other two strangers did. Shea made an effort to swallow, but it hurt. “You look like an ax murderer to me.”
This one has brains.Mikhail’s soft laughter echoed in Gregori’s head. She sees beyond that handsome face of yours.
You are so funny, ancient one.Gregori deliberately reminded him of the quarter of a century difference in their ages. Jacques is gathering himself for the attack. Hear the wind pick up outside.He was silent for a moment, searching every path known to him. I cannot find a single fragment to reach him, and she is very resistant to mental compulsion. I can use her, but he will know what I am doing. He will fight me, fearing I am taking her from him. She is too weak to survive such a struggle.
Can you immobilize him? Send him to sleep?
Not in his present state of agitation. He is more animal than man and more dangerous than you can know.Gregori gave a slight bow toward Shea, continuing his conversation aloud with her. “Nevertheless, I am a healer for our people. I can help Jacques, but I will need information.”
Jacques’ palm slid from Shea’s throat, down her shoulder, to tighten around her arm. Do not listen to him. They speak to one another without our knowledge. They are not to be trusted.The words were hissed, low and commanding. Already his brief moment of sanity was beginning to slip away with the intrusion of other males so near to Shea.
If he is a healer for your people, he can make you well faster than I ever could. Let’s at least listen to him.Shea kept her voice as soothing and as unafraid as she was able. She was tired and wanted to drift away, but she would not desert Jacques.
“You speak with Jacques in the way of our people.” Gregori said, “as a true lifemate.” His eyes were on the strong fingers circling her arm. “You must not sleep. You are his sanity. Without you we cannot help him.”