Jacques will
—
No, little one, Jacques remembers very little of anything. Hatred, rage, revenge, the woman
—
that is all he thinks of. We are not certain he is capable of taking care of her.
Look at him with her,
Raven instructed. She repeated it aloud. "Look at him with her."
Jacques wanted the strangers to be gone. So many males pressing close to Shea kept him on edge. He trusted none of these people, with the possible exception of the blue-eyed woman. Jacques could hardly bear to look at the one who claimed to be his brother, the one who had attacked and nearly killed Shea. Strangely enough, it hurt to look at the man. Jacques' head seemed to want to disintegrate every time their eyes met. Memories. Fragments. Pieces of nothing.
Enough,
he whispered to Shea, his words a soft command. Her tongue stroked across the wound to close it, a seduction of pure sensation.
Shea came out of the trance slowly, a sweet, coppery taste in her mouth. The terrible gnawing hunger was gone, but her body was on fire, soft and pliant, in such need. Suddenly aware of the others in the room, she burrowed closer to Jacques for protection. If they all were just gone, she could sleep, figure things out later. She could sort through all the data she had and determine just what these people were.
Fear slammed into her, her mouth went dry, and her heart began to pound in alarm. Shea could feel Jacques' hands tightening like bonds on her arms. A hypnotic trance. Jacques had induced it. Her green eyes slowly opened to move over his face in a slow, terrified study. So why wasn't she joyful, ecstatic, that they had found his people, his family? Why wasn't she thrilled at the arrival of a healer?
There was something wrong here. Her only hope was to get out of the situation, leave Jacques to his family. There were now plenty of people to care for Jacques without her. The healer obviously was far more skilled than she was. Shea was shaking, embarrassed that those surrounding them could see how badly she was trembling. She was always in control. She just needed distance to regain it.
No!
Jacques' voice was much stronger now and much more frightening.
You cannot leave me.
Shea knew he was capable of far more power than she could conceive of. And he was manipulating her, had been all along. For the first time she allowed the facts to come together in her mind. Vampire. Jacques was a vampire. All of these people were. Her hand went to her throat. She was probably one of them now.
"Let go of me!" Shea struggled in earnest now, shocked at how physically strong Jacques had become with the infusion of Gregori's blood.
Jacques snarled, black fury rising along with fear of losing her, fear that she could not survive without him, fear of once again being alone in utter darkness. He held her down easily, but the sound of her heart racing was alarming to him, dragging him back to a shred of sanity.
Into the swirl of violent emotions came the healer's voice. "She does not understand the ways of our people, Jacques. You must be gentle with her, guide her, as your brother guided Raven."
Shea fought the compelling voice, a weaver of spells. "I want to leave. You can't keep me here
." Jacques, please, don't do this. Don't make me stay when we know it's impossible for me. You know me, know me inside and out.
Stop it, Shea,
Jacques pleaded with her, knowing he was holding on to his intellect and reason by a thread.
Nothing has changed.
Everything has changed. These people are your family.
She tried to take a deep, calming breath.
Jacques, I was your doctor, nothing more. I don't belong here. I don't know how to live like this.
You are my lifemate.
The words were firm in her head.
You are tired, my love, tired and afraid. You have every right to be. I know that. I know I frightened you, but you belong with me.
He did his best to keep his voice a soft whisper of sense, but it was difficult with the beast rising and the fragments in his brain confusing him.
She lay looking up at his strong, harsh, uncompromising features, the warning in his furious eyes.
I don't even know what it means to be your lifemate, Jacques. You know I want the best for you, I want you well and whole again, but I can't be with all these people. I need time to sort out what's happened here. What I am. I can hardly breathe right now, let alone think things through.
She was telling the truth. Merged as he was with her, Jacques could feel the familiar pattern in her brain, her intellect leaping forward to protect her from any overwhelming emotion. She was too tired and drained to succeed at her attempt. He struggled once again to reassure her.
You are my lifemate. It means we belong together, never apart.
