Dark Fire (40 page)

"Darius, tell me what to do," she whispered, feeling more lonely than she ever had before. Smoothing the hair from his forehead with gentle fingers, she felt her heart turn over, then begin to pound. She had somehow fallen in love with him. He wasn't human. He was overbearing and dominant. They probably didn't have a chance in hell of making it work, but she wasn't about to fail him.

Somehow in the short time they were together, Darius had become her other half, more important to her than her own life. He shared his life, his memories, with her; he laughed with her, took care of her injuries before his own. He showed her in a thousand ways that he loved her. Despite his arrogant ways, he cared for her, cooked for her, saw to her every need. She
felt
his love. More important, through his memories, when their minds were melded, she saw his greatness. And she knew absolutely that he was willing to grow old and die for her.

Well, she was not about to lose him. Tempest eased him down so he would be more comfortable. No one else was around to give him the one thing he needed most. So she stretched out beside him, turning so that her head was pillowed on his shoulder.

"Here's the deal, my darling," she whispered. "You are going to take my blood, as much as you need to heal you. If it works, you'll wake up and save my life. Hopefully I won't be deranged." She made a face. "I really don't want to be deranged. So let's just do this and not think too much about it. Okay? This is my decision." She leaned into him and brushed her mouth against hi: neck. You
understand me, Darius? This is my decision, my free will. I want to do this for you. Take my blood. I'm offering my life for yours. I think you're a great man am well worth it.

She dug the pocket knife out of her jeans and, biting her lip hard, slashed a hideous gash in her wrist, instantly pressing it to his mouth.
Drink, love. Drink for both of us We live together or we die.
She meant every word. Then were no doubts, no regrets, but it hurt like hell.

At first she felt her blood flow into his mouth on it!

own, but then he moved weakly, bringing his hand up to capture her wrist, to press it tightly against him. His lips moved, drawing the precious liquid into his faltering body, a mindless, blind instinct for survival.

Tempest closed her eyes, allowed the gathering darkness to float her away.

Chapter Seventeen

Water dripped slowly from the ceiling of the cave and seeped from the walls, collecting into pools along the floor. It mixed with the rich red soil, making it look like blood lying in puddles on the steaming surface. Somewhere far off a rock fell, clattering against other boulders. Then there was silence again.

Darius became aware that he was lying on the ground, his body heavy and cumbersome. Hunger was a raw, gaping wound in his gut. He was aware of pain; he seemed to be floating in a sea of it. Something held him pinned to the ground, but he had no idea what had happened or where he was. He turned his head slowly, shocked at how difficult it was to do so. His mind seemed to be clouded, to be moving slowly. It took a moment for his eyes to focus. As they did so, the hand covering his mouth fell limply onto his chest.

The cry of pain and fear was torn from his very soul.

It echoed in the cave again and again, tormented and deep, reverberating to the heavens. Darius caught Tempest's wrist and hastily sealed the terrible gaping wound that had saved his life. "Baby, baby, what have you done?" He dragged her close, his hand over her stuttering heart. She was laboring for breath, her heart working far too hard. The blood loss was mortal. Tempest was dying.

Without a second thought, he tore a wound in his wrist and forced it over her mouth. A small amount of his blood would keep her alive until he had a chance to feed and supply her with a transfusion. His mind was a blank. There was only the litany of prayer. She could not die. He would never let her go. She could not die. He swore it to himself, to God. He sent her to sleep, commanding her to stay alive, forcing the edict into her brain, his will like iron. He made it clear that she dared not defy him in this.

When he was able, he left her, taking to the sky to hunt. He wasn't particular in his prey; he fed fast and voraciously, ruthlessly dropping his victims one by one onto the ground before he could kill them, his mind filled only with his need to get back to Tempest. It no longer mattered to him whether anyone else lived or died. There was only room for her. His entire will was bent on holding her to the earth with him.

