New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan has thrilled legions of fans with her seductive and sensual ‘Dark’ Carpathian tales. She has received numerous honours throughout her career including being a nominee for the Romance Writers of America RITA, and receiving a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times.

For more information about Christine Feehan visit her website: www.christinefeehan.com

Also by Christine Feehan

Dark Prince

Dark Desire

Dark Gold

Dark Magic

Dark Fire

Dark Challenge

Dark Legend

Dark Guardian

Dark Symphony

Dark Melody

Dark Destiny

Dark Secret

Dark Celebration

Dark Possession

Copyright

Published by Hachette Digital

ISBN: 9781405514231

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2000 by Christine Feehan

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

Hachette Digital

Little, Brown Book Group

100 Victoria Embankment

London, EC4Y 0DY

www.hachette.co.uk

For Francis and Eddie Vedolla Sr. for teaching my son
Brian, and my daughter, Denise, the importance of the
dance … There is greatness in you both.

Special thanks to the staff at Konocti Harbor Resort and
Spa who are always helpful, manage to come up with
terrific concerts and genuinely are great people.

Chapter One

Julian Savage hesitated outside the door to the crowded bar. He had come to this city for one last errand before he would choose a Carpathian’s eternal rest. Almost an ancient of his race, he was weary of the centuries of living in a stark, gray world void of the intense colors and emotions known to the younger males of his kind, or to those who had found a lifemate. Still, he had one last goal to accomplish, one more thing asked of him by his Prince, and then he could meet the life-destroying dawn with an easy mind. It wasn’t that he was on the verge of losing his soul, of turning vampire; he could hold out longer should he choose. It was the bleakness of his life, stretching an eternity before him, that had dictated his decision.

Yet he could not refuse this errand. In the long centuries of his existence, he felt he had given little to his dwindling race. True, he was a vampire hunter, one of the more powerful, which was considered a great thing among his people. But he knew, as did most of their successful hunters, that it was the Carpathian male’s killer instinct, not any special talent that made him so brilliant at what he did. Gregori, their people’s greatest healer, second only to the Prince, had sent word to him to warn that this woman he now sought, this singer, was on the hit list of a fanatical society of human vampire hunters, who often mistakenly targeted unusual mortals, as well as Carpathians, in their murderous zeal. The society had very primitive notions of what made a vampire—as if avoiding daylight or feeding on blood alone rendered one soulless, evil, undead. Julian and his kind were living proof that nothing could be farther from the truth.

Julian knew why this task of warning and protecting the singer had been given to him. Gregori was determined not to lose him to the dawn. The healer could read what was in Julian’s mind, realized that he had chosen to end his barren existence. But he also knew that once Julian gave his word to protect the human woman from the society of killers, he would not stop until she was safe. Gregori was buying time for him. But it would do no good.

Julian had spent many lifetimes, century after century, apart from his people, including his own twin brother. Julian was a loner even in a race made up of solitary males. His species, the Carpathian race, was dying out, their Prince desperately attempting to find ways to give his people hope. To find new lifemates for their males. To find ways to keep their children alive, to bolster their dwindling numbers. Julian, however, had no choice but to remain solitary, to run with the wolves, to soar with the birds of prey, to hunt with the panthers. The few times he walked among humans, it was usually to fight a worthwhile war or to lend his unusual strength to a good cause. But he had spent most of his years walking alone, unseen, undetected by even his own kind.

For several moments he stood still, reliving the memory of his childhood folly, that terrible moment he had stepped upon a path that had, for eternity, changed his life.

He had been but twelve summers. Even then his terrible, unquenchable thirst for knowledge had been upon him. He had always been inseparable from his twin brother, Aidan, yet that day he had heard a far-off call. A summons he couldn’t resist. He had been filled with the joy of discovery back then, and he had slipped away, following the lure of an unspoken promise. The network of caves he discovered was honeycombed deep within the mountain. Inside he met the most amazing wizard— personable, handsome, and willing to impart his vast knowledge to a young, eager apprentice. All he asked in return was secrecy. At the age of twelve, Julian had thought it all an exciting game.

