Dark Desire (17 page)

Shea's hand came up, fluttered weakly. She pushed the tangled mane of hair from her face wearily. “He says you may help him.”

“We will have to get you to the bed, Jacques.” Gregori's voice dispelled the thick tension in the room, pushed it aside to replace it with clean, fragrant air. “Mikhail, I will need herbs. You know which ones. Tell Byron to bring me plenty of rich soil from the steam chamber in the caves.”

Gregori glided closer to the couple, his graceful elegance failing to conceal the rippling strength of his muscles and the power emanating from his body. He looked totally confident, relaxed, completely fearless.

The soft rumbling in Jacques' throat increased; his fingers tightened possessively, crushing bones and tendon in Shea's upper arm. Gregori stopped moving immediately. “I am sorry, woman, I know you are weak, but you will have to move to the other side of him or he will not allow me to help,” Gregori instructed calmly.
What we need, Mikhail, is Raven's calming influence. You look about as reassuring as a Bengal tiger
.

Oh, and you look like a bunny rabbit
, Mikhail scoffed.

“You could have brought Raven along,” Gregori chided softly, aloud. “You bring her along on every other dangerous thing she should not be involved in.” That was a clear reprimand. “You might have brought her where she could actually do some good.”

Through the open doorway suddenly stepped a small woman, long ebony hair braided intricately, huge blue eyes flashing at Mikhail. As Byron shouldered his way inside behind her, she gave him a friendly smile and stood on her toes to brush his chin with a kiss.

Mikhail stiffened, then immediately wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. “Carpathian women do not do that kind of thing,” he reprimanded her.

She tilted her chin at him, in no way intimidated. “That's because Carpathian males have such a territorial mentality—you know, a beat-their-chest, swing-from-the-trees
sort of thing.” She turned her head to look at the couple lying on the floor. Her indrawn breath was audible.

“Jacques.” She whispered his name, tears in her voice and in her blue eyes. “It really is you.” Eluding Mikhail's outstretched, detaining hand, she ran to him.

Let her
, Gregori persuaded softly.
Look at him
.

Jacques' gaze was fastened on the woman's face, the red flames receding from his eyes as she approached.

“I'm Raven, Jacques. Don't you remember me? Mikhail, your brother, is my lifemate.” Raven dropped to her knees beside the couple. “Thank God you're alive. I can't believe how lucky we are. Who did this to you? Who took you from us?”

Shea felt the ripple of awareness in her mind. Jacques' shock. His curiosity. He recognized those tear-filled blue eyes. Shea caught a glimpse, a fragment of memory, the woman bending over him, her hands clamped to his throat, pressing soil and saliva into a pumping wound. Shea held her breath, waiting. Jacques' silent cry of despair echoed in her head. She forced herself to move, found his hand with hers, silently supporting him as she regarded the woman kneeling beside her.

You didn't tell me she was so beautiful
, Shea reprimanded deliberately.

In the midst of Jacques' pain and agony, his possessive fury and maniacal madness, something seemed to melt the ice-cold core of murderous resolve. The urge to smile at that feminine, edgy tone came out of nowhere. Something snarling to be set free retreated, and the tension in him eased visibly.
Is she?
Jacques asked innocently.

Shea's green eyes touched his face, and warmth spread further inside him. And the beast was temporarily leashed.

“Is this your lifemate, Jacques?” Raven asked softly.

Shea looked at her then, this woman who had been a part
of Jacques' life. “I'm Shea O'Halloran.” Her voice was husky and ragged. “Jacques has been unable to use his voice since I found him.”

Raven touched Shea's bruised throat with gentle fingers. “Someone had better tell me what happened here.” Her blue eyes were studying the dark smudges closely.

“Help her to the bed,” Gregori interceded, distracting Raven from her study.
You owe me one, old friend
, he sent to Mikhail.

Raven smiled very gently at Jacques. “Do you mind if I help her? Shea is quite weak.” Not waiting for his approval, she slipped an arm around Shea's waist, supporting her as she tried to stand.

