Dark Predator (50 page)

Ruslan had not been there before him. There was a certain odor to a vampire, one that even a master could mask only for so long. Did that mean he had never found this particular cave? There was no more time to go looking. He had to trust in his experience. He took his time, examining the small chamber, finding several cracks running through the ceiling and walls. Water dripped steadily from the north wall, but the southern wall was mainly rock. He chose one of the smaller cracks to secrete himself in.

His body desperately needed to go to ground. Shifting took energy, and even with Marguarita’s blood, he knew he didn’t have much time before it would become critical to heal in the soil or it would be too late. Few Carpathians would be able to survive the mortal wounds he had and continue the hunt. He knew the darkness within him enabled him to never acknowledge what was happening to his body. He fought, he healed himself and he went on without pain or exhaustion. But eventually his body would collapse. If Ruslan did choose this cave, Zacarias could not think about when that collapse would come.

Minutes ticked by. He knew the exact position of the sun and it was very close to rising. He could feel its presence like a burning lamp pressed close against him. He knew the light would always get to him, even if Solange’s royal blood really allowed him a few more hours of the day to move in. He would never be comfortable, but if it made Marguarita happier with him, he would endure it, just as he would endure her human companions.

A rock rolled in the dirt. Something scratched along the narrow tunnel wall just outside the chamber. Zacarias stayed relaxed, not expending any of his precious energy. He was in bad shape and if he gave himself away too soon and Ruslan was able to fight, they both would die this night. The foul stench of rotting flesh drifted into the chamber.

Immediately, familiar calm swept through Zacarias. Nothing else mattered now, not him, not anything, but the destruction of this one vampire who had caused the Carpathian people so much pain and damage. This was the reason Zacarias had been born and bred to fight. This was why the darkness in him ran so deep—defending his people against the most vile, evil creature imaginable.

He stayed still, patient, watching as Ruslan prepared his safeguards and staggered to his resting place. His head still listed to one side, which told Zacarias the vampire was as injured as he had been. Ruslan was too vain to allow something like that to go unless he needed to conserve his energy. Zacarias didn’t move as Ruslan lay down and folded his arms across his chest, giving himself up to the sleep of the dead. Even then, Zacarias waited until the sun had begun its climb. He wanted to insure Ruslan was in a leaden state.

With infinite stealth he dislodged from the ceiling and made his way to the master vampire’s resting place. Instantly Ruslan’s eyes snapped open. He hissed, a low sound of hatred. There was no movement, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable. Zacarias stayed out of the strike zone just to be certain.

“What honor is this? Coming to me in my weakest hour?” Ruslan demanded.

Zacarias’s eyebrow shot up. “Exterminating vermin is not about honor. Living with a code of conduct is honorable, Ruslan. That is what you always failed to understand. Killing is not honorable. This is my job. Honor demands I use whatever tool possible, whatever weapon, to destroy evil—and you are evil. There is no honor in the method of kill, only the fulfillment of a job that is necessary.”

Ruslan’s cackle filled his mind. “You can rip out my heart here in this cavern, but you cannot bring the lightning so deep beneath the earth. We will see who survives come nightfall.”

“I have no intention of ripping out your heart.” Zacarias approached the leaden figure with extreme caution. Ruslan was a powerful vampire and, as a hunter, he respected that power, knowing the master would not go easily to his end.

Ruslan looked puzzled, his hollowed eyes filled with hatred and cunning. Bats dropped without warning, covering Zacarias’s body, biting with sharp teeth, trying to drain him for their master. Worms burst through the dirt walls and spiders crept from every crevice, all at the summons of the master. A few rats poked their heads out of the tunnel, beady eyes fixed on Zacarias.

Zacarias dissolved under the weight of the bats, shifting quickly to put himself across the room. He blazed light through the room, a flash bright and terrible, very hot, a concentrated sun that singed the bats and drove the insects and rats away. He needed only a small amount of time.

“You cannot keep that up forever,” Ruslan crowed, “and they are mine to command.”

