Dark Prince (Author's cut special edition) Read online

  She rejected the beckoning peace, fought to hang on to life. Mikhail’s life. She wanted to brush her fingertips over the lines of strain she knew would be around his mouth. She wanted to ease his guilt and rage, assure him that everything had been her own choice. His love, total, uncompromising, unconditional, endless, was almost more than she could cope with. Most of all she was aware of the strange changes taking place in her body.

  None of it touched her, wrapped tightly, protectively, in the cocoon of Mikhail’s love. He breathed, she breathed. His heart beat, her heart beat. Sleep csitri—little one. I will watch for both of us.

  After several long, backbreaking hours, Gregori straightened up, his hair damp with perspiration, his face weary and lined, his body aching with fatigue. “I have done my best. If she lives, she will be able to have a child. Mikhail’s blood and the soil should complete the healing process. The change is taking place rapidly. She does not understand and does not fight it.”

  He pushed a hand stained with her precious blood through his hair. “She fights only for Mikhail’s life, thinks only of his life and how her death would affect him. I think it is better if she does not understand what is actually happening to her. She does not know the extent of her wounds. There is much pain. She suffers greatly, but she is not a quitter, this one.”

  Jacques was already preparing new poultices to replace the blood-soaked ones. “Can we give her more blood? She is still losing more than I like, and she is so weak, I fear she will not live through the night.”

  “Yes,” Gregori replied tiredly, thoughtfully, “but no more than a pint or two. We must do this slowly or we will alarm her. What she would accept unconditionally in Mikhail, she will not accept in herself. Give her my blood. It is potent, like Mikhail’s, and he grows weak trying to breathe for her and keep her heart going.”

  “You are tired, Gregori,” Jacques protested. “There are others.”

  “Not with my blood. Do as I say.” Gregori seated himself calmly and watched as a needle was inserted into his vein. No one argued with Gregori; he was a law unto himself. Only Mikhail could truly call him friend or command him.

  Celeste drew in a deep breath, wanting to say something to Gregori that would indicate her admiration, but a look in his eyes stopped her. Gregori was calm in the eye of the storm, but he was lethal in his coolness.

  Jacques allowed Gregori’s precious life fluid to flow directly into Raven’s veins. It wasn’t the best or fastest way for healing, but Gregori’s observations alleviated Jacques’s concerns. Only after he had assured himself that the blood was flowing easily did Jacques sit down again. They had to organize themselves, make certain every detail was taken care of. Mikhail believed details saved lives. “We need to assess the damage to our people. All of the assassins died? Not one escaped?”

  “Hans, the American couple, and the man who attacked Raven all died.” Eric counted them off. “They were the only ones present. No mortal could have survived the intensity of the storm, or the killing rage in the animals. If there had been an unseen observer, Mikhail or the beasts would have known.”

  Gregori stirred tiredly, his enormous strength beginning to fade with his continuing efforts. “There was no other.” He said it imperiously, as if no one would think to question him, and of course they wouldn’t.

  Jacques found a small grin for the first time all evening. “But you made a clean sweep of the area, Eric?”

  “Absolutely. The bodies are burned, caught together under a tree as if for shelter and hit by lightning. There is no evidence of wounds,” Eric reported.

  “Tomorrow a search will be launched for the missing tourists and Hans. Byron, your house is close; the other assassins will suspect you. Do not go near your home. Vlad must take Eleanor and the child away from this area completely.”

  “Are they able to travel?” Gregori asked.

  “By car.”

  “We have the night. I have a house I use in the winter months sometimes, not often. It is well protected, difficult to access.” Gregori’s smile did nothing to warm his silver eyes. “I like my privacy. At the moment it is unoccupied. I offer it freely for the protection of the woman and child for as long as there is need. The house is well over a hundred miles from this place, and I roam the world hunting, so you will not be disturbed. At present it is evident that I am needed here.”

  Before Vlad could protest, Jacques preempted him. “Excellent idea. That solves one of our problems. Byron has his own bolt-holes. Start now, Vlad. Guard Eleanor well. She is precious to us, as is the child.”

