Dark Sentinel Read online

  He released her mind, and she blinked at him, still kneeling, but now he was about a foot from her in the depression. He should have had Barnaby dig it deeper, but he couldn’t take the time. He attempted a smile at her, going for reassurance, but just looking at her hurt nearly as much as the hole in his chest.

  On her, the colors appeared even more vivid. Her hair, with the moon shining down on it, was a beautiful mix of hues. Her skin was nearly translucent, she was so pale. He knew that was from him taking her blood.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  She blinked several times, calling his attention to the sweep of thick, long lashes. “Where’s the stake? How did you get it out?” On her knees, she shuffled closer to him and let out a little feminine gasp that caught him somewhere deep when she saw the hole in his chest packed with soil. It wasn’t a small hole. It hadn’t been a small stake.

  “I didn’t want you to have to deal with it. I do need your help. I’m weak. Really weak.”

  She looked beyond him and then turned around fast, clearly looking for the three men.

  “They left. Ran.”

  “Cowards, but I’m glad they’re gone. Still, having them where I could see them made me happier because now I have to worry they might come back to try to kill us.”

  “They ran out of here and I planted a suggestion, one that if it takes means they won’t even remember us.”

  “You’re an extremely strong telepath,” she said. “And I can’t believe you’re still alive, but we need to call for help. Get a helicopter to get you out of here. I’m going to have to hike up to the top of the mountain and see if I can get cell service.”

  He shook his head. “Are you camping with a tent?”

  “Of course.” Her fingers brushed at the stubble on his face. She had a little frown as she rubbed at something along his jaw, determined to remove it. He was certain it was a bloodstain. Her gaze studiously avoided any other part of his body where the wounds had bled, leaving wet, red stains behind.

  “How long will it take you to break down your camp and bring everything here?”

  She frowned at him. “Not long at all. I camp a lot, but seriously, Andor, I’m not good at taking care of injured people, and you don’t seem to realize how bad off you are. We need a helicopter.”

  “My body doesn’t respond to regular medicine.”

  “Does it respond to a surgeon repairing holes in it? That gash in your stomach was horrendous. And that stake . . .” She trailed off, going even paler if that was possible.

  “No, I told you, although you’re trying hard to make me human. I hunt vampires. My body makeup is different. I know you thought I was going to die and you humored me by allowing me to put soil in my wounds, but the earth really has healing properties.” Sun scorch him, he was exhausted. “Please. I’m asking for your help. Get your things and come back. Wild animals will find me and I’m helpless.”

  She regarded him with a small frown. “I didn’t think about the animals, but you’re right. I have no idea what to do.” She sank back onto her heels. “If I leave you to hike up the mountain, you could really be in danger. If I stay, seriously, Andor, you could die. You should already be dead.”

  He was beginning to really fall for that frown, or maybe he was just so light-headed from the pain. Keeping it at bay was becoming difficult in spite of the infusion of blood. He was still leaking far too much, and right now, blood was at a premium. He had been careful not to leave the three vampire assassins too weak. He wanted them out of the area.

  “Just hurry and get your camping things.”

  “The scent of blood will draw wildlife. There are bears and coyotes in these mountains. For all I know, there could be wolves, but I don’t think so. I can’t leave you alone.”

  “You have to. We need your tent. I can’t be out in the sun. Not even for a few minutes. You have to cover me with your tent and the soil through the daytime. I’ll sleep and hope the soil starts the healing process.” It was going to be a long process at the rate he was going.

  He knew the moment he’d won. Her expression changed from worry and indecision to determination. “It’s going to take about twenty minutes. I’m not that far from here, but it is a little bit of a hike.” She was already on her feet, anxious to go now that they had a plan.

  “Lorraine, thank you for not asking questions and arguing.”

  “What would be the use? I can’t leave you, and I can’t raise anyone from down here in this valley. You’re either going to live or die, and you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, so I’m betting you’re going to live.”

  He hoped she was right. He didn’t feel very strong. In fact, he just wanted to close his eyes and let the night take him for a little while. Just to give himself a few minutes where he didn’t have to block the pain. It was taking so much strength. He was trying to slow the steady leaking of blood. Once she was back with the tent and had set everything up, he could take more of her blood, but he needed her fit, not weak.

  “I’ll need water,” he reminded as she started to turn away.

  “I have plenty, and there’s a stream not too far from here. I have a filtration system.” She was backing away, her eyes moving over his torn body for the first time since he’d been in her mind. She swallowed hard and shook her head again. “I’ll be back in a few, hang on.”

  Andor watched her go. She seemed to take his strength with her. His lungs continued to burn for air, telling him he needed to shut down soon. There was too much damage to his body. He had destroyed seven vampires. Two were very close to being master vampires. They’d lived long enough that he should have run across them, but he seldom remembered names or even faces of the undead.

  He closed his eyes. She would come back, although she really detested the sight of blood. He’d read the revulsion and the way it had made her ill. Her stomach had churned and she’d fought not to be sick. She’d really had to work not to faint. It was a testimony to her courage and tenacity that she’d stuck around to help him.

