Is she related to you, Ivory?
Razvan could feel the strength in the woman Ivory was speaking of. The earth rejoiced and welcomed her. There was joy in the layers of soil beneath him, joy in the rock beneath the soil.
How do I feel that? How am I so connected to the earth? Through you?
Mother Earth has accepted you as her son. She will come to your aid should you have need. She has found you worthy
. There was satisfaction in Ivory’s voice.
He felt humbled by the earth’s acceptance of his torn body and wounded soul; not worthy, but he was grateful.
My body is healing. The dance is rejuvenating the soil and Mother Earth is pouring minerals into our bodies to speed healing, isn’t she?
He felt that connection strongly now. He heard the beat of the music and the stamp of feet, felt the pattern of the dance as they poured love and healing into the earth itself.
He realized they were all connected, not apart, and for the first time he understood the concept of the prince and why he was so important to the Carpathian people. He connected them in the way the earth did. Mikhail was the very blood of the people.
That’s why Xavier wants him dead. To kill the prince might literally kill the species. We have to stop him, Ivory. Whatever else we do, we have to stop Xavier. We cannot be distracted by going after vampires or anything else; Xavier has to be stopped
.
Ivory’s mind slipped over his, mirroring that exact knowledge, in accord with him. It only mattered that they heal their bodies as fast as possible and then find a way to remove the threat of Xavier from the world.
Time passed. There was often the ceremonial healing of the earth, and each time brought renewed soil, working to repair the mortal wounds. And Gregori came to them nightly. They often protested, knowing they were taking his strength and blood, even his healing energy, but he was single-minded in his purpose, and nothing they said could stop him.
Razvan came to like and respect the man. He was stubborn, tenacious, determined to heal them as quickly as possible. Ivory had been leery of taking his blood at first, a natural reaction when self-preservation had been her way for hundreds of years, but necessity forced her to take what was offered. Gregori and Nicolas De La Cruz were the two Carpathians who came daily to take care of them. Often the prince came along and gave his blood, the richness and healing qualities like no other.
Nicolas had wept when he learned Ivory was alive and Razvan felt the mixture of joy and sorrow bursting through her. She had never thought that she would ever see the De La Cruz brothers again, family to her, adored brothers every bit as close to her real brothers as she had been, yet even they could not prevent the Malinov brothers from turning.
It was Razvan who held Ivory close, surrounding her with his heat, merging his mind and heart with hers to keep her from weeping uncontrollably, to steady her while she renewed her relationship with Nicolas, lifemate to his daughter Lara. It was Nicolas who fed her wolves for her and made certain they were well cared for. Most of the time the wolves snuggled beside them, there in the soil, sleeping the weeks away, waking only to feed when Nicolas arrived, and then sleeping again.
Razvan recognized Nicolas’s face from Ivory’s meticulously carved wall. Each stroke had been carved with loving care, and he felt that same deep love in Ivory each time Nicolas spoke to her. That man’s voice was soft, gentle, almost as if she was still the young girl from centuries earlier. He didn’t seem to recognize the fierce warrior in her, only her gentle side, as if he might be blinded to who she was by his love for the child from long ago.
On some level, he realized that it was Nicolas’s lack of knowledge of who Ivory was that kept Razvan from the terrible possessiveness a lifemate would feel when other males were close to their female. Ivory loved Nicolas with the love of a sister, but it was Razvan who knew her intimately, her intriguing mind and the wonderful, intelligent brain that worked fast and accurately on any problem. Razvan spent a great deal of time in her mind, going over what she knew of vampires and learning how best to fight them. She was a wealth of information, and as much as Nicolas loved her, he would never see her true value.
He sees me the way you see Natalya. She is a warrior and yet you wish only to protect her and keep her safe
. There was amusement in Ivory’s voice.
Her tone felt like velvet stroking over his skin.
Perhaps little sisters should never grow up, but simply stay young for their brothers
. He matched her teasing tone.
