Dark Challenge (4 page)

Then Mikhail and Gregori had discovered a rare group of mortal women who possessed true psychic ability who could survive the conversion. Such women could be turned with three blood exchanges, and they were capable of producing female children. Mikhail had made such a match, and his daughter, Savannah, had been born as Gregori’s lifemate. A new surge of hope had spread among the Carpathian males. But though Julian had traveled throughout the world—granted, preferring the wilds of the mountains and the freedom of the open spaces to long periods spent among humans—he had never come across any women possessing the rare abilities required.

Julian had long since ceased to believe or hope the way the others had, even when his own twin brother had found such a woman. Julian knew he was a cynic, that the darkness in him, calling out to the undead, was like a stain spreading across his soul. He had accepted it, as he accepted the rest of the ever-changing universe, as he accepted the sin of his youth and his own self-banishment from his people. He was of the earth and the sky. He was a part of it all. And as he neared the time when he was dangerously close to the change, he accepted that, too. He knew he was strong; he was willing to walk into the sun before he became a demon with no soul at all. For a very long time he had had no hope, had had nothing to hold out for.

Now everything had changed. In one heartbeat, one instant. His lifemate was out there. But she was wounded, hunted. At least she had a decent bodyguard, and her cats were obviously protecting her. Still, he could not get it out of his head that the huge male leopard was not what it had seemed. And there was the way the assassins had been dealt with, not in the human way but that of a Carpathian hunter. If there was a powerful Carpathian, another male, that Julian wasn’t aware of, he did not want the man anywhere near his lifemate.

The teenagers were traipsing closer, their voices loud in the stillness of the night. One stumbled repeatedly, having consumed far too much alcohol. They laughed raucously, and from the deep woods, the golden eyes watched them, the white teeth gleamed. Julian stepped out slowly from behind the trees. His face was hidden in the shadows. He smiled at the boys. “You seem to be having a good time tonight,” he greeted softly.

All of the boys stopped abruptly. They could not make him out in the dark. And they were suddenly aware that they were somewhere deep in the forest, far from their campsite, without a clue how they got there or how to get back. They exchanged puzzled, alarmed looks. Julian could hear their hearts beating loudly in their chests. He prolonged the suspense for a moment, his teeth gleaming, allowing the faint red haze of the beast within him to be reflected in his eyes.

The boys stood frozen to the spot as Julian emerged from the shadows. “Has no one ever told you the forest can be dangerous at night?” His beautiful voice purred with menace, and he deliberately deepened his foreign accent, evincing a danger the boys could feel moving through their bodies.

“Who are you?” one of them managed to croak. They were sobering up fast.

Julian’s eyes were glowing a feral red, and the beast within, always crouching so close to the surface, fought for release. He allowed hunger to sweep through him, the terrible emptiness, the biting, gnawing craving that was never fully sated, could never be sated until he was with his lifemate in every way. He needed her dwelling in him to anchor the raging beast. He needed her blood flowing in his veins to stop the horrendous craving, to bring him back for all eternity into the light.

One of the boys screamed, and another moaned. Julian waved a hand to silence them. He didn’t want them terrified, only scared enough to remember their fear and modify their behavior. It was easy enough to take possession of their minds. He erected a veil to cloud their memory of the event as he stepped forward to drink his fill. He needed a large volume of blood and was grateful there were several boys so none of them would be left too weak. In each boy he planted a slightly different memory, wanting confusion to reign. At the last moment, smiling sardonically, Julian planted a firm command in each boy to blurt out the truth to his parents every time he intentionally sought to deceive them.

Julian melted into the shadows and released the teenagers from the thrall paralyzing their minds and bodies. He watched them as they stirred to life, all sitting or lying on the ground. They were dizzy and scared, each remembering a close call, an attack that came out of the deep forest, but all remembered it differently. They argued briefly but without much spirit. They just wanted to go home.

Julian made certain they made it back to their camp without incident; then, as they huddled together around the fire, he began mimicking the hunting cries of a pack of wolves. Laughing, he left them throwing things helter
skelter into their car and racing away from the terrors of disobeying their parents.