“It does not matter.” Zacarias was on him instantly, scooping the dead weight into his arms. The foul breath blasting his face disoriented him for just a moment. There was poison in that concentrated breath, but he shifted, taking the vampire’s rotting form with him.

What are you doing?
Ruslan demanded, switching to the Carpathian common path of communication, for the first time truly alarmed.
Where are you taking me?

To the surface. Your safeguards keep others out, but they do not keep us in.

Zacarias knew the exact moment Ruslan understood what he was doing. Once through the tunnel and crack, he shifted again, bringing them both into the dawning sun. Ruslan’s mouth opened wide in a soundless scream of agony. With sudden effort, driven by sheer will and desperation, he buried talons deep into Zacarias’s skin.

If I burn, then so will you.

Zacarias sank with his burden to the ground, his strength nearly gone. He would not be able to enter the cave and he knew by the feel of the sun on his skin that he would not have enough time to unravel the safeguards.

I love you, Marguarita. I am truly sorry for the mistakes I have made with you. Reach for my brothers, they will aid you when I am gone.

Zacarias could not allow himself to think what would happen to her or of all the things he’d done wrong with her. He wanted his last memories of her to be held close, that feeling of complete, unselfish love she’d given him.

Tell me where you are. I will not come to you, have no worries, but show me.

She was calm. Utterly, completely calm. That was Marguarita, and for the first time he believed. She had been sent to him to save him from himself—his own personal miracle. If anyone could save him—she could—but he didn’t see how. Even by car, there was no way to reach him in time. He didn’t tell her that, what was the point?

He was weary, so exhausted he could barely move.

Don’t you dare give up.

He loved that little bite in her voice.

What are you smiling about?
Ruslan demanded.
You will die with me. Hurry. I will show you how to unravel the safeguards if you have the strength left to get me out of the sun.

Zacarias shook his head. “You die this fine morning, Ruslan. No matter the cost to me, your evil will never walk the earth again.”

Ruslan’s body writhed. Turned lobster red. Heated until he scorched Zacarias’s skin. Still those talons remained hooked in his sides, locking them together while the vampire began to sizzle, his rotting skin bubbling. Smoke rose. The stench of burning meat filled the air. Ruslan screamed, the sound tearing through his chest and throat to startle the birds in the nearby trees into flight.

Zacarias looked up. Vultures began to circle. His own skin burned only because Ruslan’s body touched his. He didn’t try to fight it. His body hadn’t turned to lead as of yet, but his arms and face prickled, wanting to shrink from that mass of red-hot churning threads.

Holes burst through Ruslan’s body. The stench increased until Zacarias wanted to gag. The talons loosened, and without the thick plug of those razor-sharp hooked nails, blood began to leak onto the ground, forming a small pool around him.

Stay with me, Zacarias,
Marguarita urged.

Her calmness astounded him. She should be in a panic, yet her mind was much clearer than his. He was too tired to think.

Give yourself to me,
she whispered.
Trust me to keep you safe.

He had never trusted anyone. If he did as she asked and passed his spirit into her keeping, there would be nothing she did not know about him. His inability to feel without her shamed him. He would never know the true love of his brothers unless she was anchored in his mind. He would always be uncomfortable in the presence of humans. He could barely tolerate that world and she would know. She would see that he felt nothing even for those serving him. She would see too much. How much could a woman take?

Give yourself to me. Freely—as I gave myself to you.

Losing her to death was perhaps an act of cowardice rather than allowing her to face the true monster that she had given herself to. He had claimed her. Bound them together. Through it all, she had been the one to give herself to him over and over, meeting his every demand.

Ruslan burst into flames, shrieking his hatred of the world. The talons fell from Zacarias’s skin, freeing him, and Zacarias dragged himself away from the burning vampire. Black smoke shot into the sky like a beacon.

Zacarias watched until that white-hot heat consumed every inch of the master vampire, until he was certain the heart was gone and not so much as a sliver of him remained anywhere. Only then did he lay his head back and let his body turn into a limp rag doll.

