Shea.
Her name was a soft, clear breeze blowing gently through his mind.
Shea.
A single candle leapt into flame, a light to guide him through the layers of black fury. He felt her then, small and slender in the circle of his arms. Her skin was soft, her hair, against his bare chest, like skeins of silk. He dropped his chin to the top of her head and rubbed gently, tenderly. It took a few moments before he realized her body was limp, cold, nearly lifeless, laboring for blood.
An anguished cry broke from him. He pulled her head back, saw the bruises and torn flesh at her throat.
Shea, do not leave me!
The plea was wrenched from his heart. Had he done this? The fingerprints were not his, but the ripped flesh? Had he done this to her?
A ripple of unease ran through the very land, the ground shifting, rolling.
Do not leave me, Shea.
Jacques tore at his wrist with his teeth, trickled life-giving fluid into her mouth.
Come on, little red hair, try.
His life force ran down her throat. He stroked the swollen column, forcing her to swallow.
You cannot leave me in darkness.
He could not remember attacking her, yet somehow, his heart in his throat, Jacques knew he had done this. He was insane.
Outside the wind rushed through the mountains, and thunder cracked. The dark clouds burst, and rain pelted down in sheets. Out of the trees loped a huge black wolf with pale, burning eyes. As he approached the small porch, the powerful body contorted, stretched, shape-shifted into a heavily muscled man with wide shoulders, long dark hair, and slashing silver eyes. He stepped onto the porch out of the pouring rain and regarded the two men facing him. The tension was tangible between Mikhail and Byron. Mikhail, as always, was inscrutable. Byron looked like a thundercloud. The newcomer's eyebrows went up, and he leaned close to Byron. "The last time someone got Mikhail seriously angry, it was not a pretty sight. I do not wish to attempt to replace major organs in your body, so go take a walk and cool off." The voice was beautiful, with a singsong cadence—compelling, soothing even, yet it clearly commanded. It was a voice so hypnotic, so mesmerizing, even those of their kind were drawn into its power.
Gregori. The dark one.
Ancient, powerful, instrument of justice. He dismissed Byron by simply turning his back and addressing Mikhail. "When you sent the call, you said it was Jacques, yet I cannot detect him. I have tried to touch him, but there is only emptiness."
"It is Jacques, yet he is not the same. Not turned, but he has been severely injured. He does not recognize us, and he is extremely dangerous. I cannot restrain him without further injuring him."
"He fought you?" The voice, as always, was mild, even gentle.
"Absolutely, and he would again. He is more wild animal than man, and there is no reaching him. He will kill us if he can find the strength."
Gregori inhaled the wild night air. "Who is this woman?"
"She is Carpathian, but she does not know our ways or respond in any way to our normal means of communication. She seems trained in the human practice of healing."
"A doctor?"
"Perhaps. He protects her, yet he is abusive, as if he cannot separate right from wrong. I think he is trapped in a world of madness."
The silver eyes flickered. There was a latent cruelty in Gregori's dark, sensual features, the clear stamp of a dangerous predator. "You have no knowledge of what happened to him?"
Mikhail shook his head slowly. "I have no idea, no explanation. I did not ask the woman. I attacked her, would have killed her, thinking her my brother's assailant." Mikhail confessed it without changing tone, a simple, quiet admission. "He was in bad shape, in obvious agony, sweating blood, and she stood over him, digging in his wound. There was so much blood, I thought her a vampiress, deranged, tormenting him, trying to eviscerate him."
There was a small silence, only the wind and rain daring to comment. Gregori simply waited, his body as still as the mountains.
Mikhail shrugged. "Perhaps there was no thought, just reaction. I could not touch his mind with mine. The suffering on his face was more than I could bear."
"The storm is not yours," Gregori stated. "Jacques has grown far more powerful than I realized. There is a darkness in him unlike any I have ever observed. He is not vampire, but he is truly dangerous. Let us go in and see if I can repair the damage."
"Go carefully, Gregori," Mikhail cautioned.
The silver eyes glittered, reflected the driving sheets of rain. "I am known for my careful ways, am I not?" Gregori glided through the broken door; Mikhail, shaking his head over the outrageous lie, followed one step behind.
Jacques' head snapped up, a black fury smoldering in his eyes as he tracked them. A long, slow hiss of warning escaped from deep in his throat. Gregori stopped, held his hands away from his sides in the age-old gesture of a peacemaker. Mikhail leaned against the doorjamb, so completely still, he seemed to become part of the wall itself. He was well aware that he had made a major mistake in his attack upon the woman.
"I am Gregori, Jacques." Gregori's voice was power itself, yet soft and soothing. "A healer for our people."
Shea was lying across Jacques, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed. She groaned—a low, husky sound that added fuel to Jacques' rage. His fingers brushed the dark smudges along her swollen throat, and he turned a murderous gaze on Mikhail.
"Leave us alone." Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and raw .She did not open her eyes or try to move
"I can help him," Gregori persisted, using his same compelling tone. The woman was so obviously the key to reaching Jacques. It was in the way he held her, the protective posture of his body, the way his eyes moved possessively, even tenderly, over her face. His hands were continually caressing her, stroking her hair, her skin.
At the underlying command in Gregori's beautiful voice, her long eyelashes lifted, and she studied his face. He was savagely beautiful, a blend of elegance and untamed beast. He looked more dangerous than the other two strangers did. Shea made an effort to swallow, but it hurt. "You look like an ax murderer to me."
This one has brains.
Mikhail's soft laughter echoed in Gregori's head.
She sees beyond that handsome face of yours.
You are so funny, ancient one.
Gregori deliberately reminded him of the quarter of a century difference in their ages.