Looking back, Julian questioned if he had wanted knowledge so much that he had deliberately ignored the warning signs. He had mastered many new powers, but there had come the day when the truth hit him in the face with all its stark ugliness. He had arrived early to the caves and hearing screams, rushed inside to discover that his young, handsome friend was the most loathsome of all creatures, a true monster, a cold-blooded killer—a Carpathian who had yielded his soul and turned vampire. At twelve Julian did not have sufficient powers and skills to save the hapless victims as the vampire drained their blood completely, seeking not just sustenance, as a Carpathian would, but the subject’s death.

That memory was etched in Julian’s mind for all time. The streaming blood. The unearthly screams. The horror. Then came the moment when the vampire’s hand gripped him, the once-admiring pupil, and dragged him close enough to smell his fetid breath, to hear his taunting laughter. Then the teeth—fangs now—were tearing into his body, painful and vulgar. But, worse, Julian wasn’t allowed death, as the vampire had given his other victims. He remembered the way the undead creature had slashed his own wrist and forced it to Julian’s mouth, had brutally forced him to accept that tainted blood, to exchange blood with the most unholy of creatures, bringing him into his power, beginning the process that could make Julian his slave, that connected them for all time.

The shame had not ended there. The vampire had immediately begun to use the boy even against his will, as his eyes and ears, to spy on those of his former race he now wished to destroy. He had the talent to eavesdrop through Julian on the Prince or the healer when the boy was near them. He had taunted Julian that he would use him to destroy his own brother Aidan. And Julian had known it was possible; he had felt the darkness spreading within him, at times had felt the vampire’s eyes looking through his own. Several times Aidan had escaped by a mere hairsbreadth from traps Julian later recognized he had inadvertently set himself, under the vampire’s insidious compulsion.

And so, many centuries ago, Julian had made a vow to lead a solitary life, to keep his people and his beloved twin safe from the vampire and himself. He had lived on the fringes of their society, gaining a Carpathian’s true strength and knowledge until he was old enough to strike out on his own. His people’s blood still beating strongly in him, he did his best to live his life honorably, did his best to fight the gathering darkness and the continual assaults the vampire made on him. He had evaded further blood exchanges with the undead and had hunted and killed countless other vampires, but the one who had fashioned his life so brutally always eluded him.

Julian was now taller and more muscular than many of his race, and while most had dark hair and eyes, he was like a Viking of old, with long, thick blond hair he tied at the nape of his neck with a leather thong. His eyes were amber, and he often used their smoldering, mesmerizing fire to hypnotize his prey. Now, though, he gazed about the street, seeing nothing yet to account for his unease, and he moved forward like the predator he was, fluidly, muscles rippling beneath his sleek skin. When need be he could be as still as the mountains, and as relentlessly unyielding. He could be the rush of the wind, like flowing water. He had tremendous gifts, could speak in many tongues, but he was always alone.

In his younger years he had spent much time in Italy; more recently he had lived in New Orleans, in the French Quarter, where his aura of mystery and darkness alarmed almost no one. But not long ago he had given up his home there, knowing he would never return. At long last, after this one remaining task, his duty and honor would be satisfied. He saw no reason to continue his existence.

Julian heard the conversations, so many of them, from the interior of the bar. He felt the excitement of those inside. The patrons seemed enthralled by the singing group they were waiting to hear. Evidently the band was intensely popular, and recording companies were screaming for deals, but the performers refused to sign with anyone. Instead, they traveled like old-fashioned minstrels or troubadours, from town to town, city to city, never employing outside musicians or technicians and always performing only their own songs. The odd, reclusive nature of the troupe, along with the lead singer’s voice, described as hauntingly beautiful, mesmerizing, nearly magical, had drawn the unwanted attention of the society of vampire hunters.

Julian inhaled deeply, and caught the scent of blood. Instantly hunger beat at him, reminding him he had not fed this night. He stood outside, unseen by the humans clamoring to get in or by the security guards silently standing at the entrance. He would go in, deliver his warning to the singer of the danger she was in, and get out. Hopefully the woman would listen, and his duty would be done. If not, he would have no choice but to continue to endure his terrible solitary existence until he could make certain she was safe. And he was tired. He no longer wanted to endure.

He began moving then, weaving silently through the crowd. At the door stood the two men, both tall and dark. The one with long hair looked like someone to contend with; he even looked vaguely familiar. Julian became but a rush of cool air as he glided past, hidden from sight yet walking confidently among the crush of humans. Still, the guard with the long hair turned his head alertly, black eyes searching restlessly, resting on Julian briefly even though Julian was invisible. The guard was clearly uneasy. Out of the corner of his eye, Julian saw him turn his head this way and that before his icy gaze swung back to follow Julian’s progress through the crowded bar.

