Dark Slayer (32 page)

The pack immediately went to her as they had done to him, lowering their bodies in submission. She rubbed her body along theirs, accepting their homage, and then the pack went crazy, leaping around playfully, wagging tails held high, bowing toward one another and then pouncing, rolling in the snow and coming up laughing.

Razvan felt Ivory’s laughter and then she lifted her head to the moon and howled for the sheer elation of it. Laughing, he joined her, adding his voice, claiming the territory, letting the pack sing their joyful music. The wild notes rang through the trees, lifted to the stars and moon and then there was silence as Ivory lifted her nose to scent the wind.

She took off running, streaking through the trees with the pack close on her heels, and Razvan discovered the sheer enjoyment of running in the pack. The wolf’s body was made for running, the slight webbing between the toes allowing him to race lightly and easily over the snow. Because the wolf walked on its toes, he found his weight was evenly distributed, making the body more efficient for running. Razvan loved the new form, reveling in the way his muscles stretched and contracted as he loped along, covering large amounts of ground, easily springing over fallen logs.

All the while he ran, and the pack left evidence of their passing through the glands on their feet, marking the trail for one another and warning others away. At first Ivory set a fast pace, running flat out, letting the pack feel their bodies again, the flow of muscle, the wealth of information, the sound of the forest. He could hear the water trickling below the ice and the way the needles rustled in the snow-laden branches overhead as the wind blew just hard enough to send the limbs swaying.

The scent of rabbit and fox was heavy, as well as that of an abundance of other forest creatures, all shivering in silence as the pack passed through their territories. Ivory swerved left, away from the Carpathian village toward the caves and sacred places the Carpathians used in their rituals. She didn’t want her pack to run into any local wolves. As a rule she kept an uneasy truce between her pack and any others they encountered, but for now they were exercising their freedom and deserved to go unscathed through any territory they chose.

She was proud of them for their roles in saving the farmer and his family; at least, she hoped the little girl was still alive. No one had told her one way or the other, although she could understand why. They had all been amazed at the volume of minerals and elements the earth had encased her and Razvan in, a primordial mixture of everything needed to revitalize and repair them. The earth had done so centuries earlier for her alone, without the healing aid or blood of the Carpathians. It had been a struggle to find enough blood to maintain life.

She had been nearly insane those long years, merely existing without thought for anything but survival and, in the intervening years, she had accepted her solitary life. Now, Razvan ran beside her, his shoulder occasionally brushing hers, his heart beating in rhythm with hers. Every step through the snow, winding through the trees, fording a small, still-unfrozen river and skirting ice edgings was so much more fun.

I forgot about fun
.

And there was that. Mind to mind. She wasn’t alone anymore and never would be again. Once Razvan had bound them together she had merged her soul with his, her body with his, mind and heart, until they were literally one in spirit. He had experienced her life, just as she had experienced his. There was nothing they could hide from one another. She didn’t know which was worse, the psychological damage Xavier had inflicted on Razvan or the torture. Once his aunts had turned him, she was certain that as a Carpathian male, the worst would have been being used to breed children for Xavier to consume. And also betraying his sister, desperate to send her warnings, only to have Xavier corrupt each message until the mage had nearly trapped her.

As she loped across a field of white, Ivory moved closer to him, wanting to experience his first time as a wolf, wanting to be the one to give him joyful memories to ease the worst of his experiences. He stretched his neck and ran it along hers as he moved, and she felt him move in her mind, surrounding her will with warmth.

I am having the time of my life. I have never had such fun. I am not certain I would have known how to have fun without you showing me. I suppose one needs to have a companion to share this kind of adventure with to really savor it
.

She liked the way he thought. Mostly she just liked his company. They played hide-and-seek in the trees and covered each other in snow. At one point Raja initiated a strange game of dog pile and Razvan seemed to be the one the wolves all leapt on, rolling in the snow and down an embankment, with Ivory laughing at him.