Jacques is gathering himself for the attack. Hear the wind pick up outside.
He was silent for a moment, searching every path known to him.
I cannot find a single fragment to reach him, and she is very resistant to mental compulsion. I can use her, but he will know what I am doing. He will fight me, fearing I am taking her from him. She is too weak to survive such a struggle.
Can you immobilize him? Send him to sleep?
Not in his present state of agitation. He is more animal than man and more dangerous than you can know.
Gregori gave a slight bow toward Shea, continuing his conversation aloud with her. "Nevertheless, I am a healer for our people. I can help Jacques, but I will need information."
Jacques' palm slid from Shea's throat, down her shoulder, to tighten around her arm.
Do not listen to him. They speak to one another without our knowledge. They are not to be trusted.
The words were hissed, low and commanding. Already his brief moment of sanity was beginning to slip away with the intrusion of other males so near to Shea.
If he is a healer for your people, he can make you well faster than I ever could. Let's at least listen to him.
Shea kept her voice as soothing and as unafraid as she was able. She was tired and wanted to drift away, but she would not desert Jacques.
"You speak with Jacques in the way of our people." Gregori said, "as a true lifemate." His eyes were on the strong fingers circling her arm. "You must not sleep. You are his sanity. Without you we cannot help him."
Shea's tongue darted out, touched her lower lip. Her small teeth bit nervously. "Tell us something about Jacques," she challenged. "Prove you have met him before and are friends to him."
"He is Mikhail's brother, lost to us these seven years. We sought him and, thinking him dead, sought his body. Mikhail, Byron, and I have all exchanged blood with Jacques. It strengthens out telepathic communication. We should have been able to reach him. When none of us could feel him, we all were certain he was dead."
Shea took a deep, calming breath for both her and Jacques. These men were powerful and dangerous. Although the healer looked as if he might be the prince of darkness, there was a sincerity about him. But his words were fanning the smoldering embers of Jacques' killing rage. She tried to keep him as calm as she could. "I found him buried in the cellar of a burned-down structure about six miles from here."
Jacques' grip on Shea tightened to the point of pain.
Do not tell them anything.
Jacques.
She said his name gently.
You are hurting me.
Gregori nodded. "He lived there on and off before he disappeared. This cabin is Mikhail's. Years ago Jacques guarded Mikhail's wife in this place, fought a betrayer to save her. He nearly died here." He saw a flash of hope in the woman's eyes. Gregori knew her control of Jacques was but a slender thread. He had to reach her, get her on their side. She recognized the truth of something he had said. "After that incident, we left this area for a while. About eight years ago, Jacques returned to his home near here. There was much danger that year and the next. Humans and Carpathians alike were being murdered. Mikhail, Jacques, Aidan, and I were hunting the assassins. Jacques was supposed to rejoin us in three days several hundred miles south of here. When he did not meet us and did not answer our summons, we came to his home. It was completely destroyed. We could not detect his life force, nor did he answer our calls." Jacques venomous hiss called him a liar. Red flames leapt and burned in the depths of his eyes.
I called and called, Shea. Do not believe this betrayer.
The strength of his grip on her arm increased, threatening to crush her bones.
Perhaps I can learn from him, something to help us.
Shea swayed wearily, was forced to lean against Jacques' chest for support.
My arm hurts.
She was so tired. If she could just sleep… Everything seemed to be blurring together, the voices fading as if coming from a great distance.
Gregori's silver gaze met Mikhail's dark one.
The woman is weak, perhaps in more immediate need than Jacques. If we lose her, he is lost to us. There is no doubt in my mind that she is all that is keeping him with us. She is his only link to sanity.
"Now you tell me more," Gregori prompted Shea as Mikhail nodded his understanding. They were aware of Jacques' terrible grip on her arm. Gregori needed to keep her conscious and willing to aid them. "What of Jacques' wounds?"
"He was tortured, burned. A wooden stake the size of your fist was driven through his body. That is the worst wound. He remembers two humans and one he refers to as a betrayer." Her voice was very weak.
A single sound escaped Mikhail, a low, ominous growl that sent a shiver racing along Shea's spine.
A vampire,
Mikhail hissed to Gregori.
A vampire turned him over to humans to be tortured and murdered.
No doubt.
Gregori was matter-of-fact. He didn't even glance in Mikhail's direction, his entire focus on the woman. He had to keep her from slipping away, and she was very close to doing just that. It was only her determination to save Jacques that kept her from succumbing to the blood loss and fatigue and pain.
"He was chained and manacled at the wrists and ankles. Buried upright in a coffin in the cellar wall." She made a determined effort to speak clearly, but her throat was very sore, and she was so tired. "There were well over a hundred deep cuts on his body and as many shallow ones. He lived a prisoner of the earth, in terrible agony during his waking time for seven years. It has done something to his mind. Jacques remembers very little of his past. Bits and pieces only. Most of his memories are of pain and madness." Shea closed her eyes, exhausted. She just wanted them all to go away so she could sleep. Her heart was laboring, sweat beaded on her body, and her limbs were like lead. It was almost too difficult to keep her eyes open. "The one who betrayed him was someone he knew and trusted."
"Jacques." Gregori's voice dropped even lower so that it seemed to whisper—low, compelling, beautiful. "Your woman is in need of care. I offer my services as a healer to both of you. I give you my word that at no time will I attempt harm to your woman."
Let him, Jacques.
No! It is a trick.
Shea stirred, tried to sit up on her own, but was too weak.
Look at us, wild man. They could easily kill us. I'm so tired, I can't hang on anymore.
Jacques turned it over in his mind. He knew something was wrong with him, but he trusted none of them. He gave in only because he sensed Shea's health was even more precarious than his.
Stay close to me.
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.