Julian’s white teeth flashed with a predator’s gleam. He knew he was unseen, so the guard had well tuned, radarlike senses, unusual for a mortal. Interesting that the band had him. He might be worth his weight in gold should there be an actual attack on the woman.

The cold air Julian pushed before him parted the pressing crowds; he didn’t even have to slow down. He glanced at the stage set up for the performers, then walked toward the back rooms. As he did so the humorless smile faded from his face, leaving the familiar hard edge to his mouth. He knew there was a hint of cruelty there, the cold mask of the hunter. Then he smelled them. The enemy. Had they reached the singer before he had?

Swearing silently, eloquently, Julian moved with preternatural speed to the woman’s dressing room. He was too late. She was gone, already making her way to the stage with the other members of the band. Only two beautiful leopards with spotted fur were curled up in a corner of the small room. Simultaneously their heads swung toward him, all senses alert. The animals were larger and heavier than most in the wild, and their yellow-green eyes, fixed on him, betrayed their superior intelligence. It was also unusual to see the two together, as leopards were generally solitary creatures. Like Julian.

“Where is she, my friends?” he asked softly. “I have come to save her life. Tell me where she is before her enemies kill her.”

The male cat crouched and snarled, exposing long, sharp canines that could grab, hold, and puncture its prey. The female crouched even lower, ready to spring. Julian felt the familiar sense of brotherhood he always did when he encountered a member of the Panthera pardus family, and yet, when he reached for the leopards’ minds, he found he couldn’t control either easily. He succeeded only in confusing them a bit, slowing their reaction time. Then the male cat began its move, a slow stalking, head down, eyes fixed on him, its slow-motion manner preliminary to the explosion of speed preceding a kill. Julian didn’t want to have to kill such a beautiful, rare creature, so he quickly slipped out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him, and headed toward the sound of thunderous applause.

The band began to play the opening to the first song. Then he heard the woman’s voice. Haunting, mystical notes that hung in the air like silver and gold shimmering with fire. He actually saw the notes, saw the silver and gold dancing in front of his eyes. Julian stopped dead in his tracks, shock ripping through him. He stared at the hallway. The tattered, faded wallpaper was edged with red. It had been well over eight hundred years since Julian had seen anything in color. It was the fate of Carpathian males beyond their youth to lose all sense of color, to lose their emotions, to struggle in gray bleakness against their predatory natures, unless a lifemate appeared to balance their darkness with her goodness and light. Only then would color and emotion—powerful emotion—be restored to them. But females were rare, and surely one such as Julian would never be blessed with a mate. Yet his heart jumped in his chest.

He felt excitement. Hope. Emotion. Real emotion. Colors were so vivid that they nearly blinded him. The sound of her voice played through his body, touched him in places he had long forgotten. His body tightened; need slammed into him. Julian stood frozen to the spot. The colors, the emotions, the physical lust rising so sharply could only mean one thing. The singer possessing that voice had to be his lifemate.

It was impossible. Totally impossible to believe. The men of his race could spend an eternity hunting for the one woman that was their other half. Male Carpathians were predatory, with the instincts of dark, hungry killers, cunning, quick, and lethal. After their short time of growing, of laughter and adventure, it was all over as they lost the ability to feel, to see in colors. There was nothing left but a solitary, barren existence.

Julian’s existence had been especially unbearable, alienated as he was from Aidan, his twin, whose inevitable closeness might have made the long, gray centuries a bit easier to endure. But he had known he was locked to Aidan through their blood tie, and every moment they spent together increased the vampire’s threat to Aidan. Their very closeness endangered his brother. So Julian had fled his people, never telling any of them, not even his beloved brother, the terrible truth. He had done the honorable thing, as he had only his honor left to him.

Now Julian stood numbly in the narrow hall, unable to believe that his lifemate was close. Unable, in that dazzling moment of emotion and color, to believe that he could possibly deserve such a thing.