Razvan surged to his feet, reveling in the wolf’s strength, shaking his body to loosen the snow clinging to his black undercoat and the silver tips of his fur. Ivory leapt from the bank and hit him with her shoulder, sending them both tumbling back down the slope, rolling so that the ice crystals clung to their fur. When they rose, they looked like two wolves carved of snow.

Razvan rubbed his body along Ivory’s, helping to get the snow off before turning and directing the pack back toward the Carpathian homes scattered throughout the forest. It was an amazing feeling to have the entire pack follow him. Ivory was just two or three paces behind, all of them trotting in ground-eating silence. The wind was in his face, the night air singing to him, smaller animals scurrying away to safety as he led the wolves through the forest, giving the pack their due, knowing who ruled there in that moment.

Both Ivory and Razvan needed to feed before they went to their lair, and he was eager to go, to get out of Carpathian territory. It was one thing to “see” his sister and daughter from a distance, to be told he might have a second and third daughter he knew nothing about. But to face them and watch them judge him—that was much more difficult.

It matters little to us, Razvan. I know who you are. And I know what is in your heart and soul. If they choose to look at you with suspicion . . .

As they should
, he reminded gently, hearing the protective note in her voice. But it warmed him that she did know his heart and soul. She knew him better than anyone else, and if he was strictly honest, he had to admit that having one person in the world know what his life had been, what his sacrifices were, mattered.

You are a miracle, Ivory. It is good to know there is one person who holds my true life in her memories
. Why did it matter so much now, when he had accepted for so long that he was branded traitor, criminal, most despised and despicable Carpathian on the face of the earth. Just the thought that Ivory might believe he had bred children for the sole purpose of using their blood to feed his longevity made him ill.

Do not, Razvan. I have shared all of your life, even the most hazy of your memories. Whatever your body was directed to do, it was not your spirit, the essence of who you are, that allowed it to happen
.

He had to concede she was right.
But my choices led to him using my body
.

I have come to believe that fate hands us our destiny. Maybe I needed to endure the things in my life to be worthy of traveling by your side. Maybe you needed to endure your life in order to fulfill a great destiny. What we did shaped us and honed us into what we are now
.

And what she was—was everything. He turned his face from hers, hiding his eyes as he continued up the trail leading to the prince’s home. There was so much emotion in him for her that he didn’t dare let her see, afraid of scaring her. She was so fragile when it came to accepting actual love. He tasted the word on his tongue, found it belonged in his heart. Yes, he was in love with his lifemate, and the emotion grew stronger with every minute spent in her company.

Razvan lifted his head and sent a questing call to the prince, announcing the presence of the pack. He knew Raven, the prince’s lifemate, was pregnant and close to delivery. The entire Carpathian people anticipated the event and, no doubt, so did Xavier. That alone would make some of them suspicious about the timing of Razvan’s appearance. It was best if they paid their respects and left as quickly and as quietly as possible.

Do you think Xavier will make a move against the prince’s child?

I have no doubt, especially if the child is male
. Razvan considered it carefully.
He will have to make his move. He hates the Dubrinsky family above all else. They represent the power of an immortal race
.

We can be killed
, Ivory pointed out.
As such we are not truly immortal
.

When Xavier looks in the mirror, his flesh is rotting off the bone, and he looks at you, what do you think he wants? He stays alive now only by the blood of others, and yet every day he is slipping more and more. The blood cannot change his rotting brain. His entire life he has fought to defeat that family. He must do so now
.

Then we must be ready for him. This might be our chance, Razvan, but we will need time to prepare for the battle
. There was not so much eagerness as purpose in Ivory’s voice.

That is probably why the master vampire was in the area. He searches for Xavier
.

She drew in her breath sharply, skidding to a halt there in the deep forest. Razvan stopped immediately and turned back to her, shifting to his normal form. She followed his example, unknowing that her face was as pale as the snow beneath their feet.

“What is it?”