Feeling much better with the soil pressed into his wounds, and the biting hunger appeased for the time being, Julian slowly returned to the cabin. Beneath the wooden planking of the floor was a small crawl space. With a slight wave of his hand he opened a plot deep within its earth floor. It beckoned him, the soothing peace of the ground, calling to its own.

Julian floated to his resting place and lay still, his arms crossed lightly over his wounds. He pictured Desari as he settled into the soil. She was tall and slender, her skin creamy white. Her hair was luxurious, shining like a raven’s wing, masses of curls and waves falling in a shimmering cascade to her hips. She had small, delicate bones, making her classically beautiful. Her lips were luscious, sexy. He loved the way her mouth had looked, even in her unconscious state. She had a perfect mouth.

Julian felt a smile softening the hard edge of his chiseled lips. A lifemate. After all these centuries, after never believing. Why in the world would he be chosen for such a thing? Out of all the Carpathian males he knew, men who religiously followed the rules, why would he find a lifemate? He was practically an outlaw.

He gave more thought to the mortal woman now stuck with him. It took three blood exchanges to convert a human. And he would have to ensure that she was truly psychic. Still, excitement beat at him. A lifemate to make the world beautiful and mysterious, a wonderful, intriguing place, when for so long it had only been barren and dark. Unfortunately, for the woman, things would have to change. Singing before crowds would be impossible. Desari. He remembered now that she also used a nickname. Dara. Something, some recognition
shimmered for a moment in his mind. Ancient. Persian.
Dara. Meaning from the dark one
.

Julian felt his heart jump at the connection. Could such a coincidence be just that? Gregori was referred to as the Dark One. As his father had been before him. The bloodline was pure, ancient, and very powerful. Why was her nickname Dara? Was there a connection? There had to be. But how?

Julian shook his head slowly, discarding the idea. No Carpathian lived unknown to the others of his kind. And certainly no Carpathian female could do so. Since the decimation of their ranks, the females were closely guarded, given from the father into the care of the life-mate at an early age to ensure the continuance of their race. Otherwise every unattached Carpathian male around the world would be following her, pressing his suit. And Mikhail would have her under the mantle of his protection.

Julian put the puzzle aside for the time being. He closed his eyes and concentrated on reaching Desari. Dara. Ordinarily, a blood exchange was needed to keep track of another, but Julian had studied and experimented for many years. He could do incredible things, even for one of his kind. He built the image of Desari in his mind, focusing on every detail.

Then he aimed and thrust his will into the night. Seeking. Drawing. Commanding.
Come to me
, cara mia,
come to me. You are mine. No one else will ever do for you. You want me with you. You need me. Feel the emptiness without me
.

Julian was implacable in his pursuit. He ruthlessly applied more pressure.
Find me. Know that you are mine. You cannot bear another’s touch
, cara mia.
You need me with you to fill the terrible emptiness. You are no longer happy and content without me. You must find me
.

He sent the imperious command, his entire focus bent on finding her mental channel. He did not stop until he was certain he had connected with her, that his words had penetrated any barriers separating them and found their way to her soul.

The police were everywhere. Desari carefully sat up, dizzy and sick. She felt strange, different, as if something inside her had changed for all time. There was an odd, yawning emptiness, a void that had to be filled. Her brother and bodyguard, Darius, had his arm around her. He examined every inch of her with his ice cold black eyes. There was blood staining her dress, and her insides ached.

“They shot me.” She made it a statement.

“I do not know how I failed to detect the danger to you in time.” Darius looked gray and drained.

Desari stroked his strong jaw. “You need to feed, brother. You have given me too much blood.”

Darius shook his head, then glanced surreptitiously toward the police. “I gave to Barack and Dayan. They were hit also. Six mortals, Desari, all wanted to kill you.”

“Barack and Dayan? Are they all right?” she demanded
quickly, worry in her soft, dark eyes. She looked around frantically for the other two members of the band. She had been raised with the two men and loved them nearly as much as her own brother.