Many Carpathian males turned vampire after centuries of a life filled with no hope. Without emotions, power— the power to hunt and kill—seemed the only thing left to them. Others, rather than becoming a danger to mortals and immortals alike, chose to end their barren existence by greeting the dawn; waiting for the sunlight to destroy bodies meant to live in darkness. Only a handful actually found their other half, the light to their darkness, the one who could make them complete. After nearly a thousand years of bleak existence, after making the decision to meet the dawn before the predatory demon within him, now struggling for control of him, conquered him, Julian could scarcely believe he had found his true lifemate. But the colors and emotions and hope said that it was true.

The woman’s voice—throaty, husky, erotic—held the promise of satin sheets and candlelight. It played over his skin like fingers, tantalizing, enticing, sinfully sexy. It mesmerized anyone within hearing distance; it haunted and captivated. The notes danced, pure and beautiful, weaving a spell of enchantment around Julian, around every listener.

Julian knew nothing of this woman. Only that Gregori had sent him to warn her that she was in danger from the human society of vampire hunters. Evidently the Prince wished her and those traveling with her to be protected if necessary. The society of mortals who believed in the vampires of old legends and sought to destroy them had for some reason targeted this singer, Desari, with her haunting voice and eccentric ways. Most of the society’s victims were killed, a stake driven through the heart. Worse, some victims were kept alive to be tortured and dissected. Julian listened to the beautiful voice. Desari sounded like an angel singing, her voice not of the earth.

Then a scream, high and piercing, interrupted the beauty of the song. It was followed by a second scream, then a third. Julian heard a shot ring out, then a volley of bullets thudding into flesh and musical instruments. The building shook with the force of feet pounding across the floor as the patrons raced to get out of the line of fire.

Julian moved so quickly that he blurred as he shimmered into a solid mass. The bar was in complete disarray. Mortals were fleeing the place as fast as they could, running over each other in the process. People were yelling in terror. Tables and chairs were smashed and broken. The three members of the band lay, blood-splattered, on the stage, instruments shattered. The security guards were exchanging gunfire with six men who were also shooting into the crowd as they tried to escape.

Julian went straight for the stage. He pushed aside one male body and found the still form of the woman, Desari, sprawled on the platform, her masses of blue-black hair spreading out like a veil. Blood pooled under her, staining her royal blue dress. He had no time to examine her features further; the worst wound was mortal and would kill her unless he did something. Instinctively he fashioned a quick visual barrier, blurring the stage from watching eyes. In the pandemonium, he doubted if any would notice.

He lifted Desari easily into his arms, found a weak pulse, and placed a hand over the wound. Blocking out the chaos around him, he sent himself seeking outside his body and into hers. The entrance wound was small, the exit wound quite large. The bullet had torn through her body, ripping internal organs and tissue. He sealed the wounds to prevent further blood loss before taking her deeper into the shadows. With one lengthening fingernail, he opened a wound in his own chest.

You are mine, cara mia, and you cannot die. I would not go quietly to my death without avenging you. The world could not conceive of such a monster as I would become. You must drink, piccola, for yourself, your life, for me, for our life together. Drink now. He gave the command with a firm compulsion, not allowing her to squirm away from his iron will. Before this moment, before Desari, he had chosen to destroy himself rather than wait until it was too late and he had become one of the very monsters he had spent centuries hunting and destroying. For tying Desari to him now, he might deserve death a hundred times over, but he would take what destiny offered him.

After long, empty centuries, in a single moment, everything had changed. He could feel. He could see the brilliance of the colors in the world. His body was alive with needs and desire, not simply the ever-present gnawing physical hunger for blood. Power and strength ran through him, sang in his veins, flowed through his muscles, and he felt it. Felt it. She would not die. He would not allow such a thing. Never. Not after centuries of complete loneliness. Where there had been a yawning black chasm, an abyss of darkness, there was now a connection. Real. Felt.

His blood was ancient blood, filled with healing strength, filled with power. His life flowed into her, forging a bond that could not be broken. He began to whisper to her in the ancient language. Ritual words. Words that would make their hearts one, words that would weave the tattered remnants of their souls back together and seal them irrevocably for all time.

For one moment time shimmered to a standstill as he struggled to do the honorable thing, struggled to give her up, to allow her to live without the terrible burden he carried. But he wasn’t strong enough. The words were wrenched out of his soul, from deep where they had been buried. I claim you as my lifemate. I belong to you. I offer my life for you. I give to you my protection, my allegiance, my heart, my soul, and my body. I take into my keeping the same that is yours. Your life, happiness, and welfare will be cherished and placed above my own for all time. You are my lifemate, bound to me for eternity and always in my care.

