cara mia
, I am fine. I asked you to leave me so my people would heal me in our way. It would have been too complicated to allow a doctor to see to my wounds. They would have insisted on calling the authorities. This is best. No! It isn’t best! I knew there was danger, I felt it all around us. It was storming and cold, and you lost so much blood. Tasha screamed when she saw me. I was covered in your blood. I should have stayed with you to protect you. To heal you. I have skills.
Byron smiled. Even a Scarletti with her unusual legacy did not have sufficient skills. He sent her waves of warmth, of love.
I shall be with you tomorrow night. Keep Celt close to you at all times. You will not be able to reach me until sunset tomorrow, so do not panic if you reach for me and I am not there. I need to touch you. To know you’re really alive.
Their connection was already fading. Antonietta tried desperately to hold on to the link between them. Byron drifted in and out of consciousness as Dominic took him to a series of caves deep beneath the earth.
“We will rest here this night.” Dominic opened the earth, cutting into a section of rich soil before lowering Byron into the cool, welcoming ground.
“Tell me of your kin. How is it she is lost to you?” Byron roused himself enough to seek the companionship of his kind.
“I am a hunter of the vampire. I was born a hunter.”
“Where I was not.”
Dominic shrugged his shoulders. “One who hunts when it is not their heritage is a warrior to respect. It is all I have known, even in my fledgling days. Those were dark times, long before the wars that destroyed most of our people. My sister learned much, and even Prince Vlad consulted her. Some say she knew too much. Some say she turned on her people, wanting to rule, believing it was her right.”
“You are of the Dragonseeker blood.” Byron leaned his head against the soft soil and looked up at the man who had shared his lifeblood. “When I was a fledgling, I used to go to the house where you once must have dwelled. The carvings, the artwork was so beautiful. I wanted to be able to create such wonders. That was a long time ago.”
“The old house still stands? It would be a miracle to see it again.”
“Out of respect for your lineage,” Byron said. “Nothing has ever been touched, only to preserve it for you or any of your kin should they remain.”
“My sister was loyal to Prince Vlad and our people. No Dragonseeker has ever betrayed our people. Not one ever turned vampire. I cannot rest until I find who took my sister from us and clear our name.”
“I have never heard it whispered the Dragonseeker blood was tainted,” Byron objected. He watched as Dominic swept his hand around the cave so tiny pinpoints of light leapt to life. The stranger took powder from a small container and blew it across the cavern. The scent was aromatic and soothing.
“I am grateful that in my absence, such a thing was never suggested.” Dominic knelt beside Byron and began to gather handfulls of the earth. He mixed the soil with a second powder and his own saliva. “You will need more blood before you go to ground. The wound is quite extensive and did much damage to your internal organs. How is it you have hunted the undead, yet that human male was able to harm you?”
If there was a reprimand in Dominic’s voice, Byron couldn’t detect it, only mild interest in how a human managed to injure a Carpathian hunter. “Perhaps I am a better craftsmen than hunter.”
“I have noticed several of the people in this place have strange barriers. It is better to take your lifemate and leave this place. Take her to our homeland. She will eventually get used to it and get over being annoyed with you.” Dominic helped Byron to lean forward so he could pack the material tightly into the gaping back wound. “A craftsman who turned hunter to aid his people is always welcome at a warrior’s camp fire. Craftsmen are meticulous and methodical. It is an honor to meet one such as you.” Dominic’s hands were gentle as he helped Byron to lie back down.
“The prince found his lifemate some time ago,” Byron volunteered the news. “It seems that some human women possess psychic abilities, and those women can be successfully converted without fear of madness.”
“I have heard this rumor. How can this be?”
“I believe it is possible that the women we are finding with psychic powers are descendants of the Jaguar race.”
Dominic once again mixed the rich soil with his powder and saliva to pack into Byron’s chest. “I had not thought that any remained unless deep within the jungle.”
“Not true Jaguar, but of their blood. It would explain why the women are compatible with our race. The Jaguar are shape-shifters, and they had many gifts, as our people had.” Byron closed his eyes. “Do you leave tomorrow?”
“At sunset. I have not found the undead dwelling in this region,” Dominic answered. “I will continue my travel as soon as I rise. You will heal in the ground and be safe for several risings.”
“I must be able to wake tomorrow evening. Antonietta will grieve. I do not want her to suffer.”
“You will not be at full strength, but I will make certain you wake.”
Byron’s attention was caught and held by the piercing gaze. “You have green eyes.” Not just green but glittering, metallic green. Eerie. Eyes that saw through to the soul. “I should have remembered, it is the Dragonseeker’s legacy. Eyes of the seers.”
“I am weary now, Byron, I do not see what should be seen. Once I find the answers I seek, I will follow my kinsmen into the next life.”
“Or find your lifemate. I did not think it possible, yet there is no doubt that Antonietta is my other half.”
“My lineage is all but gone. Rhiannon and I were the last of our line. I doubt if either of us would have been so lucky.” Dominic stood, looming over the deep cut in the earth. “Sleep now, and wake fully healed. I will give your regards to our prince and give him the news that another woman will join our ranks soon. That alone is cause for celebration.”
“I thank you for your courtesy and for my life.”
Dominic bowed low in the way of the Carpathians. “You must sleep now and allow me to attempt to heal these massive wounds.”
Byron could hear the voices again, many of them, male and female, chanting the healing ritual in his head.
Sleep, old friend, we are with you, and we will watch over you while our brother heals your body.
That single voice of friendship took him back in time, when he ran free with the wolves, sat in the tallest trees, and was simply a boy playing with a friend. He allowed himself to drift off, the soothing voices distant. And one feminine voice whispering,
Come back.
Chapter 8
Antonietta sat at the piano, her hands curved over the keys. Music welled up inside of her. Poignant. Frightened. A clash of emotions. Her fingers brought beauty and poetry to the chaos, blending notes until the music swelled in volume, unable to be contained in the room with its perfect acoustics. She was blatantly calling to her lover to end her mourning. The music moaned and wept, pleaded and begged. Became soft and lilting as a siren. A melody of enticement.
The doors to her rooms were locked as they had been all day. She would see no one. Not even Don Giovanni could persuade her to open her doors. The seconds had ticked by, as loud as heartbeats. Long. Lasting minutes, hours, days. She couldn’t bear to go on without him. Byron. Her dark poet. She had lost him before she had a chance to know him, and the agony was beyond her comprehension.
Grief ravaged her. Ate at her. Blocked out her anger at her cousin. At her family. At Justine. She refused comfort from them all. Only Celt was allowed to remain with her as she wept and threw things in a way very unlike Antonietta. She cried a storm of tears, raged at the heavens that they would allow her cousin access to a gun. Through it all, the dog paced at her side, guided her around the missiles she had thrown, and thrust his head lovingly against her in consolation and camaraderie.