He nodded. “I have sent them to ground. They will heal more quickly. I had little time for proper mending, but I did my best for them. The police were pouring into the bar. I made certain they could not see us. We have trouble though. It was not me who gave you blood. It was another. He was strong and powerful.”

Alarmed, Desari stared up at her brother. “Someone else gave me blood? You are certain? There is no mistake?”

Darius shook his head. “I would not have reached you in time. You were already unconscious. You did not have time to shut down your heart and lungs as the others did, so you bled profusely. I examined you afterward, Desari. You would have died of your wounds. He saved your life.”

She dragged up her knees and burrowed closer to him. “His blood is in me?” She sounded lost and forlorn, frightened.

Darius swore eloquently. For centuries he had looked after his family. Desari, Syndil, Barack, Dayan, and Savon. The only others similar to their kind they had ever encountered had been the undead, the evil ones. This creature had slipped past him as a strange, cold wind that had pushed its way through the bar. Darius had been uneasy, worried; he had felt the presence of another, yet he had not caught the stench of evil. The undead. Vampire. He should have acted, he had been sidetracked by the vicious mortals emerging from the crowd.

Why had Desari been suddenly targeted by these people? Had his family members somehow given themselves away? He knew that from time to time throughout
history there had been eruptions of hysteria among humans, particularly in Europe, about vampires. And over the last seventy-five years a string of murders in Europe had been attributed to members of some secret society hunting down these alleged creatures of the night.

Darius had purposely kept his family from that continent, not wanting to expose them to either these dangerous humans or to what could be the tainted blood of vampires. There was plenty of room in the world without going near Europe. His memories of his original homeland were vague and terrible. Marauders driving stakes through women and children still living, hanging them in the sun to die a death of excruciating pain. Beheadings, burnings, torture, and mutilation. If any of his race had survived, they had long ago turned vampire. If any other children had escaped as they had, they were probably better left unfound.

“Darius?” Desari clutched at his shirt. “You did not answer me. Am I going to turn? Did he make me the undead?” Her beautiful voice quavered with fear.

He circled her with one strong arm to comfort her, his face a hard, implacable mask of resolve. “Nothing is going to harm you, Desari. I would not allow it.”

“Can we remove his blood, replace it with yours?”

“I sent myself into your body. I could find no evidence of evil. I do not know what he is, but I was able to mark him as he marked me.” He lifted the arm he had clamped to his side. His palm came away from his belly coated in blood.

Desari gasped and went to her knees. “Seal your own wounds now, Darius. You have already lost too much blood. You have to tend to yourself.”

“I am tired, Desari,” he acknowledged softly.

The confession startled her. Shocked her. Terrified her. She had never once, in all their centuries together,
remembered her brother admitting such a thing. He had gone into battle countless times, had been savaged by wild animals, wounded by mortals, had hunted and killed the most dangerous of all, the vampire.

She slipped her arm around his broad back. “You need blood, Darius, right now. Where is Syndil?” Desari knew she was far too weak herself to help her brother. She looked around the scene of chaos and realized her brother was still shielding them from the sight of the mortal policemen. He must have been maintaining the illusion for some time. That in itself was very draining.

She clenched her teeth and dragged him to his feet. “We will call Syndil, Darius. She must be hiding deep within the ground not to have been aware of this disturbance. It is time she came back to the world of the living.”

Darius shook his head, but he leaned his towering frame against Desari. “It is too soon for her. She is still traumatized.”

Syndil, we are in much trouble. You must come for us. You must heed our call
. Desari sent for the woman she regarded as her closest friend and a sister. She felt sorrow for Syndil, outrage on her behalf, but they needed her now.

There had been six of them, children thrown together in a time of war and cruelty. Darius had been six years of age, Desari six months. Savon had been four. Dayan had been three, Barack two, and Syndil a year. They had grown up together, depending only on one another, looking to Darius for leadership, protection, and their very survival.