I am grown up. A woman
. Her amusement faded to be replaced by something altogether different.
When we leave this place of comfort and healing—and we will soon to join the real world with its hardships and cruelty—I will miss our closeness
. There was real regret in her voice. The thought of going back to her lonely existence after intertwining her mind so deeply with his was disturbing to her.
Hän ku vigyáz sielamet—keeper of my soul, you are also, hän ku kuulua sívamet—keeper of my heart
.
We are bound together, lifemates for all eternity. When we rise, ready to fight our enemy, we rise as lifemates. I asked you if that was what you wished and your reply was clear to me. We do not separate. We face the future together, whatever it should bring
.
Ivory sighed softly.
I am prepared to do that. I just meant
. . . She trailed off and he felt her searching for the right words to express whatever troubled her.
When she was silent for so long, he reached for her mind, his touch as gentle as a lover’s caress. Once again he took her into another realm, his mind in hers, leading her away from pain and what they both knew they would have to face when they rose.
His hand slipped into hers and he walked with her, side by side, his body brushing against hers, walking into the night, taking her to his garden, the one place he was familiar with, the one place he loved and could share.
Flowers cascaded down the terraced rock and covered arbors of white. The fragrances mingled, rising above the mazes of shaped hedges and bushes. Trees formed small groves of oranges and lemons with taller evergreen towers on the corners of the stone-fence-wrapped garden. Weeping willows stood at the edges of the blue-green pond, while a few ducks swam lazily, dunking their heads beneath the rippling surface and coming up to shake the water from their feathers.
Ivory looked around her. “You grew up here?”
He brought her fingers to his chest, over his heart. “It was our mother’s family home. We lived here for some time after she passed away. And then my father disappeared and Xavier took us away. But this was where we were together and happy.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“I used to believe it was the most beautiful spot in the world, but I think you managed to create that in your home.” Razvan looked around him and inhaled to drag the scent of lavender into his lungs.
“
Our
home,” Ivory corrected. “It is our home now.”
He felt the instant reaction in his heart to her words.
Home
. What would that be like, to feel as if he had a home, a woman to share his life with? They had a purpose for living, for suffering the fires of hell: to rid the world of its greatest evil—Xavier. For a short time he could simply be with Ivory, enjoy walking with her through a beautiful garden.
Ivory glanced sideways at him and then quickly averted her eyes, her long lashes hiding her expression.
Razvan stopped to push the long fall of silken hair from her face and back over her shoulder. “You are hiding from me.”
Color rose, turning her pale skin to a soft rose. “Maybe. A little.”
“I had no idea you were a little shy. You are such a fierce warrior and wholly confident, I thought you would be that way in all things.”
She shrugged. “I have little experience with men—most of it long ago and not good.”
He grinned at her, a slow, heart-stopping smile that revealed his straight white teeth, and suddenly seemed a little shy as well. “My body has a tremendous amount of experience, but not my heart—and not me. Truthfully, I feel like a young boy on his first date.”
She lifted her chin. “It is my first date.”
He regarded her steadily, his dark eyes drifting over the exquisite bone structure of her face. His gaze settled on her full lips. “Then we must make it memorable.” He couldn’t conceive of forgetting this moment, this one time with her, surrounded by the memory of his garden and so close to her that he could breathe the same breath.
She lifted a hand to his face, worn and lined, as if he still couldn’t change that look, even in his dreams—even in his memories. He had forgotten what his face had looked like in his younger days, forgotten being a carefree youth. He could only give her what he was now, and hope that it was enough for her.
“You will always be enough for me,” she whispered, meaning it. “I had stopped dreaming of my prince long ago.”
“What was he like?”
She smiled, her eyes warming. “Tall, of course, with long, black, flowing hair and broad shoulders. He was a great warrior and he rescued me from my tower where my brothers had imprisoned me. He wanted me to ride beside him on his snorting, rearing steed, a sturdy animal that blew smoke through his nostrils and pawed the ground with impatience to rush headlong into battle.” She laughed softly at a young girl’s dreams.