Julian felt tears burning in his eyes. Here was another dark sin for his soul. This time against the woman he should protect above all else. His mouth brushed her silky hair, and very softly he issued the command that she cease to drink. He was already weak from lack of feeding. Healing her wounds and giving her a large volume of his blood weakened him further. He inhaled her scent, took it into his lungs, his body, imprinting her on his mind for all time.

The warning came to him as nothing more than a brush of fur against a chair, but it was enough. Julian sprang away from the unconscious woman, whirling to meet the threat, his snarl exposing gleaming white teeth. This was a huge leopard, a good two hundred pounds, and it sprang at him, its strange, inky eyes fixed on him with lethal malevolence. Julian leapt into the air to meet the beast, shape-shifting as he did so, his body stretching, contorting, golden fur rippling over heavy muscle as he took another form to meet the deadly threat.

They met in midair, two huge male cats in their prime, at full strength, rending and tearing with claws and teeth. The black leopard seemed determined to fight to the death, but Julian hoped to save its life. The black cat arched in a half circle, swiping at Julian, and Julian felt the rake of razor-sharp claws ripping into his side. He lunged for his opponent and managed to score four long furrows on its belly. The panther hissed softly with hate and defiance, with renewed determination, with retaliation, vengeance.

Julian reached for the beast’s mind. It was in the red haze of a killing frenzy, a need to destroy. Agilely he sprung away. He did not want to kill the beautiful animal, and, the truth was, for all his own fighting experience, this creature was enormously strong and skilled. And it did not respond to his many attempts to seize control of its mind.

He swore as the panther crouched protectively over the woman’s body, then began once more moving toward him in the slow-motion manner of the stalking leopard. The intelligent ebony eyes focused on his face in the unnerving, unblinking stare only a leopard could produce. The cat meant to kill him, and Julian had no choice but to fight to the death or flee. He had given the woman precious blood he didn’t have to spare, and now the four long furrows torn deep into his side were dripping the liquid of life onto the floor in a steady stream.

The cat was too strong, too experienced a killing machine. Julian could not risk it. His lifemate’s fate was now tied to his. He sensed no animosity toward her from the large panther, rather, a need to protect her. From Desari’s mind he picked up memories of love for the animal. Julian forced himself to back away, his golden muzzle snarling, his eyes blazing defiance, not submission.

The black panther was clearly torn between following him and finishing the job and staying with the woman. Picking up that information from the panther reassured Julian even more. He backed away another two steps, not wanting to blunder by harming a creature his lifemate loved.

Then another attack came from behind him. A mere whisper of movement had him springing aside so that the second leopard landed where he had been. It snarled in rage. Julian bolted, leaping for the bar, then a table, his powerful back legs digging into the smooth surface for purchase. A third cat blocked the entrance, but Julian sprang and hit it squarely, knocking it off its feet. Then instantly he was gone, dissolving into thin air.

As mist, Julian streamed out into the night. He didn’t fool himself, however; some of the droplets streaking toward the ocean were his blood. The cats could track him if he didn’t put enough distance between them immediately. It took tremendous energy to put on a burst of speed while holding his image of insubstantial mist, energy that was fast leaking out into the night air. Julian summoned his remaining energy to close the wounds in his body to prevent further blood loss.

Totally bewildered, he went over every move he had made inside the bar. Why hadn’t the black cat responded to his mind control? He had never before failed to mesmerize an animal. The panther’s mind was not like any other he had encountered. In any case, he should have easily defeated a panther, but the black male was far bigger than any leopard he had met with in the wild. And the cats had been working in unison, something not natural for the species. Julian was positive the large panther had been somehow directing the actions of the other two. And they had been protective of Desari, not treating her as prey.

Julian turned his attention back to the more immediate threat to his lifemate. Somewhere out there were six humans who had attempted to kill her, an innocent woman whose only crime was possessing a voice from the heavens. He could not rest this night until he had tracked them down and ensured they would never get close to her again. He still had the stench of them in his nostrils. The cats would take care of his lifemate until he returned to her. His job now was to defeat the assassins, bring Carpathian justice to them, removing the danger to Desari as quickly as possible.

