Dark Prince (15 page)

"What's this all about? Is something wrong?" Raven asked softly, gently disentangling herself from the taller woman.

"Well, my dear," Margaret Summers said firmly, glaring at Mikhail and reaching for Raven. "We insisted Father Hummer bring us to check on you."

The moment the thin, wrinkled hand touched her arm, Raven recognized the push at her mind. At the same time her stomach heaved, rolled, and shards of glass pierced her skull, fragmenting her mind. For a moment she couldn't breathe. She had touched death. She drew away instantly, wiping her palm on her thigh.

Mikhail
! She focused on him entirely.
I'm sick
.

"Mrs. Galvenstein did not assure you Raven was safe in my care?" Mikhail gently but firmly inserted his body between Raven and the older woman. He had felt the older woman's clumsy attempt at a probe when she brushed by him. His teeth gleamed whitely. "Please enter my home and make yourselves comfortable. I believe it is growing rather cold out."

Margaret Summers was twisting this way and that, observing the table with two glasses and plates, the crumbs of pastry on two plates. Her eyes pinned Raven, as if trying to see through the material of her dress to her neck.

Mikhail's arm curved around Raven's shoulder, swept her into the healing shelter of his body. He hid his smile as he watched Mrs. Summers hold Shelly back until Father Hummer preceded them into Mikhail's house. They were so predictable. He bent his head.
Are you all right?

I'm going to throw up. The apple juice
. She looked up at him accusingly.

Let me help you. They will not know.
He turned, blocking her smaller frame with his large one. He spoke a soft command, kissed her gently.
Better?

She touched his jaw, her fingers conveying what she felt.
Thanks.
They turned together to face their visitors.

Margaret and Shelly were staring in awe at Mikhail's home. He had money, and the interior of his home reeked of it: marble and hardwood; soft, warm colors; artwork and antiques. It was obvious Margaret was both surprised and impressed.

Father Hummer seated himself comfortably in his favorite armchair. "I believe we interrupted something important." He looked pleased with himself and secretly amused, his faded eyes twinkling every time they met the blackness of Mikhail's fathomless gaze.

"Raven has consented to become my wife." Mikhail brought her fingers to the warmth of his mouth. "I did not have enough time to give her the ring. You drove up before I could put it on her finger."

Margaret touched the well-worn Bible sitting on the table. "How very romantic, Raven. Do you plan on being married in the Church?"

"Of course the child must be married in the Church. Mikhail is strong in his beliefs and would consider nothing less," Father Hummer said in a mild rebuke.

Raven kept her hand in Mikhail's as they curled up together on the sofa. Margaret's faded eyes were as sharp as talons. "Why have you been hiding out, my dear?" Her gaze was darting everywhere, trying to ferret out secrets.

Mikhail stirred, leaned back lazily. "You could hardly call it hiding out. We phoned Mrs. Galvenstein, your landlady, and let her know Raven was staying with me. Surely she told you."

"The last I heard of Raven, she had gone into the wilds to meet you for a picnic," Margaret declared. "I knew she was ill and I was worried, so I found out your name and asked the priest to escort us here." Her sharp gaze rested on a silver antique mirror.

"I'm sorry I caused you distress, Mrs. Summers," Raven said sweetly. "I've had a terrible case of the flu. If I had known anyone would be worried, I would have called." She said it pointedly.

"I wanted to see you for myself." Margaret pursed her lips together stubbornly. "We're both Americans, and I feel responsible for you."

"I am grateful for your concern. Raven is the light of my life." Mikhail leaned forward with his predator's smile. "I am Mikhail Dubrinsky. I do not believe we have been formally introduced."

Margaret hesitated; then, with a lift of her chin, she placed her hand in his and muttered her name. Mikhail oozed goodwill and love spiced mischievously with a healthy dose of lust for Raven.

Shelly eagerly introduced herself. "Mr. Dubrinsky?"

"Mikhail, please." His charm was so intense, Shelly nearly fell off her chair.

She wiggled a lot and crossed her legs to give him a better view. "Mikhail, then." Shelly flashed a coquettish smile. "Father Hummer tells us you are somewhat of a historian and would know all the folklore in and around the country. I'm doing a paper on folklore. Specifically, if there is any truth to the local legends. Would you know anything about vampires?"