She shook her head adamantly. "No way." Her enormous eyes jumped to the others. All at once they looked sinister, beings too powerful for their own good. "I want to leave this place." It was somewhere between a demand and a plea for help. Instinctively she looked toward Mikhail. His fingerprints were on her swollen throat. She had saved his brother's life. He owed her.
Raven tightened her fingers around Mikhail's, feeling his tension, his indecision. Clearly the woman was asking for help, and Mikhail could do no other than offer his protection. But Jacques was already warning them off, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He sensed Shea was looking to the others for assistance, and it triggered his predatory instincts. At once he was dangerous, violence swirling close to the surface, aggressive toward Shea, clearly demanding submission.
Byron nearly leapt forward, but a show of Jacques' gleaming fangs held him motionless. He glared at Mikhail. "I told you she had not chosen. Take her from him. She must be protected." Hope was shining in his eyes.
"Jacques." Gregori's voice was pure black velvet, a caressing, compelling tone impossible to ignore. "The woman is overwhelmed. She needs rest, a healing sleep. Both of you should go to earth."
Shea's heart nearly stopped. She shoved hard at Jacques' immovable chest, caught the picture of the earth opening, accepting them. Buried alive. A scream of alarm caught in her throat. She flung herself off the bed in an attempt to get away.
Jacques caught both fragile wrists, pinned her to the mattress.
Do not fight me, Shea, there is no way to win.
Jacques struggled to stay in control. Shea was trembling, her mind filled with fear of him and what he was, what he represented. The loss of freedom, the horror of being a vampire preying on human victims for sustenance as portrayed in old novels, the terror of ever needing a man the way her mother had—to survive.
"Take her from him," Byron demanded.
Jacques turned his head, eyes glittering like black ice. His voice was hoarse, a growling representation of his long-silent vocal cords. He made a supreme effort to stay in control for Shea's sake. She had been there for him; he had to do the same for her. "No one will take her from me and live."
There was no doubt he meant it. Shea lay shocked, unable to absorb that he had spoken aloud. There would be a bloody war here, and someone would die.
Please, Jacques, please let me go. I can't live like this.
There were tears in her eyes, tears in his heart.
Jacques tried to reach her, calm her with his mind, but she was panic-stricken, too petrified to think.
"Send her to sleep. She is weak and worn. You must care for her health." Gregori's voice was always the same, as pure as the sound of crystal-clear water running over rocks.
"No!" Gregori frightened her more than anything. She was always in control. Always. No one had ever taken her decisions out her hands, not even her mother. She just needed to be alone, have time to think. Shea struggled in desperation against Jacques' hold "Let me go!"
The purity of Gregori's voice was finding threads of fragments in Jacques' head, weaving them together. Shea was so frightened, small, and vulnerable lying beneath him, pinned helplessly.
It is all right, my love.
Jacques bent his dark head and kissed her temple.
You will sleep and heal. I will ensure that you come to no harm. In this you can trust me.
The command was firm and strong. He heard the echo of her anguished cry in his mind fading as she succumbed to his order.
Chapter Eight
The storm moved in slowly, blanketing the land in a peculiar, dreary drizzle. All day it blotted out any chance of sunshine and hid the mountain range in sheets of silvery rain and a shroud of thick fog. In an abandoned shack, three men huddled by the fire and tried to escape the water leaking through the cracks in the roof.
Don Wallace sipped at the scalding-hot coffee and stared uneasily out the window into the gathering dusk. "Unusual weather for this time of year." His eyes met the older man's in a long, knowing stare.
Eugene Slovensky hunched his shoulders against the cold and regarded his nephew with reproach. "The weather is like this when the land is unsettled. How could you allow the woman to slip through your fingers, Donnie?"
"Well, you had her when she was a mere baby," he retorted. "You let her escape you then. You couldn't even trace her mother between Ireland and America. I was the one who did that, nearly twenty years later. Don't act like I'm the only one who bungled this."
The older man glared at him. "Don't take that tone with me. Things were different all those years ago. We didn't have the advantages of all the modern technology you have now. Maggie O'Halloran had people help her escape with her little demon whelp." He sighed and glanced once more out the window at the fog and rain. "Do you have any idea the risk we're taking coming into their territory?"
