Dark Desire (29 page)

“I know. I don't really want to leave,” Shea admitted. She was close to tears. The feeling of dark malevolence was becoming stronger, yet she still couldn't explain it. She felt very mixed up. She wanted Jacques close to her, but this world was so frightening and bizarre. She was completely out of her element.

Raven immediately jumped to her feet and put an arm around Shea, misunderstanding her distress. “He doesn't hurt you, does he?” She was examining the faded bruises and wounds on Shea's neck. “He did this, didn't he?”

Self-consciously, Shea put a hand to her throat to cover the marks. “He didn't mean to. He doesn't always know what he's doing. But he isn't the type of man to abuse a woman. I'm in his mind enough to know that. I'm not a woman who would take it, either.” She let the other woman hug her, needing the comfort. “It's just that I'm afraid all the time. Afraid of everything. That isn't like me at all. And I cry. I never cry.” Whatever was stalking them was very close now. She wanted to scream for Jacques.

“You've been through a traumatic time, Shea, and so has your body. You're worn out, and you need sustenance.” Raven released her and took a step away. “Gregori is a great healer. I know you think he could be the vampire—it's there in your face when you look at him—but he would
give his life for you, for me, for Mikhail. He's a great man. He could help you so much if you'd let him.”

“He's the scariest man I've ever met,” Shea admitted. “If I had a child, a daughter, I would not want that man to be her husband.”

“But then, you don't know that much about lifemates. If my daughter is his lifemate and chooses him—and it will be her choice, despite what my husband and Gregori think—she'd be the safest woman in the world. And once she learned to manage him, the happiest.”

“You have more faith than I do.”

“That's because I've known them longer. Give yourself some time, and for heaven's sake put that gun down. There's nothing out there,” Raven admonished. “You're just nervous because Jacques isn't with you.”

Lightning crashed close, and the cabin shuddered beneath a deafening roar of thunder. Raven swung around and paced to a chair. “Something's going on for sure. That's one of ours doing that.”

Shea's hand went to her throat. She could not shake the feeling of impending doom. She turned to Raven. “What do you mean, one of ours?” Why had she agreed to stay and protect Raven? Something evil was watching them, and she couldn't ferret it out.
Jacques, where are you?

“The lightning and thunder,' Raven replied easily. “One of our males is upset.”

“Great. Tantrums, that's all we need,” Shea said moodily. Jacques hadn't answered her. Where was he? Couldn't he feel her need?

Raven laughed. “They are great for that, aren't they?”

The door banged open, the wood, so recently repaired, splintering. Shea swung around, instinctively taking a stride to place herself between the entrance and Raven. Framed in the doorway was Don Wallace, a scattergun in
his hand, an older man behind him. Shea heard the maniacal laughter of the two men and saw the malice and loathing in their eyes.

Jacques!
She screamed his name even as the orange blossom burst from the muzzle of the gun. The wicked stings hitting her arm and shoulder spun her around, and she reeled into Raven. Raven took the main burst of the gun and was flung backward nearly into the wall. Shea landed in a pool of blood. It was everywhere, beneath her, on Raven's chest and stomach, leaking onto the wooden floor. Raven was still and lifeless, her face white, her pulse nonexistent when Shea tried to find it.

Don Wallace seized her by her hair and dragged her away from the body. He was laughing as he contemptuously kicked Raven's leg out of his way. “I knew I'd get you, Doc. Small world, isn't it?”

Jacques! My God, he's killed Raven! Gregori! I'm sorry, I couldn't save her
. Shea was fighting, kicking and punching, and didn't even realize it until Wallace hit her repeatedly in the face.

“Shut up! Stop that screaming or I'll knock you out.” He hit her twice more. “Damn vampires think they're so smart. It was so easy, wasn't it, Uncle Eugene?”

Shea was sobbing uncontrollably, almost immune to the pain of Wallace dragging her by her injured arm. Warmth stirred in her mind.
Shea? We need you to look at the man holding you, look around the room slowly and picture everything exactly the way you see it
. Jacques' voice was calm and unruffled, no hint of rage or anger, simply a cool wind of logic.
We are all three linked and can aid you
.

