Dark Guardian (22 page)

His hand was moving in her hair. He loved her hair, the silky, wild strands that went in every direction. He found himself smiling again for no reason. Jaxon didn't care that the women of his race might stay safely indoors while the men went out to hunt. She cared that he had described them as tall and elegant with long black hair. He found that rather amusing. Jaxon was Jaxon, a small powder keg prepared to save the world. No one would change that, least of all her own lifemate. She had to be accepted for the person she was.

Lucian's decision to bring her over to the Carpathian race stemmed from his knowledge of her nature. It was the only real way to protect her from harm. He would sleep when she slept; he would always be aware of her every movement. He would be in her, with her, if anything or anyone threatened her. It was the only path left to him if he wanted to allow her to remain exactly who she was; yet his decision might very well cause her to despise him.

"What is wrong, Lucian? Are you sorry you made love to me?" Suddenly Jaxon was uneasy. She wasn't experienced enough to know if she had pleased him or not. She thought she had, but maybe not. He was intensely passionate. Maybe she couldn't sate his hunger. After all, he was a completely different species.

"How could I ever be sorry for doing the one thing I have wanted more than anything in the world? Just for your information, angel, I intend to make love to you a few more times before this night is done. And no one else could ever satisfy me. There is only you for me. Not any other woman. Ever. I do not want tall elegance or long black hair. I have grown rather fond of your short blond hair and small, perfect body. You will not be getting rid of me easily."

Jaxon smiled and lay her head once more on his chest. Deep inside her where she had felt so wonderful, she became aware of a slow, torturous clenching and unclenching of her muscles. She pressed a hand to her stomach and lay very still, trying to assess what was happening. Was this normal? It felt like cramps—no, worse than cramps—something alive moving within her body, spreading to every organ.

Lucian's hand was on the nape of her neck, easing the tension from her suddenly taut muscles. He was very still, as if he sensed something was wrong. He didn't ask her what it was. He didn't say anything at all. He simply held her close in his arms, protectively, possessively.

Chapter Eight

Jaxon lay quietly in his arms, staring up at Lucian's face with wide, dark eyes. Haunted eyes. Terror-stricken eyes. "I feel sick all of a sudden." She sat up abruptly, pushing at him futilely to put distance between them. The terrible burning in her stomach was increasing with each passing second. Increasing and spreading like wildfire throughout her body. "Lucian, something's really wrong." She reached for the phone on a small end table.

Lucian leaned around her and took the receiver from her hand. "It is the conversion taking place within your body." Once more his voice was totally without expression. "Your body must rid itself of its human toxins." He spoke in his soft, matter-of-fact voice.

Jaxon jerked away from him, her eyes enormous. She pressed both hands to her stomach. It felt as if someone were taking a blowtorch to her insides. "What did you do, Lucian? What did you do?"

Fire rushed through her body, her muscles contorted, and she found herself falling back to the floor helplessly in the throes of some kind of seizure. Lucian was there before her, cradling her close, his mind sharing hers so that he bore the brunt of the horrific pain as wave after wave rushed through her. Jaxon could only cling to him, terrified, as the agony crawled through her body.

It seemed to last hours, yet in minutes the pain began to wane. Little beads of sweat covered her skin, and she felt sicker than ever, exhausted. "The fire, Lucian. I can't stand the fire. It hurts. Everything hurts." Even her eyes hurt.

He waved a hand, and the flames were gone. A cooling breeze moved through the room, fanning her skin. Her nails dug into his arm. It was starting again. He felt it in her mind, the swelling pain twisting at her insides, clawing at her. Lucian was appalled at the strength of the seizures that lifted and slammed down her small body. Without his arms around her she would have been crashing onto the floor. This spasm was worse than the last one, her muscles knotting and clenching beneath her skin. She tried to say his name, to whisper it as she did when she needed an anchor, but nothing would come out, not even a croak. Inside her mind she was screaming for him.