"I believe I was the one who tracked and killed those vampires we got a few years back while you stayed safe in Germany," Don snapped, irritated.
"You weren't very discriminating about who you marked as vampire, Don," Eugene pointed out waspishly. "You enjoyed yourself whenever the mood struck you."
"I was the one taking the risks. I should be allowed to have some fun," Don snapped back.
"Well, this time concentrate on why we're here. This is dangerous work."
Don's eyes flattened, hardened. "I was with you when we found Uncle James's body, remember? Happy fifteenth birthday, Donnie. Instead of a real live vampire to stake, I get my uncle's body buried in a pile of rubble. I know how dangerous it is."
"Never forget that sight, boy, not ever," Eugene cautioned. "Twenty-five years it's been, and we still don't have his murderers."
"At least we made them pay," Don pointed out.
Eugene's eyes burned. "Not nearly enough. It will never be enough. We have to wipe them out. All of them. Wipe them out."
Jeff Smith stirred and glanced at Don Wallace. The old man was crazy. If there really was such a thing as a vampire, Jeff wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to become immortal. They had killed fourteen so-called vampires, and Jeff was fairly certain a couple of them had been the real thing. No human could have taken the kind of punishment Wallace had so eagerly dispensed and survived so long. Most of the victims definitely had been human, though, Wallace's enemies. Don had really enjoyed those sessions.
Jeff was also certain Shea O'Halloran was no vampire. He had researched her very carefully. She had gone to a regular daytime school, had eaten in front of other children. She was a bona-fide surgeon, respected in her profession. A child prodigy, all her professors spoke highly of her. Jeff couldn't get her out of his mind. Her voice, her eyes, the fluid, sexy way her body moved. The crazy old man was obsessed with finding her, and Don always did what his uncle said. Don's uncle, old Eugene Slovensky, held the purse strings, and the money was considerable. If they found the woman, Jeff was not going to let them kill her. He wanted her for himself.
"Why do you think she's is this area?" Slovensky demanded.
"She always uses cash, so we can't follow a money trail, but she often leaves her signature behind anyway." Don grinned, an evil facsimile of a smile. "She just has to help people in these isolated villages. It's kind of amusing, really. She thinks she's so clever, but she always makes the same mistake."
Eugene Slovensky nodded. "The brilliant ones never have any common sense." He cleared his throat nervously. "I sent word to the Vulture."
Don Wallace's hand jerked, and hot coffee spilled over his wrist. "Are you crazy, Uncle Eugene? He threatened to kill us if we didn't leave the mountains the last time he saw us. The Vulture is a true vampire, and he doesn't exactly like us."
"You killed the woman," Eugene said, "he warned you not to. I warned you not to. You just had to have your fun."
Furious, Don hurled the mug across the room. "We're hunting a woman right now. We've followed her for two years, and now that we're close, you call in that killer. I should have put a stake through his heart when I had the chance. He's a no-good vampire like the rest of them."
Slovensky grinned, shook his head in denial. "Not like the rest of them. He hates, Donnie, my boy. He hates with an intensity I have never seen before. And that can always be useful for us. He wants a certain woman this time, the one with the long black hair. He wants her and those close to her dead. He has their trust, and he'll deliver them into our hands. He may be beneath contempt, a snitch, but he is powerful."
"All their woman have long black hair. How am I supposed to know the difference?" Don pouted. "Do you remember the kid? The one about eighteen? He hated that kid. He really wanted that kid to suffer." He smiled with satisfaction. "He did, too. Most of all he hated the last one we caught, the one with the black eyes. He ordered me to torture him, burn him. He wanted it to last forever, and I made sure it did. The Vulture is evil, Uncle Eugene."
Slovensky nodded. "Use him. Let him think you respect him, that he is the one in charge, giving the orders. Promise him the red-haired woman, too. Tell him we'll give them both to him if he will deliver James's murderers. My poor brother James."