Raven is dead! They shot her!
she cried hysterically in her mind, afraid to move or call further attention to herself, lest she endanger Jacques in some way.

Just do as I tell you, love. Look around the room. Study your enemy and picture every detail in your mind so that
we can see him
. Jacques was tranquil, breathing steadily and slowly to help her control her own breathing.
Block out everything else. What they say does not matter. What they do does not matter. Give us the data we need
.

Shea took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried to do as Jacques had instructed. It was difficult to overcome the horror of Raven's violent death, the loss of the all-important baby. She blocked out the sounds of the malicious laughter, the sexual threats and innuendoes. Wallace was standing over her, one hand twisted in her thick mane of hair, the other hand deliberately digging into the bloody wounds in her arm. She pushed aside the pain of her injuries, the throbbing in her face.

Shea opened her eyes and looked first at Raven's broken body. The blood lay like a thick red pool around her. Her blue-black hair lay across one cheek like a shawl. Shea made herself move on. Her gaze swept the room, settled on Eugene Slovensky. He was kneeling beside Raven, examining her to assure himself she was dead. He stood up, backed away two feet, cleared his throat, and spat at the body. He reached behind him for a canvas bag and yanked it open. Gleefully he seized a thick, pointed stake and held it out for her to see.

“Spawn of the devil,” he whispered insanely. “Bride to the one who killed my brother. You die this day while he sleeps unaware. I am fortunate that the Vulture hates you and the one that created you as much as I hate you both. I don't know why he wants the other female alive, but again, our wishes coincide.”

“Not quite, Uncle Eugene. We keep this one for ourselves. You promised we would kill the Vulture like the others this time,” Don Wallace protested.

Slovensky lifted the stake higher, poised it over Raven's breast. “This gives me more pleasure than you will ever know.”

“No!” Shea attempted to launch herself at Slovensky, unable to bear the thought of them defiling Raven's body with a crude wooden stake.

Focus!
Gregori snapped, his voice so powerful, even over the distance, that it brought Shea up short, where all Don Wallace's slaps and punches had hardly fazed her.

Shea stared at Slovensky, the picture etched in her mind. She saw the glee in his face, the hatred, the sick, perverse pleasure he was deriving as he held the stake aloft above Raven's body. Then suddenly she saw his expression change from pleasure to alarm. His face grew crimson, then a dark shade of purple. He coughed, and blood trickled from his mouth, his nose. He coughed again, and his arm fell to his side, the stake dropping from nerveless fingers.

“Uncle Eugene?” The grin faded from Wallace's mouth. He took a step toward his uncle. “What is it?”

Slovensky tried to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a wheezing groan. More blood bubbled up around his mouth. Red foam dribbled onto his chin.

Shea looked away, her stomach lurching.

Look at him!
Gregori made his order impossible to ignore. One of the most powerful ancients alive, he forced her compliance without a qualm, holding her mind focused exactly where he wanted it. Jacques and Mikhail had thrown their strength and power squarely behind him.

Shea's terrified gaze returned to the older man as bidden. He was gray, his body swaying unsteadily. Suddenly he fell to his knees.

“Damn it, old man!” Wallace sounded scared. “Don't do this to me. What the hell is wrong? Are you having a heart attack?” He didn't go near his uncle. In fact, he backed up, dragging Shea with him, looking wildly around as if afraid they weren't alone.

Slovensky was strangling, choking on the blood pouring from his mouth, literally drowning in it. He clutched his
throat, trying to pry imaginary fingers from around it. Then his hands went to his heart as his chest began to literally rip open.

Shea cried out but could not look away with Gregori forcing her to obey his command. Then suddenly, as Slovensky's heart exploded violently out of his chest and he slumped forward, face down onto the floor, she was released.

Wallace made strange sounds, little mewling noises interspersed with curses. He dragged Shea to her feet, forced her with him toward the door. Her back was to him, and for a moment Shea was curiously thankful. She had never killed or injured another human being in her life. She had taken an oath to save lives. Every instinct in her was to go to Raven, see if there was anything she could do. Even to go to the sick old man and try to aid him. Killing was utterly out of her realm.