He took a breath and then a leap of faith that she would want him anyway, as dark and shadowed as he was. He sent his spirit outside his physical body, into her keeping. Just before he closed his eyes, he heard the sound of a helicopter and he smiled. That piece of equipment was of the modern world—her world. Maybe there was something to it after all. His resourceful lifemate had obviously used his blood bond with either Julio or Cesaro, and Lea Eldridge was flying them to his rescue.

20

W
hat did it take for a Carpathian to heal such horrific wounds? A week? Two? A month? Marguarita slowly walked through the dark house, toward her own bedroom and bath. She had learned to take blood from Julio and Cesaro, a difficult task. She had learned to part the horrible dirt, wiping frantically at her hair and body, terrified of spiders crawling over her. There was so much she didn’t know, so much she needed to learn.

Every evening she went out to the stables to her beloved horses, but even riding her Peruvian Paso, one of her greatest joys, could no longer stop the crush of sorrow welling up in her. It didn’t matter how often she told herself Zacarias was safe, was in fact, lying in their sleeping chamber. It didn’t matter how many days she lay beside him, holding him, brushing his long hair aside to study every line carved into his face, she still feared for him—mourned for him. At times she feared she might lose her mind.

More than once, waking with Zacarias beside her and spiders crawling over her, she’d smacked him in a fit of temper, remembering the mass of spiders she’d fallen into with no comfort from him. But mostly, she tried not to weep for him, tried not to beg him to wake and be with her. She needed him desperately, but she refused to be weak when he needed to heal.

There were so many things to work on, to occupy her time. She still couldn’t quite get the clothing right. She usually took a bath and dressed as she always had. She preferred to take a bath because she couldn’t rid herself of the terror of spiders. She slept in the ground for heaven’s sake, she knew they crawled across her all night and thought they probably made nests in her hair.

She jumped when arms slid around her and she heard Zacarias laugh softly in her ear.

“I doubt very much that spiders make nests in your hair, my beautiful little lunatic.”

Her heart thudded, and for a moment she froze, afraid to believe it was him. Afraid she’d made him up out of sheer desperation. Very slowly she turned and looked up at him. His eyes, always midnight black, had that fantastic sapphire blue sheen to them, the one he got when he looked at her and was particularly aroused. Just the sight of him made her weak.

“I dreamed that you gave me a lecture on spiders and perhaps actually struck me once or twice in retaliation. Could there be truth to that?”

She smiled.
Perhaps. If so, you certainly deserved it.
Her hand went to his flat, hard stomach. Scars crisscrossed where before his skin had been smooth.
I thought this would be gone.

It was the only thing she could think to say when all she wanted to do was kiss him forever, hold him so tight neither of them could breathe and take him as deep as possible into her body so he would never find his way out.

He touched her throat. “I had hoped you would be able to speak as you wished to so much. I suppose we were both too injured for even powerful Carpathian blood to heal us completely.”

He filled the room. Filled her every sense, so that her entire body reached for his, so aware of him. He came into her mind, a soft, gentle flow that surprised her. She almost didn’t recognize that light touch. The icy feeling was there, but instead of the familiar glacier, the ice seemed to float through her mind, warming slowly.

She watched his eyes change, desire and hunger slipping through the joy of seeing her. He bent his head to hers and she turned up her mouth. His was hot and dominating, everything and more than she remembered. Her body belonged to him instantly, melting against him, pliant and soft, making its own demands. He took his time kissing her, over and over.

Zacarias lifted his head slowly, reluctantly, his hands framing her face, looking into her eyes as though searching for something. Satisfaction crept into his gaze; evidently he found whatever he had been looking for.

He waved his hand toward the bathroom. At once the scent of her favorite oils drifted into the room along with a floating steam cloud. “Let’s get you in the bath.”

You know you don’t have to do that. It’s a silly ritual when we can just clean ourselves with a thought.
That didn’t make her feel clean, nor did it overcome her irrational fear of spiders crawling through her hair.