Razvan made a face. “I am tall, but my hair is streaked with white, and I cannot say I am an accomplished warrior. But I would surely rescue you and take you off to ride beside me anywhere we went, including battle.”
Her fingertips went to one particular thick white streak in his hair. She rubbed the silky strands back and forth between her thumb and index finger. “A warrior is not someone who merely fights, Razvan. You have the heart of a warrior and the soul of a poet. I find you fascinating.” She dropped her gaze. “And tempting.”
There was a moment when his breath caught in his lungs. Tempting? He tempted her? There was no shadow of evil inside his body. Nothing stood between them and she confessed to him that she was tempted by him? Ivory’s stark honesty moved him as nothing else could.
His palm curled around the nape of her neck, drawing her closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his face, could see—not just feel—the softness of her skin. He had more discipline than any man walking the face of the earth, yet he could not stop himself from leaning his head down those scant few inches and closing the distance between them.
His lips brushed hers. Barely touching. Feather-light. His body reacted, clenching hard, tightening, every muscle, every cell coming alive, paying attention to that smallest of sensations.
Ivory didn’t pull away from him. They stood in the middle of his garden, surrounded by cascading flowers of all colors, birds and butterflies, bees flitting from one bloom to the next, a place of absolute serenity, and time just seemed to stand still for them.
His hands framed her face and he tilted her head so his mouth could come down on hers again. She sighed into his kiss, her body somehow closer. He didn’t know if he moved or she did, or maybe it was the earth shifting under his feet, but her mouth went from warm to hot to burning just that fast.
The sensation opened up an entire new world, one of pleasure, of intense sensation. Where his life had been pain and suffering, her mouth, soft and hot and enticing, swamped him with immeasurable pleasure. It wasn’t just a physical sensation, but his mind was merged deeply in hers, feeding off her pleasure, heightening it as she heightened his. His heart was fully engaged, nearly overwhelmed with the feelings that had been growing stronger and stronger from the moment he’d first opened his eyes and saw her face, from the first touch of her gentle fingers as she pushed back his hair.
His tongue swept across the seam of her lips, not tentatively, but not pushing her beyond what she wanted to give. His hands were gentle, in contrast to the hard aggression of his body. Her mouth opened to his and he was inside that soft, scalding cavern of heat and fire. Flames licked at his belly. His groin tightened even more, swelling and hardening, and deep in his belly an inferno raged.
He took his time, as gentle as ever, savoring the reaction of his body as he explored her soft mouth, savoring her reaction, the small breathy moan that nearly drove him insane, the small movement that pressed her soft breasts against his chest and aligned the cradle of her hips with his. Little sparks ignited everywhere and the world seemed to spin away even further.
His hands slipped into that silky fall of hair cascading down her back. Each new exploration of her skin and body added to his rising pleasure, further intensifying it.
You are the most incredible woman ever born
. He meant it. He let her see the truth of his statement in his mind, in his heart. He’d never imagined such feelings, of the strength of emotion and the intensity of his physical reaction to her.
His body had been used by Xavier, yes, but he hadn’t been present, only witnessing the degradation at a distance. He had never experienced pleasure from the joining, only sorrow and regret when he could recall the emotions. And now that he had emotion in abundance, he felt distaste and shame at the memories, along with sorrow and regret. He hadn’t expected . . .
this
—the wonder and beauty of love blossoming right here in his garden along with his flowers. Had he been in the real world he might have scoffed at the poetry singing in his soul, but here, in his dream, in his memories, the words were perfect, fitting the way he felt.
Her body shuddered against his, and her hands came up to grip his arms. He felt the sudden hesitation in her, the simultaneous urge to pull him closer and push him away. She was as unused to trusting, to sharing herself as he was—maybe more. The needs slammed into them like the vicious punch of fists, overwhelming her. It mattered little how gentle his touch was, the desire burned hot and unexpected, a firestorm out of control.