He gave a fleeting thought to his need for blood, the wounds he had sustained, and the possibility of the mysterious panther tracking him, but decided all that didn’t matter. He could not allow the assassins to go free. He turned back inland and streamed toward the bar, rising high to mingle with the fog. He hoped to avoid detection by the leopard’s superior sense of smell, but if it found him again, so be it. As he moved through time and space, he touched the mind of his lifemate to see if she was coming out of her unconsciousness. She would need to heal, but he discovered that she was alive and being cared for. Pandemonium reigned at the bar, with police and ambulances everywhere. Likely by now the cats were locked up securely.

He found the first body in the thick brush not ten yards from the back of the bar. Julian shimmered into solid form, pressing a hand to the dripping claw marks marring his side, not wanting to leave any evidence of his presence. Though there was no sign of a struggle, the assassin’s neck was broken. Julian found the second body a few yards ahead, tucked in an alley. It was sprawled against the wall, half in and half out of a puddle of oil. There was a hole in the man’s chest the size of a fist where the heart should have been.

Julian stiffened and glanced carefully around him. The assassin had been killed in a manner consistent with a ritual slaying of the undead. Not the human version, using stakes and garlic, but the true manner of a Carpathian. He studied the mutilated body. It almost had the look of Gregori’s early work, yet it wasn’t. These days Gregori would not have wasted time; he would have stood at a distance and simply killed all the evil mortals in one stroke. This was retribution. Someone had taken a personal hand in each death.

His own brother, Aidan, lived here out west and often destroyed the undead—there were few Carpathians as capable as he here in the United States—but Julian would have felt his twin’s presence, would have known his work the instant he saw it. This was somehow different from the cool, impersonal work of Carpathian hunters yet still close to it.

Curious now, he sought out the other killers. Bodies three and four were side by side. One had buried his own knife deep within his throat, no doubt under an irresistible compulsion. The other’s throat was completely ripped out. It looked as if an animal had done the damage, but Julian knew better. He found the fifth body only a few yards from the two. This one, too, had seen death coming. The horror was on his face. His eyes stared obscenely skyward, even as his own hand gripped the gun he had used to shoot himself—the same weapon he had used on the musicians. Julian found the sixth assassin lying face down in a gutter, a pool of blood surrounding him. He had died hard and painfully.

Julian thought for a long moment. This was a message, a clear and brazen message to those who had sent the assassins after the singer. A challenge from a dangerous adversary. Come and get us if you dare. Julian sighed. He was tired, and his hunger was becoming a gnawing, biting demand. Much as he shared the sentiment to brutally destroy any who dared to threaten Desari he could not allow this challenge to stand. It would place his lifemate squarely in deeper danger. If the society knew exactly how their assassins had been dispatched, they would be convinced she and her protectors were vampires and would redouble their efforts to destroy her immediately.

It took a few moments to collect the bodies into a heap in the privacy of the alley. With a little sigh he gathered energy from the sky and directed it toward the corpses now lying in the puddle of oil. Instantly there was a flash of fire and the stench of burned flesh. He waited impatiently, masking the scene from all eyes, even those of the police searching just down the road. When the dead men were little more than ashes, he directed the fire out and collected the remains. He then launched himself skyward and streaked away from the scene. Well out over the ocean, he scattered the grotesque, grisly ashes, watching the choppy waves, made hungry by a flick of his hand, devour them for all time.

Losing six assassins, not having a clue as to their whereabouts or fate, would be a huge blow to the society of killers. With luck, their directors would crawl into a hole to regroup and remain inactive for months to come, sparing innocent mortals and Carpathians from their malice.

Julian turned inland toward the small cabin he had tucked away in the mountains, his thoughts once more turning toward the strange behavior of the leopards. If he didn’t know better, he would swear the large black panther was not really a cat but a Carpathian. But that was impossible. Every Carpathian was known to one another. They could detect one another easily, and all used a standard path of mental communication when necessary. While it was true that a few of the ancients could mask their presence from others, it was a rare gift.

Another thought disturbed Julian. His own behavior had assuredly thrust Desari directly into a new path of danger. By claiming her as his lifemate, Julian had marked her as surely as he had been marked in the eyes of the undead, his mortal enemy.

Swearing softly in his mind, Julian turned his attention back to the strange animal guarding her. Although Julian was a loner, he knew every Carpathian alive. And the black panther reminded him of someone, with its method of fighting, its fierce intensity, its complete confidence in itself. Gregori. The Dark One.