Instantly Shea felt the ripple of unease coursing through Jacques. The others felt it as the ground shifted and rolled. The flames in his eyes glowed a brilliant red, and a slow hiss escaped him.

Raven glared at Mikhail over her shoulder. He shrugged helplessly.
I am not doing it, little one. Jacques is unstable. He does not like the woman apart from him.

Temper tantrums seem to run in your family
. Raven was careful to keep Shea close as Gregori lifted Jacques in his arms. With his tremendous strength, the healer carried Jacques as if he were a child and gently laid him on the bed.

Jacques didn't so much as look at him. His eyes were always on Shea. Raven made certain Shea was beside him every step of the way.

“Lie close to him, Shea,” Gregori instructed. He stepped back so Raven could help her into the bed. The woman was very weak and could not survive another attack. All of them had to take great care not to set Jacques off.

Raven lit the candle Mikhail produced, then lit pungent herbs. Mikhail, Byron, and Raven all joined together, in low murmurs reciting the ancient healing chant in the language of their people. Gregori laid his hands on Jacques,
closed his eyes, and sent himself seeking outside his own body and into Jacques'. The physical wounds had begun to heal, with the exception of the one Shea had just repaired. Gregori examined her work, found it flawless. She was a true healer, human or not. Few could have equaled her medical expertise. He began the painstaking project of healing Jacques from the inside out.

Jacques was uncomfortably aware of another's presence in his body, in his mind, of a new burning sensation inside him. The presence was vaguely familiar. The chant, the scent of herbs, and the flickering candlelight also seemed familiar. But he couldn't catch the memories and hold on to them. As fast as they shimmered in front of him, they swirled in a teasing eddy, crystallized, and dissolved.

Automatically, in his frustration and hopelessness, he reached for Shea, the one path his mind knew and could hold on to. She was drifting, floating, yet she watched Gregori intently, trying to follow his every move despite her physical weakness. As always, information was massing, computing in her brain at a speed that amazed Jacques. He concentrated on her, found she was terribly weak, her blood volume insufficient. Alarmed, Jacques jerked himself from the half-trance the healing ritual had induced and clamped his hand like a vise around the healer's forearm.

Gregori instantly withdrew from the wounds in Jacques' body. The room fell dead silent; the very air itself stilled, thickened. The flames vanished from the candles, plunging the room into the total darkness of night, yet it was no darkness to the group. Little beads of perspiration dotted Gregori's forehead, the only indication of how difficult the healing process was on the healer.

Silver eyes slashed to the hand gripping his forearm, jumped to Jacques' gaunt face. There was the glitter of death in those pale eyes. Jacques met the ice-cold gaze, stare for stare. His mind struggled to tune itself, find a
path. When he could not, Jacques reached for his voice. The words formed in his brain but were lost before his vocal cords could find them. Black fury swirled at his own inadequacy, but he pushed it aside. Shea needed blood, needed help. He had caused her enough suffering. “Blood.” The single word was more of a growl than anything else, but the healer heard.

Gregori regarded him dispassionately, silent for a long moment. His movements were unhurried as with his free hand he calmly punctured his own wrist just above Jacques' menacing fingers. His silver gaze remained locked with Jacques'. Gregori's blood was powerful, ancient like Mikhail's. It would speed the healing process as no other's could. Rich blood dripped and beckoned as he offered it silently to the Carpathian male lying so battered and torn, yet so willing to do battle.

Hunger rose so swiftly and sharply in Jacques that it was a compulsion. He dragged the proffered wrist to his mouth and fed voraciously, at last finding the hot, rich blood he needed to survive, to heal and grow strong, to pass on to Shea. The liquid nourishment poured into his starved body, spreading to every withered cell. Tissues and muscles swelled with strength. Power surged through him, built and built until he felt alive, really alive. Until colors were vivid, brilliant even, until the sounds of the night beckoned and called to him as one of them.
Creature of the night
.

“Enough.” Gregori's voice was a whisper of beauty, of purity, so compelling it would have been nearly impossible to disobey him.

Jacques closed the wound on Gregori's wrist and immediately reached for Shea. He pulled her into the circle of his arms, cradling her light, nearly insubstantial body to him. He focused his attention, blocked out his own pain and merged his mind firmly with Shea's.
You must feed
.