Raven blinked, tried not to burst out laughing. Shelly was definitely in earnest, and she had fallen for Mikhail's magnetism. She would be very embarrassed if Raven laughed. She concentrated on Mikhail's thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. It helped her feel stronger.

"Vampires." Mikhail repeated the term matter-of-factly. "Of course the most popular area for vampires is in Transylvania, but we have our own stories. All through the Carpathian Mountains there are extraordinary tales. There is a tour, following Jonathan Harker's route to Transylvania. I am sure you would find it most enjoyable."

Margaret leaned forward. "Do you believe there is truth to the stories?"

"Mrs, Summers!" Raven showed her shock. "You don't, do you?"

Margaret's face closed down, her lips pursed again belligerently.

"I always have believed there is a grain of truth in nearly every story handed down through the ages. Perhaps that is what Mrs. Summers believes," Mikhail said gently.

Margaret nodded her head, relaxed visibly, and bestowed a benevolent smile on Mikhail. "I'm so glad we agree, Mr. Dubrinsky. A man in your position should certainly be a man with an open mind. How could so many people over hundreds of years tell such similar stories without some truth to the legend?"

"A living corpse?" Raven's eyebrows shot up. "I don't know about the Middle Ages, but I'd notice if dead people started walking around dragging off children."

"There is that," Mikhail agreed. "We haven't had a large number of unexplained deaths that I'm aware of in the last few years."

"But some of the locals tell stories of some pretty strange things." Shelly was loath to give up her ideas.

"Of course they do." Mikhail grinned engagingly. "It is so much better for business. A few years ago… when was it, Father? You remember when Swaney wanted to drum up the tourist trade and he poked himself in the neck with a couple of knitting needles and had the newspaper take pictures. He hung a wreath of garlic around his neck and walked about town, claiming the garlic made him sick."

"How do you know it wasn't real?" Margaret demanded.

"The pinpricks became infected. It turned out he was allergic to the garlic and he had no option but to confess." Mikhail grinned mischievously at the two women. "Father Hummer made him do penance. Swaney said the rosary thirty-seven times in a row."

Father Hummer threw back his head and laughed heartily. "He certainly had everyone's attention for a while there. Newspaper people were flying in from all directions. It was quite an entertaining show."

Mikhail grimaced. "As I recall, I had to spend so much time out of my office, I worked day and night for a week to catch up."

"Even you had enough of a sense of humor to appreciate his little venture, Mikhail," Father Hummer said. "I've been around a long time, ladies, and I've never once encountered a walking corpse."

Raven swept a hand through her hair, rubbed at her pounding head. The slivers of glass were relentless. She always associated such pain with prolonged exposure to a sick mind. Mikhail's hand came up, brushed her temple tenderly, trailed his fingers down her soft skin. "It is getting late, and Raven is still feeling the effects of the flu. Perhaps we could continue this discussion another evening?"

Father Hummer instantly rose. "Of course, Mikhail, and I do apologize for barging in at such an inopportune moment. The ladies were very agitated and it seemed the most expedient way to alleviate their fears."

"Raven can come back with us," Margaret offered solicitously.

Raven knew she would never survive a car ride with the woman. Shelly was nodding her head eagerly, giving Mikhail her best smile. "Thank you so much, Mikhail. I would love to discuss this further with you, maybe take some notes?"

"Of course, Miss Evans." Mikhail handed her his business card. "I am swamped with work right now, and Raven and I want to be married as soon as possible, but I will do my best to find some time." He was ushering his guests to the door, using his large, muscular frame and his beguiling smile to prevent anyone from touching Raven. "Thank you, Mrs. Summers, for offering to look after Raven for me, but we were interrupted, and I intend to make certain she does not leave me without the all-important ring."

When Raven moved to step around him, he cut her off, his body so graceful and subtle, that his movement was not noticed. His hand slid down her arm, shackled her fragile wrist. "Thank you for coming," she called softly from behind him, afraid that if she spoke too loud her head would shatter into a thousand fragments.