  “I must speak to Mikhail. Eleanor is very distraught that she put Raven’s life in jeopardy.”

  “Mikhail is not himself.” Jacques removed the needle from Raven’s limp body and Gregori’s arm. Her breath was so light, so shallow, he didn’t see how Mikhail could keep her going. “You will have to discuss things at another time. He is forced to use all his energies for Raven’s survival. His woman is not breathing on her own.”

  Vlad frowned, but complied when Gregori waved him out. He might have stayed to argue with Jacques to ease the conscience of his lifemate, but all obeyed Gregori. He was Mikhail’s right hand, the most relentless of their hunters, the true healer of their people, and he guarded Mikhail as he might a great treasure.

  “None of our people have fed this night,” Eric pointed out, studying his wife’s pale features. “No human will be out.”

  “The risk is great when we are forced to enter a dwelling.” Jacques sighed, wishing he could consult Mikhail.

  “Do not disturb him,” Gregori said. “She needs him more than we do. If she dies, we lose him and any real chance at a future for our race. Noelle was the last known female to survive, and that was well over five hundred years ago. We need this woman to continue our species. We must be at full strength. It is not finished.”

  Mikhail stirred, and opened his dark, haunted eyes. “It is not finished. There are at least two others, possibly four. Eugene Slovensky, Kurt Von Halen. I do not know the identity of the other two travelers, or if they are even involved. Their names should be at the inn, Mrs. Galvenstein can provide them.” Long lashes drooped. Mikhail’s fingers tunneled deeply into Raven’s hair, as if he could drag her back from the brink of death.

  Jacques watched those long fingers stroke her hair lovingly. “Can we put her in soil for a few hours, Gregori?”

  “It should speed the healing process.”

  Eric and Jacques went down to prepare the cellar, opening the earth with a single command, creating enough space to lay two bodies side by side. They moved Raven carefully, and Mikhail stayed close to her side, never speaking, focusing his entire concentration on her heart, her lungs, on preserving the dim light that contained her will to live.

  He lowered himself deep into the bowels of the earth, felt the healing properties of the rich soil as it settled around him like a welcoming bed. He accepted her slight weight, fitting her body into the shelter of his.

  Mikhail moved his hands to form a slight tunnel over their heads and ordered the earth to blanket them. The soil filled in closely around and over his legs, her legs, covering their bodies, pressing them deeper into the earth.

  Raven’s heart leapt, nearly missing a beat, became erratic in spite of the firm beating of his own heart. I’m alive! They’re burying us alive!

  Be still, little one. We are of the earth. It is offering to heal us. You are not alone, I am here with you.

  I can’t breathe.

  I am breathing for us.

  I can’t stand it. Make them stop.

  The earth has recuperative powers. Let them work. I am Carpathian, of the earth. There is nothing to fear. Not the wind or the soil or the waters. We are one.

  I am not Carpathian. There was sheer terror in her mind.

  We are one. Nothing can hurt you.

  She closed herself off from him, began a frantic struggle that could only end her life. Mikhail realized it was futile to argue. She could not ac
cept the earth closing around her, over her head. He released them from the ground immediately, forced her heart to slow to normal, and floated upward with her in his arms. Another solution had to be found.

  “I feared this,” he said to Jacques, who was still in the cellar. “Carpathian blood runs strong in her veins, but her mind sets human limits. Burial represents death. She cannot tolerate the deep earth.”

  “Then we must bring the soil to her,” Jacques said.

  Mikhail felt the first ripple of unease, a swelling pain moving through Raven’s body. He gasped and looked down at her face. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at him, terror on her face. He brushed back strands of dark hair, trying to understand what was happening.

  Gregori. He sent the call to their healer—to his friend—to the one man he had counted on for centuries. There is something wrong. Hurry.

  He knew the anxiety would lend haste to Gregori’s return. Raven reached out blindly with her hand and caught his, her fingers curling tightly as the breath slammed out of her lungs. Pressure built in the air around them, and Gregori materialized, already bending over Raven, his hands gentle, his strange silver eyes examining her body.

