The ground rolled almost gently, seemed to swell so that the concrete floor bulged, then cracked. Slovensky grabbed for the wall behind him to steady himself and lost the gun in the process. Above his head a rock fell from the wall, bounced dangerously close, and rolled to a halt beside him. A second rock, and a third fell, so that Slovensky had to cover his head as the rocks rained down in a roaring shower.
Slovensky’s cry of fear was high and thin. He made himself even smaller, peering through his fingers at the Carpathian. Mikhail had not moved to protect himself. He lay exactly as Slovensky had positioned him, those dark eyes staring at him. Swearing, Slovensky tried to lunge for the gun.
The floor bucked and heaved under him, sending the gun skittering out of reach. A second wall swayed precariously and rocks cascaded down, striking the man about the head and shoulders, driving him to the floor. He watched a curious, frightening pattern form. Not one rock touched the priest’s body. Not one came close to Mikhail. The Carpathian simply watched him with those damn eyes and that faint mocking smile as the rocks buried Slovensky’s legs, then fell on his back. There was an ominous crack, and Slovensky screamed under the heavy load on his spine.
“Damn you to hell,” Slovensky snarled. “My brother will track you down.”
Mikhail said nothing, simply watching the havoc Gregori was creating. Mikhail would have killed James Slovensky outright, without the drama Gregori had such a flare for, but he was tired, his body in a precarious state. He had no wish to drain his energy further. Raven would be in the vampire’s hands for the time it took Gregori to heal him. He couldn’t allow himself to think of what Andre might do to her. Mikhail stirred, pain shafting through him. More rocks fell on Slovensky in retaliation, covering him like a blanket, beginning to form a macabre grave.
Gregori moved into the room with his familiar silent glide, grace and power clinging to him as he strode through the wreckage of the wall. “This is becoming a bad habit.”
“Oh, shut up,” Mikhail said without rancor.
Gregori’s touch was infinitely gentle as he inspected the wounds. “They knew what they were doing. Placed these precisely to miss vital organs but to bleed you as much as possible.” It took seconds to deal with the manacles and free Mikhail from the chains. Gregori pressed soil over the wounds to stop further leakage.
“Check Father Hummer.” Mikhail’s voice was weak.
“He is dead.” Gregori barely glanced at the broken body.
“Be certain.” It was an order. Mikhail never ordered Gregori to do anything. That had never been their relationship.
For a moment Gregori’s silver eyes glittered as they stared at one another. “Please, Gregori, if there is a chance...” Mikhail closed his eyes.
Shaking his head at the delay, Gregori dutifully went to the priest’s crumpled body and felt for a pulse. He knew it was fruitless, knew Mikhail knew it, too, but just the same he checked. Gregori was careful to be gentle with the body. “I am sorry, Mikhail. He is gone.”
“I do not want him left in this place.”
“Stop talking and allow me to do my job,” Gregori growled, easing Mikhail back onto the floor. “Take my blood while I stop up these holes.”
“Find Raven.”
“Take my blood, Mikhail. The vampire will not harm her. He will have some patience this night. You must be strong for the hunt. Drink what I freely offer. I would not want to find it necessary to compel you.”
“You are becoming a nuisance, Gregori,” Mikhail complained, but obediently he took hold of the healer’s proffered wrist. Gregori’s blood was ancient, as was Mikhail’s. There was none other that could help as quickly. There was silence as Mikhail fed, replenishing what was lost. Gregori turned his wrist slightly to ease Mikhail away from him, knowing his strength was needed for healing and transporting his prince to safety.
“The priest goes with us,” Mikhail reiterated. A wave of heat coursed through the ice of his body, leaving him needy, hungry. His mind reached for his lifemate, the need to merge overwhelming.
Pain exploded in her head, in his, so that he gasped and withdrew, his black eyes seeking Gregori’s pale ones in agony. Sleep for now, Mikhail. We will go on the hunt soon enough. We must take care of these wounds first.Gregori commanded it in a mesmerizing voice. Singsong, a flowing chant of ancient language. You will hear my words, let Mother Earth welcome you. The soil will heal your wounds and soothe your mind. Sleep, Mikhail. My blood is powerful, mixing with yours. Feel it healing your body.Gregori closed his eyes, merging completely with Mikhail, flowing in him so that he could find every ragged hole, push out foreign objects, and repair all damage from the inside out with the precision of the most skilled surgeon.
A large horned owl circled the ruined building, then settled on the crumpled wall. Slowly the wings folded and the owl’s round eyes surveyed the scene below. The talons flexed, relaxed. Gregori lifted his head, coming back to his own body. He spoke the Carpathian’s name softly in acknowledgment. “Aidan.”
The owl’s shape lengthened, shimmered, formed a tall, tawny-haired man with glittering gold eyes. His blond appearance was unusual for a Carpathian. He carried his body like a soldier, his manner sure and confident. “Who dared to do this?” he demanded. “What of Jacques and Mikhail’s woman?”
Gregori growled softly, a slash of pale eyes pinning the male Carpathian. “Bring me fresh soil and prepare the priest’s body.” Gregori turned back to his work as Byron arrived. Slow, unhurried, the beautiful ancient chant filled the night with hope and promise. No one would believe he was working against time, needing to get Mikhail on his feet this night.
Aidan brought the richest soil he could find, stepping back to admire Gregori as he worked. The poultices were mixed carefully and applied over the external wounds. The wind stirred the dirt and dust from the pile of rocks, carrying warnings to the Carpathians. Two humans were approaching in a truck.
Byron knelt beside Edgar Hummer, reverently running his hands over the priest’s face, gathering the small, wasted body up into his arms. “I will take him to sacred ground, Gregori, and then destroy those bodies beside the cabin.”
“Who did this?” Aidan repeated.
Gregori simply flooded Aidan’s mind with the information rather than bothering with conversation.
“I have known Andre for many centuries,” Aidan said. “He is half a century younger than I. We fought together in more than one battle. Our times grow desperate.” Aidan glided over the fallen walls, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness. Each leaf on every tree gleamed a vivid silver, bathed in the light of the moon, but Aidan had long ago lost his ability to see in color. His world was dark and gray and would be until he found his lifemate, or sought the solace of the dawn. He inhaled, caught the scent of game, the stench of death, the intrusive odor of man. Oil and exhaust issuing from the approaching vehicle fouled the clarity of the air.
He moved through the line of oaks, working to quell the ice-cold predator instinct demanding blood for what one of his kind had done. Their race, so precarious, teetering on the brink of extinction, could not survive another vampire hunt. Every remaining male had pinned his hopes on the survival of Mikhail’s woman. If she could adapt to their life, if she could be sealed as a true lifemate, if she could produce female children strong enough to live beyond the first year, then all Carpathian males had a chance. It would be a matter of hanging on, searching the world for women such as Raven. For Andre to betray them all was treason as its worst.
Fog began to gather, thicken, an oppressive, nearly impenetrable veil that wound through the trees and closed off the road. The brakes squealed loudly as the driver came to a halt, unable to see in the thick fog. Aidan moved closer, unseen, a dangerous predator hunting prey. “How long before we get there, Uncle Gene?” A boy’s voice, eager and excited, drifted on the wind.