This time, with his renewed strength, he pulled her into his arms, cradled her against his chest, and cut open a line over his heart. He fed her lovingly, ensuring that she took enough to live. When her body began to respond to the sustenance, she tried to move away from him. Darius merely forced her closer, held her tighter. She would obey him. That was all there was to it. He had given her far more freedom than he had ever thought possible, even when he could have compelled her obedience, but now he gave her no choice. This was for her life, for his soul. If she died, he was damned. He would never go quietly into the sun. He would wreak vengeance upon the world such as it had never seen. He would deliberately choose that course to get at those who had taken her from him.

When Darius was certain she was completely renewed, he gently inserted his hand between her mouth and his chest, closed the laceration, and laid her down. He would have to clean the blood from both of them before she awakened. He closed his eyes, reaching inside his body to repair the damage from the inside out. His hip wound was nasty, the bullet shattering the bone and doing more injury than he would have liked. The thigh wound was easier to repair; he was able to align everything and close off all the veins and arteries without much effort. He even bathed in the steaming pool before replacing the packs on his wounds. This time he mixed herbs with the soil and saliva.

Tempest began stirring restlessly. Darius went to her immediately, lying down beside her to encircle her shoulders in his arms, drawing her up so that she could rest her head against his chest. Her long lashes fluttered, but she didn't lift them. Darius traced the curve of her cheek and slipped his palm over her throat to feel her pulse beating into it.

"Wake up, honey. I need you to open your eyes," he coaxed softly.

"I'm thinking about it first," she answered tiredly.

"Thinking?" he echoed. "You took centuries off of my life, and you are thinking before you open your eyes?"

"Tell me what I look like first." Her voice was a mere thread of sound.

"You are not making sense." His voice was a black-velvet caress.

"Have my teeth grown? Do I look like a hag? I don't feel deranged, but you never know." Her lashes lifted, and she glanced up at him, laughter in the depths of her green eyes. "I could be, you know."

"Could be what?" She was so beautiful, she took his breath away.

"Deranged. Aren't you listening? After all, I decided on a lifetime of sucking blood from the necks of men."

"From the necks of men?" He could breathe again, really breathe. It was safe to allow his heart to beat again. "You will never, at any time, be sucking on the necks of men, unless, of course, it happens to be mine. I am a jealous man, baby, a very jealous man."

"Why don't I feel like I want blood? Shouldn't I have cravings?" She turned her head to look up at him. His color was back, his clothes once more immaculate. How did he do that? She didn't really care. She was so tired, she just wanted to sleep. "I still don't like closed-in places. I thought I might wake up wanting to hang upside down like a bat or something," she teased.

He caught the worried note, the one she was desperately trying to hide from him. His fingers tangled in her hair in a soothing massage. "We will get through this, Tempest. I cannot believe you took such a chance with your life. I will have much to say to you when you are feeling better. You were told the decision was made, and yet you deliberately chose to place your life in jeopardy. I will not get over this for many centuries." He would never get over her courage, the act of sheer love she had committed for him. For
him.
His heart was melting even as it was pounding in a kind of terror for what would follow.

"Stop lecturing me, Darius," she said softly, pressing a hand to her stomach. Her insides were beginning to feel hot and uncomfortable, as if they were suddenly twisting and turning. "Oh, God, I'm sick."

Instantly he placed his hand over her stomach and felt the writhing inside her body, the building waves of heat. He swore softly. The breath rushed out of her, tore a cry of pain from her throat. She jerked up, then slammed back against him. He laced his fingers through hers.

"It has started, my love. You are going through the conversion." He merged his mind with hers, focused, shouldered as much of the pain as he was able.

The first wave of pain lasted several minutes. An eternity. Darius was sweating and swearing in every language he knew. When she grew quiet, he wiped the beads of blood from her face with shaking fingers.

Tempest moistened her lips, her green eyes cloudy with shock. "If you leave me in the first century after this, Darius, I swear to you, I'll hunt you down like a dirty dog. They said painful. Remind me to tell them that's an understatement."

"They may not be alive for you to tell," he threatened, brushing back the silken strands of her hair, now damp and clinging to her skin. He wanted to strangle Syndil and Desari for their interference.