  Tell me, Mikhail commanded. He already knew the answer. He had hoped the whispered rumors were myth, but he was certain of what Gregori was going to tell him.

  She undergoes the conversion. We knew it would happen eventually, Mikhail. Gregori sank down beside the couple. His touch on Raven eased the ragged breathing, but couldn’t stop the waves of pain, each increasing in strength and duration. They both had known it, but both had hoped she’d be spared the ugly rumors of just how the conversion took place.

  Mikhail tried to block the pain she was feeling, to take as much pain as possible on his own shoulders, but there was no stopping the building waves. His eyes met Gregori’s over her stiffening body. Stark terror was in his black gaze—terror, when Mikhail had never known such an emotion before.

  Breathe for her, Mikhail. You have to remain in control and calm so she will.

  The fear of Raven going mad was uppermost in both of their minds. No human woman had been successfully converted, at least not to their knowledge. Would she go mad as all the women before her had done? Her body suddenly convulsed, the seizure so hard she was lifted up and slammed down beside Mikhail, as if unseen hands had thrown her.

  Mikhail. What’s happening to me? The pain receded enough to leave her panting, desperately reaching for him.

  Mikhail tried to send her to sleep, but it was impossible with the next swelling pain taking over her mind, and rushing through her body with the force of a freight train. Can you send her to sleep? Put her into the ground to finish this.

  Gregori shook his head. Her organs are reforming. It is no easy process, Mikhail. She wouldn’t survive in the ground. We will have to wait until her body has converted. Then you can send her to sleep and let her heal.

  If she makes it through. Mikhail’s voice was grim.

  Gregori shrugged. There was nothing to be done except to try to make Raven as comfortable as possible. Both men took on as much of the pain as possible. The conversion seemed to last for hours, terrible long minutes of seizures and waves of agony that rocked them all, but in truth, it was probably less than an hour before the waves subsided and she began to breathe raggedly on her own.

  Through it all, Jacques watched over them, guarding the house and ensuring no enemies could creep up on them while they were unaware.

  Gregori left his own body and went into Raven’s as she grew quieter. The worst has passed, Mikhail.

  After reaching out to Mikhail right at first, Raven had tried to protect him by trying to hold the pain away from him. She lay quiet, a limp rag doll, worn from the ordeal. Clearly she had no idea what had happened, thinking the seizures had come from the multiple stab wounds.

  Gregori stood wearily, very pale and worn himself. His silver eyes glittered down at Mikhail. “Do you realize the enormity of what has happened here? You have successfully converted a human woman. She is no deranged vampiress, but a true Carpathian with our blood flowing in her veins. You have given our people true hope.”

  Mikhail shook his head. “Who would ever want the woman they love to suffer as Raven has? And we have no idea what this could have done to her mind. We will not know for some time.” Guilt ate at him. He wasn’t certain he could actually face her again.

  Gregori dropped his hand on Mikhail’s shoulder, but said nothing at all before he vanished, his form shimmering for a moment before it was gone.

  “She is so weak, Jacques.” Mikhail held Raven to him, his face etched with grief. “It makes no sense that this was done to her. And I did not help things by exchanging blood with her.”

  “Had you not, Mikhail,” Jacques pointed out, “we would have been unable to save her.”

  “I have been so selfish with her—I am still being selfish. I should have allowed her to find peace, but I could not. I would have followed her, Jacques, but I do not know if I would have gone quietly from this world as I should have.”

  “And then what of the rest of us? She represents our chance, our hope. We have to have hope, Mikhail. Without it none of us can continue for much longer. If she can survive the conversion, than there is hope that the rest of us may find a lifemate among human women.” Jacques paused at the door out of the cellar. “I will get a mattress. Byron, Eric, and I will cover it in the richest soil we can find.”

  “Have the others fed?”

  “The night is fully upon us, we have many hours.”

  In the cellar they set up a healing bed, used herbs and incense, covered the mattress in three inches of earth. Once again Raven and Mikhail settled together, her head on his chest, his arms holding her close. Raven’s breath came in slow gasps, but she didn’t open her eyes while they worked. Jacques packed the soil beneath her so that it contoured to the curves of her body. They formed a thin blanket of it to lay over them, added a sheet so she would be able to feel the reassuring comfort of cotton against her neck, her face.