  She was his lifemate. He knew she was, yet he was so wounded he couldn’t bind them together, he didn’t dare. That meant she could still walk away from him, and he’d be more dangerous than ever. He could only hope that he had read her correctly and she was everything he believed her to be. She was coming back. She had to, if he had any chance at all of surviving.

  2

  Lorraine was absolutely certain when she returned to Andor she would find him dead. No one could live with wounds that horrendous. They just couldn’t. It was impossible. She felt like a coward leaving him so she wouldn’t have to witness his death. God knew she’d seen enough blood and death for a lifetime. She was certain when she returned it would be over and he would be dead.

  She stood by her tent, shaking, her hands over her face. Her stomach heaved. She had to breathe deeply to keep from being sick. All that blood. She hadn’t looked at the ground other than the one time, but when she had, the dirt under and around the man had been wet and slick with blood. His clothes had been covered in it, so stained she’d thought he was wearing red. Everywhere she’d looked on his body, he’d had wounds. And that stake . . .

  What was wrong with the world? Were people really so cruel and ugly as to drive a stake through a man? The circumference of the wooden rod had been about that of a broom handle. How could someone actually drive that through human flesh? Her stomach heaved again, and she felt the familiar rage churning in her belly.

  She had no idea where the three men had gone to, but she was angry with herself for not taking their pictures so she could describe them accurately and give the photos to the police when she had the chance. She was also very concerned that because she’d seen their faces, they would come after her to kill her.

  Lorraine forced herself to move, to begin breaking camp. She was an experienced camper and, although she was on automatic pilot, she w
as fast. Her camping gear was minimal because she had to pack everything in one backpack and carry it wherever she went. She was walking across the mountains, on a journey of self-discovery—at least that was what she told anyone she came across. In reality, if she was being strictly honest with herself, she knew she was running away.

  All that blood. She pressed her hand to her forehead and looked up toward the mountain peak. Up there, she could probably call for help. If she hiked up the mountain, it really would be too late, and Andor would die alone, probably at the teeth and claws of a wild animal rather than just bleeding out. She’d helped pack the wounds with dirt. She’d probably be charged with murder, because if the wounds didn’t kill him, the bacteria would.

  “Damn it!” She shouted it aloud. The night carried the sound of her voice to the other side of the valley. “Just damn it.” She whispered that one, because she knew she wasn’t going to let the man die alone. She couldn’t.

  Shouldering the large pack, she headed back to him. She had been telepathic all of her life. As a child, she’d thought everyone could hear what others were thinking. When she’d realized they couldn’t, she hadn’t wanted to be different and had tried to turn off her ability. She’d been unsuccessful. Then there was the period of time she’d embraced it as a gift, as something she could use, especially against her parents and brother. That phase hadn’t lasted very long, either. If only . . .

  She found her vision blurring. Tears ran down her face as she jogged back toward Andor. She thought she’d cried every tear possible, that she couldn’t have a single one left, but they were back. If only she hadn’t gone off to college. If only her parents had asked her to come home and talk to her brother. If only Theodore had called her himself.

  She nearly stumbled and that made her swipe angrily at the useless tears. They didn’t do any good, no matter what grief counselors said. Tears gave her a headache, but they didn’t bring back her parents or her brother. They didn’t stop the newspapers or tabloids from reporting or asking questions. Tears didn’t stop her so-called friends from ostracizing her.

  She started down the hillside, weaving her way through the trees to come to the wide meadow where Andor lay. She could see him lying very still, as if he were dead. He was in a shallow depression of freshly dug earth—like a grave. Or a partial grave. When she’d first arrived, swinging her cooking pot at the man standing over Andor, she hadn’t noticed that they’d dug out the ground. They clearly had planned to bury him. What if they’d made him dig it and that was why it was only a foot or so deep? She’d heard of that kind of sadistic behavior in serial killers.

  Her footsteps slowed. She didn’t want to go up to him and find him dead. She’d found enough people dead, their bodies soaking in bright red blood. Who knew there was so much blood in the human body? Or that it could be so sticky and get everywhere? She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and take the time to compose herself.

  Lorraine? The stirring was in her mind. Her name a soft whisper. Talking telepathically felt intimate. She hadn’t known that because she’d never known another being that could do it. She’d never even thought she could push her voice or thoughts into someone else’s mind.

  I’m here. You’re alive, then. She didn’t know if that was a relief or not. She forced her feet to move again, to walk toward him.

  I’m alive. Just barely. I need water. I cannot take your blood again so soon and I need something to help keep me alive until you are strong enough again.

  I’ve brought you some. She picked up the pace, hurrying to his side. She shrugged out of the backpack and caught up her water bottle.

  His eyes were intense, fixed on her face. She had never seen eyes the actual color of indigo, but that was the only true color to describe his eyes. A cross between a midnight blue and a deep violet. In the darkness, his hair and eyes both appeared inky until she got up close. There was only the briefest of hesitations and then she lifted his head gently, holding him as she pressed the water bottle to his mouth. For a moment she thought he might not drink, his face rippling with what appeared to be disgust, but she saw the moment he made up his mind and then drank.