When their visitors had left, Mikhail dragged her protectively into his arms, his face a mask of dark menace. "I am sorry, little one, that you had to endure such a thing." He carried her into his house and made for the library.

Raven could hear soft words in his own language muttered under his breath. He was swearing and it made her smile. "She isn't evil, Mikhail; she's twisted, fanatical. It was like touching the mind of a burning crusader. She believes what she's doing is right." She rubbed the top of her head against the rigid set of his jaw.

"She is beneath contempt." He spat the words. "She is obscene." Very gently Mikhail deposited her in the comfort of his armchair. "She came to test me, to bring a priest into my home and try to outwit me. Her brush in my mind was clumsy and inept. She uses her gift to mark others for murder. She read only what I allowed."

"Mikhail! She believes in vampires. How could she possibly think you're a walking corpse? You have unusual gifts, but I can't see you murdering a child to keep yourself alive. You go to church; you're wearing a cross. The woman is nuts." She rubbed at her pounding temples in an effort to relieve the pain.

Chapter Six

Mikhail loomed over her, a dark shadow holding one of his herb concoctions in his hand. "And what if I was a mythical vampire, little one, holding you captive in my lair?"

She smiled up at his serious face, the pain in his brooding eyes. "I would trust you with my life, Mikhail, vampire or no. And I would trust you with the life of my children. You're arrogant and sometimes overbearing, but you could never be evil. If you are a vampire, then a vampire is not the creature of the legends."

He moved away from her, not wanting her to see how much her words meant to him. Such total, unconditional acceptance. It didn't matter to him that she didn't know what she was saying. He felt the truth of her words. "Most people have a dark side, Raven, I more than others. I am capable of extreme violence, cruelty even, but I am not a vampire. I am a predator, first and foremost, but I am not a vampire." His voice was husky, strangled.

Raven moved to close the distance between them, to touch the edge of his mouth, smooth a deep line. "I never thought such a thing. You sound like you believe such a terrible being exists. Mikhail, if such a thing was true, I would know you could not be one of them. You always judge yourself so harshly. I can feel the good in you."

"Can you?" he asked grimly. "Drink this."

"It better not put me to sleep. I'm going back to the inn to my own bed sometime this night," she told him firmly as she took the glass from him. Her voice teased him, but her eyes were anxious. "I do feel the good in you, Mikhail. I see it in everything you do. You put everyone else first in your life."

He closed his eyes in pain. "Is that what you think, Raven?"

She studied the contents of the glass, wondering why her words were hurting him. "I know it. I have done what is being asked of you, yet I did not have to follow through and bring the killer to justice. That must eat away at you all the time."

"You give me far too much credit, little one, but I thank you for your faith in me." His hand curled around the nape of her neck. "You are not drinking. It will help with your headache." His fingers found her temples with their soothing magic. "How can you go back to that inn when we both know the assassins are staying there? It is the old woman who leads them to our people. She is curious about you already."

"She can't possibly believe I'm a vampire, Mikhail. Why would I be in danger? I might even be of some help to you." A mischievous smile curved her soft mouth. "I can hear so much better these days." She toasted him with the glass and drank the mixture.

"There is no argument when your safety is involved. I will not have you in the middle of this battle." His black gaze was clearly troubled.

"We agreed to compromise. Your world and mine. I have to be my own person, Mikhail. I have to make my own decisions. I know you would never let me go through the torment of tracking a killer by myself. I want to help you, be there for you. That's what a partnership is."

"Being apart from you even under normal circumstances would torment me. How can I tolerate such a thing as you being in the same house with those who murdered my sister?"

She attempted to tease him, wanting the darkness to recede from his eyes. "Do one of your sleeping numbers on yourself, or teach me how to do it. I'll be more than happy to put you out."

His hand slipped around her throat experimentally. "I bet you would. How does your head feel, little one? Better?"

"Much, thank you. So, tell me what you know so far." Raven watched him pace across the hardwood floor, all restless energy. "I have done this Mikhail. I'm not an amateur, and I'm not stupid. Mrs. Summers may look like a sweet old lady, but she's very sick. If she's targeting people as vampires and has a fanatical following, a lot more people could be hurt. And these people must believe Mrs. Summers. They killed the woman…"