You did not kill him
, Jacques said soothingly.

I was the instrument you used,
she protested. As Wallace dragged her outside, the light hit her eyes, and she cried out as a thousand knives seemed to pierce her skull.

Look at this man, his hand on you, anything I can use
, Jacques ordered gruffly. He could feel her horror, her reluctance.

I can't, Jacques. I can't think
. It was true. Her mind was consumed with grotesque images of blood and death.

This time it was not Gregori who took charge. Jacques gripped her mind in a hold of steel, forcing her compliance. He was far stronger than she had ever imagined him to be, and supremely confident in his abilities, even in the morning hours. The Carpathians men were coming closer, too. Even with the burden of protecting Byron, they were moving rapidly as a group toward the cabin.

Mikhail reluctantly split off from the rest of them, Byron a dead weight in his arms, his path away from the forest and toward the cave of healing. But his concentration on
his wife and child was total. He had no room for any other emotion. He kept their waning life force flickering in his mind, held them locked to him, giving them no chance to die before the healer was there to aid them.

Jacques concentrated his venom on the man who had so cruelly tortured him, who now had Shea in his loathsome hands. His hatred was all-consuming, complete, and he focused it and aimed it through Shea. She could see the red haze of killing desire, the need and hunger for it, the pleasure he took in it. He aimed and focused on the only part of Wallace Shea could see.

Don Wallace felt a sudden burning sensation, glanced down, and saw his arm smoking. It burst into flames, red and orange. The smoke whirled up, shaping itself into a malicious, laughing face. Wallace knew that face, had created every tormented line in that face. He screamed and shoved Shea away from him, slapping at his arm with his other hand to try to stop the fire racing up his flesh. He could smell himself charring like so many of the victims he had enjoyed torturing.

Shea fell heavily, clutched at her arm, wanted to remain lying on the ground with her eyes closed tightly. The compulsion to turn and face Wallace was too strong. She sat and stared at him helplessly.

Don Wallace found himself floating in the air, his scattergun on the ground below. The flames died as suddenly as they had begun, but his arm was a mass of charred flesh. Still screaming, he struggled with his one good hand to pull his revolver out of his shoulder holster. He was horrified when it seemed to take on a life of its own and slowly pointed itself at him. His own finger found the trigger and compulsively settled over it.

Shea made a sound in her throat. This was a scene from a horror film, yet she couldn't look away. A huge black wolf burst from the underbrush, running flat out. It leapt into
the air, its gleaming jaws closing around Wallace's leg. Bones snapped like twigs as the wolf pulled the man to the ground and thrust its fangs at his exposed throat.

Shea was released from the mind hold and scrambled to her feet, rushing at the wolf tearing at the struggling man. “Jacques! No! You can't do this!” For one bizarre moment the wolf turned its head to look at her, and time stood still. She recognized Jacques' icy eyes and felt his triumph raging in her mind.

Gregori yanked her arm as he emerged from the woods running, still half wolf, half man, changing as he ran. “Come on, we have no time. Damn it, Shea, I need you. You are a doctor, a healer. Come with me.” He did not release her arm, and she was forced to sprint with him up the steps into the cabin.

Gregori shoved Slovensky's body out of the way with a boot. “Listen to me, Shea. We will have to do this together. Raven has shut down her body as much as she dared. Mikhail is keeping her and the child alive, but she is very weak, and the child is in trouble. You have to repair the damage done to Raven, and I will save the child.”

Shea was shocked. “She's still alive?” She attempted to back away from Gregori. “I only know human medicine. I have no knowledge of how you do what you do. I might kill her.”

“It is in you. Healers are born, not taught. You can do this. I will instruct you as we go. We have no time to argue, Shea. I cannot do this alone. Mikhail says Raven will lose the child in another few minutes. She has to allow her heart and lungs to continue, but her blood will pump out. And life will cease for all of them. Raven, the child, and Mikhail—we will lose all of them,” he reinforced. His eyes challenged her. “Do you do this with me?”