His voice was gentle. His eyes were gentle. Everything about him was, except for his strength, that deep, abiding, relentless strength that meant he would never stop. He didn’t put his arm around her to comfort her—she would have pulled away. He simply put one hand on her shoulder and looked her straight in the eye, questioning. Not once did he invade to demand an answer. He stood there, simply looking at her, waiting for her to confide in him. She found him irresistible.

“As you know, Sergey was my brother. Long ago, in another time, he was my brother, yet he joined our greatest enemy. The very man who had me torn apart. He became the very thing that Xavier used to chop me into pieces and scatter me to the wolves. They laughed, Razvan. I can still hear them sometimes when I first awaken from beneath the soil. I tell myself he is not my brother, but it was my brother who made this choice. He
wanted
to become vampire. He
chose
to go into league with Xavier. He did these things not to avenge me, but for power. Because my brothers believed the Carpathian people should follow them. They want power.”

She didn’t want that knowledge to hurt anymore. She wasn’t that same naïve young woman who adored her brothers and believed the best of everyone. She knew Prince Vlad had sent her to Xavier’s school, not to help her but to get her out of his son’s sight. She looked at Razvan, unaware of the tears in her eyes. “It still hurts.”

This time he did pull her close in that same gentle, slow way. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her face into his shoulder and just stood, silently offering her comfort. She thought his compassion might diminish her somehow, but it only filled her with warmth and steadied her as nothing else could. She wasn’t that young girl anymore, but she wasn’t alone either. She had Razvan, and somehow he fit her like a second skin.

“I am all right,” she whispered, pressing a kiss along his neck. The blood pounded there, calling to her. Her body stirred restlessly and she felt the instant answering heat of his. “It was a momentary weakness, passed now.”

“Not weakness,
fél ku kuuluaak sívam belső
—beloved. You are supposed to feel whatever you can. Regret, sorrow, pain, even betrayal. There is reason for sadness in that, for the loss of a loved one. Grief. You do not dwell on these things, but you must feel them. It is part of life.”

She sent him a small smile, pressed one last kiss against his neck just to feel his warmth and take in his masculine scent. She stood there, her body leaning into his, her face buried against his throat, and she knew she could face anything with him. “We certainly can say all those things have been part of our lives,” she agreed, forcing a briskness into her voice to cover the emotion that threatened to spill over as she stepped away from him.

His fingers curled around her arm, slid down to her wrist and remained there like a bracelet. She couldn’t look at him, not when her heart was so full. She felt silly and shy and out of her comfort zone. No one had touched her with such disarming tenderness. No one looked at her with such desire or love. She could only handle so much attention after being alone for centuries.

He cupped her chin in his palm and forced her head up, waiting until her long lashes lifted the veil over her eyes and their gazes locked together. She felt the rush of heat, like a drug pouring through her veins.

“You are a very dangerous man, Dragonseeker,” she whispered.

His slow smile set off a burn, low and sinfully wicked.

“That is just as well, warrior woman, as you are the most dangerous woman I know.” There was gentle amusement in his voice. And pure velvet heat.

He leaned his head down toward hers, taking his time in that slow, measured way he had. The way she knew he would stroke her skin. The way he touched her with the pads of his fingers, so light, but savoring, a slow burn that spread until the fire raged out of control, refusing to be dampened or extinguished.

She could feel her body tightening. Her breasts aching. Her womb spasming. His breath was warm and male. She couldn’t close her eyes. She watched his face change as he came closer and closer to her. The way he looked, those worn lines softening, the wonder on his face and the building hunger in his eyes. She could see his long lashes, thick and full, the only really feminine thing about him, when his body was all hard muscle and strong, broad bones.

His breath took hers. Exchanged. He breathed for her. In her. He took her over, with that same slow, measured stroke of his mind. And then his lips were on hers and a heat wave rushed over her. White lightning streaked in her veins, electricity sizzled and snapped over her skin until she was lost, drowning in the pure fire of his kiss.