  “I’m sorry it took so long. I was . . .”

  You thought I was dead and were afraid to come back to me. There was a twinge of humor in his voice as it brushed against the walls of her mind.

  “Well . . .” There was no denying it, not if he could read her thoughts. “Yeah. The thought of finding you dead out here in the middle of nowhere—” She broke off.

  It was difficult to hold his head up and not look down at his body covered in bloodstained clothes and dirt.

  “I shouldn’t have packed your wounds with dirt. I honestly didn’t think you had a chance of surviving, but you’ve lived this long, so maybe I was wrong. I should try to clean out the wounds.” Her stomach lurched again at the idea. “I’m not much of a medical type. I don’t even put Band-Aids on other people’s wounds.”

  I know this is difficult for you.

  That made her feel small. Guilty. Ashamed. He was the one suffering. She was acting like a baby. “What do you need me to do? I don’t have any painkillers with me.” She had aspirin but was afraid to give it to him. It was a blood-thinner, at least she thought it was, and the last thing he needed was to lose any more blood.

  “Can you put your tent up around me? Over the top of me, so that I’m inside it? It is large enough?”

  Because she was traveling distances and hadn’t known what kind of weather she’d be running into, Lorraine had brought an all-purpose tent, one that was larger than a single overnight tent. It was heavier and she could spend several rainy days in it, moving around if she had to.

  “Yes. I can set it up.”

  “The sun can’t touch me at all.” He issued the warning aloud.

  She lowered his head back to the ground and stepped away from him, trying not to think of the implication of those words. Lots of people had allergies to the sun. His skin wasn’t exceptionally pale, nor had she seen evidence of vampire teeth, but just the fact that he was still alive after being brutally assaulted and left with so many wounds that should have killed him made her think about what the three men had accused him of being.

  I’m not going to hurt you, Lorraine. Again, there was soft amusement in his tone.

  Her body clenched for no reason, deep inside, a purely feminine reaction to the sound of his voice brushing along the walls of her mind. It was truly intimate and every individual note felt as if he was stroking velvet over her skin.

  She didn’t answer him. Instead, she put the water bottle close to his hand and began to lay out her tent. It was easy to pitch, an extreme, rugged, mountaineering tent. Almost at once, she saw the problem. She couldn’t put the tent over the top of him with the floor in it. “I’m going to have to pitch the tent a distance from you and then find a way to get you inside.”

  “You’ll have to cut out the floor where the tent is positioned over me.”

  Her heart stuttered. “I can’t cut the floor out. It will ruin my tent. This wasn’t cheap, and I still have a long way to go.”

  “I’ll repair it for you.”

  She didn’t say he’d be dead by morning because that would have been rude. Instead, she touched her favorite camping knife to make certain she was wearing it on her belt and proceeded to lay out the tent for easy setup. She was going to cut the floor out exactly around him. It would be the dumbest thing she’d ever done, but she consoled herself with the idea that she was giving a dying man his last wish.

  It took a very short period of time to set up the tent, a giant hole in the floor surrounding him. She sank down onto the ground beside him. “I think we’re good. This is a heavy tent. It’s made to withstand wind and rain and lower temperatures. I think it will keep the sun off your skin. Do you have allergies?” She sent up a silent prayer that if he didn’t, he’d lie to her.


  He managed a small smile, and her heart nearly shattered. In spite of the blood and wounds, he was valiant. He fought to stay conscious. She could see it was an effort, but he did it for her. She wanted to tell him not to, but then if he let himself go to sleep, she feared he’d slip away and she’d be there in the close confines of the tent with a dead body.

  “I need you to dig out more of the soil around me and cover as much of me as possible.”

  Her heart accelerated. She found herself staring at him—at that face with all those angles and planes. All that stark male rawness. He was extremely masculine. He looked as if he could be quite dangerous even lying there with so many terrible wounds. He wasn’t threatening her in the least, quite the contrary. He was being quite gentle when he spoke to her, and she somehow knew he wasn’t accustomed to it.

  “I’m not burying you while you’re still alive.” She poured resolution into her voice because she had the feeling he was used to getting his way. The three would-be murderers had said he could beguile with his voice, and she believed them. Not because she believed he was a vampire, but because his voice was so powerful a weapon he could cast spells with it. The timbre and pitch were so perfect she wondered what he would sound like singing. Most certainly, he wouldn’t have trouble hypnotizing or mesmerizing an audience.

  “Not burying me alive,” he countered. “Just covering my body with soil. I told you, the composition of my body allows the soil to heal me. The more natural minerals, the faster I heal. This ground hasn’t been touched. The soil is particularly loaded with elements I need.”

  She thought he was a New Age nut. Newer than New Age. She’d never heard of any of her friends who were into that sort of thing believing in partially burying their bodies so the earth could heal them. How far should she go to humor a dying man?