Lucian surrounded her, body and mind. He sent himself seeking outside his body and into hers. Her organs were reshaping, her tissues and cells contorting. He made every attempt to ease her pain, but Jaxon was very slight, very small, and the force of the seizures was tearing at her body, her muscles so strained they were hard knots. He breathed with her, for her. He held her when her body rejected its human remnants and she vomited over and over. He washed her face, removing the beads of blood she had sweated from her forehead, and rocked her when the wave of agony receded.

Jaxon lay passively, conserving her energy. She was no longer fighting the pain, and her mind was carefully blank. Her eyes widened, and she looked at him helplessly, hopelessly when the next seizure began to take hold. Lucian found himself swearing between his teeth in the ancient language. He waited until he was certain the vomiting was over, the last toxins removed from her body, before he could safely command her to sleep.

Once she slept; he carefully cleansed her body, then cleaned all evidence of her torment from the room. Very gently he picked up her, cradling her against his chest. She felt so slight, so delicate, her bones so fragile. He buried his face in her hair, tears swimming close to the surface, burning his eyes. He carried her through the basement to his sleeping chamber and placed her in the middle of his bed. She looked like a small child under the sheet he drew carefully over her.

Lucian sat down and watched her for a long time, his dark eyes brooding. When she woke, she would wake as a full Carpathian, needing blood to sustain her life. She would be unable to walk in the sun, her skin and eyes far too sensitive to stand the light. Would she look at him with loathing, with revulsion?

He waited another hour wanting to make certain she was sleeping peacefully, before leaving her. He dressed himself as he glided up the stairs and through the house. The night was cool and clear, the wind fresh on his face. He breathed it in, the tales it told of the night. With three running steps he took to the skies, winging toward the heart of the city. He needed blood enough for both of them. His prey would be those ne'er do-wells who roamed the city in search of victims, thinking themselves safe and powerful in the darkness. But he could see them as clearly as if the sun were shining brightly.

He landed on the sidewalk, walking without missing a stride, a tall, elegant man dressed in a charcoal-gray suit. He looked very wealthy, at odds with his surroundings. He glanced neither left nor right, acting as if he heard nothing, yet he heard everything, even the low murmur of conversation coming from the projects on the other side of the street. He heard the whisper of footsteps behind him. One pair, then a second. The footsteps separated, his attackers coming at him from either side. These were the people he had often used over the centuries, the ones who tried to assault him in the hope that he had cash on him. He always allowed them to attack him before he sentenced them; he always made certain of their nefarious intentions, though it was easy enough to read their minds.

He read their thoughts, knew their plan, knew which of the two was the leader, the more vicious, the one who would attack first. He continued to walk, neither fast nor slow, looking straight ahead, simply waiting for them to make their move. He was halfway down the street, just coming up on a small alleyway between the apartment houses, when the leader rushed him. The man was large and strong, wrapping an arm around Lucian's head, driving him into the alley. Lucian cooperated, going in the direction the leader took him until both attackers were out of sight of any eyes that might be watching from the windows.

He whirled around, knocking the knife from the leader's hand, catching the man in his enormously strong hands, stopping both assailants with a soft command. The two thugs stood waiting for his attention. He drank deeply from each of them, uncaring that both would be weak and dizzy. It always took tremendous self-control to leave men such as these alive. At times, when he read their depraved minds, he found it nearly impossible. But he told himself he was a guardian of the Carpathian people; the human race had its own set of laws.

Lucian didn't bother planting a plausible memory for either of the two attackers. They would remember attempting to mug him, and then they would have a black void of time and experience that no amount of trying would help them fill. He left them there in the alley, lying on the ground moaning, unsure what had happened to them.

When Lucian returned, the house was cool and dark. These days Lucian loved to return home. To Jaxon. Nearly everything in the house was something he had picked out of her memories, things she loved, colors she found soothing. Art pieces she had seen and admired. Even the stained glass, incredible works of art his brother's wife had created, had been made especially for Jaxon. Woven into each piece was a strong safeguard for the house and a soothing invitation of welcome and warmth for those who dwelled within. Francesca was a true healer, and, even in her art, her gift came through.