He could feel the ripple of unease running through her
body. She turned her face from him.
I can't, Jacques, not with them here. I'm so tired, just let me sleep.

You must, little red hair
. He strengthened the command.
Feed
.

As weak as she was, Shea resisted him, her hand going to her pounding head.
Don't make me do this in front of them
.

The little catch in her words warmed his soul. Her words created an intimacy between them that belonged. He had been insane, a mad darkness taking hold of him, but she had been there, by his side, fighting for him, believing in him. He owed her more than his life, he owed her his sanity.
There is only you and me, my love. Feed now. You must do so to survive, so we both survive
.

There was no way to deny him. Jacques' will was iron, his voice hypnotic, his mind locked with hers and reinforced the command. Shea was weak and tired and hurting. She sank into the compulsion, nuzzling his neck, his throat, her lips soft satin skimming across his chest.

Jacques bent over her to give her what privacy he could from the others in the room. His body clenched hotly, unexpectedly, as her tongue swirled over his pulse. His fingers tightened in her hair, and he glanced up, angry that the intruders were witnessing their intimacy.

Gregori was in a far corner, leaning against the wall, his dark head bent to Mikhail's wrist, clearly replenishing his own blood supply. Raven was on her knees, picking up the shattered glass of a lantern, soaking up the oil with a towel. Byron was working on the door. His eyes alone slid over the couple, dwelt on the curve of Shea's hip, her abundance of wine-red hair.

There was helpless envy in Byron's stare, and Jacques deliberately shielded Shea's face from his view, knowing she still had an aversion to the necessary and natural function of taking blood. Her tongue stroked across the steady pulse in his neck, and his heart jumped in response. His body
stirred restlessly, need rising. Soft velvet caress, moist and erotic. His blood surged hotly.

Shea had far too much passion in her to simply yield to compulsion. This was Jacques, and her body craved his. Her natural inhibitions slipped away. Her small teeth barely scraped his skin, but it was enough to send darts of fire racing through his bloodstream. He had to bite back a groan as the white-hot heat pierced his skin and he flowed into her, his very life force, his very soul. Her hand curled around the back of his neck, another intimacy binding them together like the silken skeins of her hair. She didn't simply drink, she feasted. Her mouth moved seductively, her body restlessly, deliberately enticing his. Jacques wanted her with a hunger he had never known. He lowered his head to brush her temple with his lips.

So, Gregori
. Mikhail's voice was a mere thread of sound in the healer's mind.
Tell me what you found.

The woman would have healed his wounds eventually. She is an excellent physician. It is a miracle he managed to keep himself alive until she found him. His mind is completely shattered, Mikhail. Very dark and violent. He has bound the woman to him, and the tie is strong
. Gregori's reply was thoughtful.

Why do I hear the inevitable
but
in there?
Mikhail, a little weak from donating blood, sat down to rest.

Gregori righted a chair and sat facing him.
I think he turned the woman, maybe accidentally, maybe on purpose. She is Carpathian, yet human. She is weak, as if her internal organs had very recently suffered a trauma.

How could you know this? You have not touched her
, Mikhail pointed out.

His mind never quite releases hers completely. She anchors him. He is extremely dangerous, Mikhail. His rage seethes in him. A good part of him is pure animal instinct. His nature is predatory—you know that. What was done
to him has shaped his life for all time. That I cannot change
.

Mikhail rubbed his forehead, unconsciously sought to touch Raven's mind with his. Immediately she was there, flooding him with warmth, surrounding him with love. His lifemate could take away every sadness with one melting look from her blue eyes, one touch of her mind to his.

Mikhail mentally laced his fingers through Raven's, even as he turned to Gregori.
Do you think he will turn?

Gregori gave the mental equivalent of a shrug.
I think he is dangerous either way. Only the woman can control him. She is the answer to that. If I am correct and she knows nothing of our ways, it will be difficult. She is determined he survive, but I sense she has accepted that it is inevitable that she die. She has no clear idea of what she has been committed to here
.