  “Keep her still, Mikhail,” Jacques encouraged. “The wounds are closing, but she is still losing blood. Not much, and we can give her more blood in a couple of hours.”

  Mikhail rested his cheek against her silky head, allowed his eyes to close. “Go feed, Jacques, before you drop,” he murmured wearily.

  “I will go when the others return. We will not leave you and your woman unprotected.”

  Mikhail stirred as if he might protest, but then a grin tugged at the hard edges of his mouth. “Remind me to take you out back and teach you a lesson or two when I am feeling more myself.” He fell asleep with the sound of Jacques’s laughter in his ears and Raven wrapped tightly in his arms.

  Outside, the rain eased to a fine drizzle and the winds died down, taking the thunderclouds with them. The earth was silent after the series of quakes. Cats and dogs and livestock settled down to their normal behavior. Wild animals sought shelter finally from the storm.

  Raven awoke slowly, painfully. Before she opened her eyes, she assessed the situation. She was hurt, she should be dead. She was in Mikhail’s arms, their mental bond stronger than ever. He had dragged her back from death, then offered to let her go—if he went with her. She could hear the sounds of the house creaking over her head, the soothing sound of rain beating a tattoo on the roof, at the windows. Someone moved in the house. If she worked at it, she would be able to figure out exactly who it was and where in the house he was, but it seemed far too much trouble.

  Slowly she allowed the horror of what had happened to replay in her head. The trapped woman about to give birth, the ugly fanaticism that led to such brutal murder and insanity. Jacob’s face as he slapped her, ripped her clothing. The terrible swelling pains that caused her body to seize from so many stab wounds.

  Raven’s low cry of alarm brought Mikhail’s arms tighter around her, his chin nuzzling her head. “Do not think of such things. Let me send you to sleep.”

 
; She curled her fingers against his throat, needing the reassurance of his steady pulse. “No. I want to remember, to get it over.”

  His uneasiness was instantaneous. It disturbed her as nothing else could. “You are weak, Raven. You will need more blood, more sleep. Your wounds were very serious.”

  She moved then, just shifted her weight slightly. Pain clawed at her. “I couldn’t reach you. I tried, Mikhail, for that woman.”

  He brought her fingers to the warmth of his mouth, pressed them there. “Never again, Raven, will I fail you.”

  There was more pain in his heart and mind than in her body. “I chose to follow them, Mikhail. I chose to involve myself and help the woman. I knew exactly what those people were capable of. I didn’t just walk into the situation blindly. I don’t blame you, please don’t think you failed me.” It was such an effort to talk. She wanted to sleep, wanted the blessed oblivion of a numb mind and body.

  “Let me send you to sleep,” he whispered softly, his voice a caress, his mouth brushing across her fingers an added enticement.

  Raven swallowed her assent; she would not be a coward. How could she possibly still be alive? How? She remembered the terrible moment when Jacob’s hands had clawed at her breasts. Unclean. Her skin crawled at the memory. She wanted to scrub until she had no skin. His face, so evil, maniacal, malevolent. Every tearing stab a mortal wound.

  The storm, the earthquakes, lightning, thunder. Wolves leaping at the Summerses, at Hans. How did she know, see it in her mind so clearly? Jacob’s face dissolving into fear, his eyes wide with terror, a knife protruding from his throat. Why wasn’t she dead? How did she know everything?

  Mikhail’s fury. It was beyond imagination, beyond the mere bounds of a physical body. Nothing could contain such turbulent rage. It spilled from him, fed the storm until the very earth heaved and rolled, bolts of lightning slammed into the earth, and rain poured down.

  Was this all real or some horrendous nightmare? But she knew it was real, and she was close to some terrible truth. There was so much pain, she was so tired, and Mikhail was her only comfort. She wanted to crawl back into the shelter he provided and just let him protect her and keep her safe until she was strong again. Mikhail simply waited, allowed her to choose. He was providing warmth, love, closeness, but he was holding something inside himself, away from her.