Darius continued the chant long after he was certain Tempest was in a deep sleep. Only then did he lean down and inhale the fresh scent of her to take into his keeping. His mouth moved over her temple, the lightest of contacts, then feathered down to her swollen eye. His tongue bathed the bruised tissue with the healing agent of his kind. Finally, after so long a wait, he could find the tempting corner of her mouth and lave the cut with his tongue. He took his time, enjoying his work, holding her mind with his, continuing the chant to keep her asleep.
His palm moved down her throat, then slid across her shoulder, taking the robe with it, leaving soft, satiny skin bared in its wake. His tongue found the edge of a nasty bruise and traced it down over the swell of her breast. Tempest moaned and moved restlessly, fighting the layers of the hypnotic trance. She was strong, her mind oddly different, hard to control when he was indulging temptation and using his energy to heal.
Darius was intrigued and puzzled by her difference from other humans. In all the centuries of his existence, he had never run across a mortal’s brain pattern like hers. Because of their earlier blood exchange, it was easier to stay in the shadow of her mind, their bond stronger than before. And he was also beginning to realize the enormity of his own emotions, of the consequences of his actions and of binding her to him with the ritual words.
Tempest was no ordinary woman he was simply sexually attracted to. It went far beyond that, far beyond the boundaries he had previously accepted in relationships. His allegiance had swung completely to this one small woman, even above his own people, those he had protected, hunted for, killed for, led through centuries of turmoil and change.
Darius sighed and lapped gently at a huge, colorful bruise on Tempest’s rib cage. He knew he would protect her first above all others. He traced the delicate line of her jaw. What was it about her that made him feel more loyal to her than to his own family, his own kind?
In her mind he found great courage and a tremendous capacity for compassion and understanding. He studied her body, so fragile and delicate, so perfect. With a little sigh he pulled the edges of her robe together and brought the blanket up to her chin. He sent himself seeking outside his own body and into hers, a feat he had rarely attempted on a human. It required far more concentration than with one of his own kind.
He found each bruised internal organ and slowly repaired them from the inside out. He was becoming intimate with her mind, with her body, like a lover, though he had not yet shared her body or mind in the way he wanted.
Darius.
His sister’s mental call to him brought him back to his own body.
What is it?
he responded.
I sense your hunger. Go hunt. We will look after Rusti. Do not worry, brother. She will be safe with me. Only you.
The command came out before he could censor it, more from jealousy than from fear that anyone in their group would choose to harm Tempest. When his sister laughed softly, the hauntingly beautiful notes brushing in his mind, he cursed at himself for revealing his lack of control.
Shut up, Desari.
He said it without rancor, his voice a blend of mesmerizing sorcery and affection.
How the mighty have fallen. I notice that man of yours keeps you ona tight leash,
he retaliated.
You need to feed, Darius. Even the cats can feel your hunger. I will, all by myself, watch over Rusti.
Darius sighed softly. Desari was right. He couldn’t afford to start the cats fussing; they could wake the dead if they got upset enough. He rose reluctantly. He didn’t want to leave Tempest, for he sensed the nightmares lurking not far from her, but he padded to the door, where Desari waited on the other side.
He stepped outside and inhaled the night, allowing the wind to carry him information about creatures hidden in their dens, about human prey in the vicinity. Sasha and Forest pressed close to him, rubbed up against him. He felt their sharp concern. Darius automatically reassured them he would hunt, would feed. He stretched, loosened his muscles, and began to run, shape-shifting as he did so. The two cats flanked him, eager to hunt. The band would move on soon in order to make their next scheduled performance, but while in a town, the leopards had to eat meat provided for them by their Carpathian companions. Despite the ample prey all around them, the cats were forbidden to hunt except in the wilds, which was partly why the troupe tried to camp often in remote forests, parks, and preserves, allowing the leopards to utilize their natural skills, keeping them happy.
Darius’s frame contorted, stretched, a muzzle lengthening and rounding as he bent, sinewy bands of muscles sliding to cover his body. Like stiletto blades, claws extended, then retracted until he needed them. His spine lengthened and became extremely flexible, shoulder blades widening themselves, giving him greater lateral balance. Padded paws allowed him to run silently. Black fur rippled, itching for a moment as it spread to cover the rapidly converting framework of muscle.
The leopards were always quick, agile, cunning, and extremely dangerous. Often the hunter of a leopard became the prey. Of all the cat species, they were the most intelligent. Their brain development, Darius knew, was often compared to that of porpoises, and he had firsthand knowledge, centuries of it, of their ability to reason. But as always, when they went on a hunt together, Darius directed them.
Sasha and Forest preferred to hunt from tree limbs, leaping onto unsuspecting prey from above. As a young child Darius had learned patience from their species. Now he, too, could wait and watch, remain completely motionless and silent or creep without detection through forest or jungle, stalking, belly to ground, inch by inch, with incredible muscle control. When he pounced, he did so with incredible swiftness, like those from whom he had learned the art. Early on, however, it had become apparent to him that, predatory as male Carpathians were, he could not afford to stay long in the body of a leopard, an untamed and instinctive killer, without destroying, rather than simply feeding from, his “prey.”
Leopards used their long, sharp canines to grab, hold, puncture and tear. Their razor-sharp claws could slice through flesh like a knife. Though clever and bold, incredibly intelligent, they had quick mood swings that made them highly unpredictable. Still, their minds were always working, always meeting a challenge. Male Carpathians were far too close to the species to feed in precisely the same manner, to subdue the predatory beast raging within themselves while in the body of a leopard. It required the man, with his code of honor, his knowledge of right and wrong, rather than the law of the jungle, to feed without killing.
Darius had great respect for leopards, knowing they were every bit as dangerous as he was, and he never lost sight of the wild traits in himself or in the cats. They were both silent, unseen predators, and when they went bad, just as his own species could, they became the devil incarnate.
Right now, with the night enfolding him, with the scent of fresh game abundant, he felt the joy of the hunt, for many years the only pleasure he had known.
Leopards were normally solitary hunters, but centuries ago Darius had learned to summon various cats together so that he might study the skills he needed. As a child he had not been strong enough to hunt alone, so he had developed his mental abilities before his brawn. And that had helped him stay sharp, hone his ability to mentally force compliance even as he acquired the skills of the hunter.