In the sleeping chamber he shed his clothes and gathered Jaxon into his arms before issuing the command to awaken. The conversion was complete, and she had rested for nearly two hours. He wanted any confrontation over before the next rising. Jaxon stirred, moaned softly as if in memory, and then he felt her heart slam hard. She was fully awake, refusing to open her eyes and face the truth of what had happened. He felt his own heart skip a beat; his breath caught in his lungs. This was the moment. She would have to confront what she had become. He would have to confront her rejection of him.

Lucian held her in his arms, watching the expressions chasing across her face. Jaxon's impossibly long lashes fluttered, then lifted, and he was looking into her large dark eyes. He saw no condemnation what so ever. She simply looked up at him. Very slowly she raised a hand and rubbed at the frown he didn't realize was on his face.

"What have you done this time?" she asked.

His hands moved over her face, brushing her hair from her delicate cheekbones. "I think you already know."

"If it's what I think it is, I may have to resort to violence."

She was doing it again, not dealing with something her mind wasn't ready for. Instead the pad of her index finger was rubbing a little caress over his mouth. "Don't look so worried, Lucian. I'm not made of porcelain. I'm not going to break. You look as if the world has come to an end. Although, I have to tell you, it did hurt like hell, and when I'm feeling a little stronger, I might have to retaliate."

"I love you, angel, and I would not have put you through the suffering of a conversion had it not been necessary."

Jaxon was shaking her head. "Don't say
conversion
. I don't think we should go there right now.
Conversion
. Sounds like a a movie I once saw. It had vampires and icky things in it. This really disgusting creature bit the heroine and then gave her his blood." Her voice faltered for a moment, and he felt her tremble, but she went resolutely on. "It transformed her into a vampish sex maniac. She ran around sucking men's necks and killing little children. Not really my thing. At least not the killing of little children. I don't know about sucking men's necks." A fine tremor ran through her body.

His hand was stroking her hair, one arm locking her possessively to him. "I would never tolerate your sucking other men's necks, so we can dispense with that worry."

"I'm so glad. Although, maybe I would have liked it," she tried to tease him.

That was one of the things he admired so much about her. She was frightened, her heart was beating faster than normal, but she was holding on, being brave. His respect for her continued to grow. "I am sorry, angel, but you will have to get over your disappointment if that is the case. I am discovering I am a jealous man after all."

She snuggled into him, subconsciously seeking comfort. "You look like a man with complete confidence, Lucian. I can't believe you would be jealous. Besides, no one else wants me."

His eyebrows shot up. "You do not notice how men fall all over you? Even that silly young one who disobeyed your orders by going into the warehouse and making such a fool of himself—you thought his heroics were for self-promotion, but in truth he wanted you to notice him."

"No way." Jaxon was shocked, and it showed. "He had political pull, and he used it to get on my team even though I was totally opposed. He wasn't ready, and he wasn't a team player. He wanted glory and headlines. Publicly my unit is as anonymous as possible, but within the ranks it's known as the best. Benton definitely had promotion—not me—on his mind," she declared certain of her facts.

Lucian bent his head to gently brush the side of her mouth with his. The light touch made her heart somersault, and she felt the answering jolt in his. His lips had barely skimmed hers, yet she felt the heat curl in the pit of her stomach.

"That is what he appeared to be like, but it is not what was in his mind. He wanted to stand out, wanted you to notice him."

"He certainly went about it in an interesting way. I noticed him all right. He almost got Barry and me killed." Her voice betrayed her rejection of Lucian's assessment.

"I was there, honey. I read his mind accurately. You wreak havoc among the males in your department, and now, unfortunately, you will do so even more."

Jaxon laughed softly at him. "You are smitten with me, aren't you? No one wants me. They just think I'm dynamite at my job, which I am," she said without false modesty.

"You are surrounded by men all the time where you work. It is improper for a Carpathian woman to be unprotected in the company of men."