She tightened her grip on him, her muscles going rigid. Darius had to hold her down as her body seized and contorted, the fire racing to tissue and bones. It squeezed her heart and lungs, reshaping, changing her organs, the pain so intense that it drove all color from her face even when he shouldered the agony with her.

At last the wave ebbed slowly away, giving her another respite. Her nails were digging into his arm. "Can you make it stop, Darius?" The plea was wrenched from her when she didn't want to ask. She knew him enough to know he would stop any suffering the moment he was able. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that." She whispered the words hoarsely, reaching up to touch his perfect mouth with trembling fingers. "I can do this. I know I can." But it was swelling in her body again, red-hot fire that threatened her very sanity.

Darius could not believe she was trying to reassure him in the midst of such agony. He could only hold her, feeling helpless, tears gathering in his eyes, a prayer for mercy in his soul, his mind merged as strongly with hers as possible.

Tempest wanted to scream and scream, but no sound emerged. She was going to be sick, and some shred of mindless modesty had her blindly crawling away from Darius. But he was merged so tightly with her, he could read the needs of her body. It was desperately trying to rid itself of toxins, of the last remnants of human blood and waste. He held her in his arms, blood-red tears etching paths down his face.

He had never wanted this for her, never wanted her to suffer the fires of conversion. He found he could barely breathe, protesting the pain she was enduring on his behalf. She seemed so small and fragile in his arms, so close to shattering.

Stay with me, my love. In another few minutes it will be safe to send you to sleep, where the pain cannot reach you. Please stay with me.

With the fire ripping through her, with her muscles locking and her body convulsing, she still made the attempt to reassure him. Her fingertips brushed his neck in a light caress before her hand fell away. Darius wept, his chest so tight that he felt his very heart had split in two.

The moment there was no chance of Tempest choking to death on her own vomit or blood, Darius sent her into a deep sleep so that her body could finish its work on its own. He held her tightly in his arms, a part of him still locked with her, insurance that nothing could go wrong. Only when he was certain the conversion was complete and she was safe did he strip the filthy clothes from her body and wash her gently and lovingly.

He sat for a long while, exhausted and wrung out by her ordeal, his mind, so often calm, in chaos. He had never conceived of anyone ever loving him enough to suffer the fires of hell for him. He felt humbled by her sacrifice. He kissed her, his touch tender and reverent, before opening the ground. Then Darius put Tempest into the sleep of Carpathians, closing the earth over her so that the soil could rejuvenate her.

As the earth closed over her body, Darius turned his head slowly toward the tunnel leading from the cave back toward the surface. His black gaze was utterly cold, without mercy. He felt the beast in him rising, and he made no effort to stop it. Red flames flickered in his black eyes. He had not hunted down and destroyed these murderers months ago when they had first attacked his sister. His instincts had been to find and destroy all of them, but his kind had always attempted to fit into the civilized world, to avoid drawing attention to themselves and their activities. At this moment, however, there was no longer hesitation; there was not a shred of civility in his body or soul.

He protected the cave with the strongest safeguards he had ever used, determined that no one, human or Carpathian, would go near Tempest while she slept, would not live if they tried to enter the cave. And then he was streaking through the tunnel, bursting out into the night sky, his mind a red haze of vengeance.

The concert was over, Desari and Syndil safe in a closely guarded room, Cullen with the group. They suddenly all went quiet, exchanging a long, knowing look. Julian glanced skyward. "He has risen. There will be no calming him. He is bent on destroying those who took Tempest." He sounded complacent and unhurriedly bent to kiss Desari. Then, with Dayan and Barack, he went out to the small porch off the suite.

Dayan took a running leap and launched himself skyward. "It is rather ironic that we now leave the human with our women." He was shape-shifting even as he spoke, feathers rippling along his wide-spread arms.

"Our women can handle one human male," Barack growled as he joined Dayan, also choosing the body of the night owl to race across the distance, attempting to catch up with their leader.
Syndil, stay across the room from that blond
human
flirt. If I catch you making eyes at him, there will be hell to pay.