He shook his head. No, Gregori was in New Orleans with his lifemate, Savannah. Julian had seen to young Savannah’s protection until Gregori had fulfilled his vow to allow her five years of freedom before claiming her as his lifemate. And Gregori was not the undead; his lifemate assured that. No Carpathian would attempt to destroy another who had not turned vampire. No, it could not possibly be Gregori.

Julian solidified at the entrance to his cabin and pushed open the door. Before he went in, he turned and inhaled the night; seeking the scent of any prey that might be nearby. He needed blood, fresh, hot blood, to fully heal his wounds. When he looked down and saw the tears in his side, he cursed, yet he felt a certain savage satisfaction in knowing he, too, had scored against the huge cat.

Julian had traveled the world. He had had centuries to indulge his curiosity, his thirst and need for knowledge. He had spent considerable time in Africa and India studying the leopard, inexplicably drawn there time after time. He believed the cunning and deadly cats were possessed of superior intelligence. However, they were also wildly unpredictable, which made them all the more dangerous. So it had to be an unusual group of humans who had befriended the cats, let alone secured the required permits to travel with them in the United States.

Julian questioned again the unusual behavior of the cats themselves. Even if they had been hand-raised and trained, the coordinating of their efforts to bring down an intruder in their midst, especially when chaos and the smell of blood were all around them, was remarkable.

The huge black panther had not even licked at the woman’s wounds or attempted to sample the blood of the other two fallen band members. The scent of fresh blood should have triggered the cats’ instinct to hunt, to eat. Leopards were notorious scavengers as well as hunters. Something was off kilter, for these leopards were definitely protecting the singer.

Julian shook his head and returned to matters regarding his immediate attention. He sent himself into his own body, seeking the lacerations, sealing them off from the inside this time. The effort took more energy than he could afford, so he mixed an herbal drink that promoted healing. Drifting back outside onto the porch, he drained the liquid quickly, forcing his body to hold on to the unfamiliar nourishment.

It took a few minutes to gather the necessary strength to make his way into the forest. He was seeking rich soil, a blend of vegetation and dirt, that would best approximate the earth of the Carpathian homeland, which always aided the healing of a Carpathian’s wounds. He found such soil beneath a thick layer of pine needles on the far side of a knoll. He mixed moss and soil with the healing agent in his saliva and packed his wounds with it. At once the blend soothed the terrible burning.

It was interesting to him, observing the different sensations and emotions pushing in on him. He had known that those Carpathians who reclaimed emotion and color found that everything they experienced was much deeper and far more intense than it had been when they were younger. Everything. That included pain. All Carpathians learned to block things out if it was necessary, but it took enormous energy. Julian was tired and hungry. His body cried out for nourishment. His mind was tuned to Desari’s. His lifemate. Her mind was in turmoil now, but she was alive. He wanted to reach out and reassure her, but he knew such an intrusion would only make her more upset.

He closed his eyes and leaned against a tree trunk. A leopard. Who would have thought a leopard would score such a blow against him? Had he been so distracted by the presence of his newfound lifemate that he had been careless? How could an animal have outmaneuvered him? And what of the assassins and the way they were killed? No cat or even human avenger could have accomplished all that so quickly. Julian had supreme confidence in his own abilities; few of the ancients, and certainly no mere animal, could defeat him in battle. There was only one who could. Gregori.

He shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. The way the cat had battled, so focused, so relentless, was all too reminiscent of the Dark One. Why couldn’t he shake that thought when he knew it was totally impossible? Could another ancient have hidden from all of his own kind? Gone to ground for a few hundred years and emerged undetected?

Julian tried to recall what he knew of Gregori’s family. His parents had been massacred during the time of the Turk invasion of the Carpathian Mountains. Mikhail, now the Prince and leader of the Carpathian people, had lost his parents the same way. Entire villages had been destroyed. Beheadings were common, as were bodies writhing on stakes, left to rot in the sun. Small children were often herded together into a pit or a building and burned alive. Scenes of torture and mutilation had become a way of life, a harsh, merciless existence for Carpathians and humans alike.

The Carpathian race was nearly decimated. In the horror of those murderous days they lost most of their women, a good number of their men, and, most important, nearly all of their children. That had been the most violent and shocking blow of all. One day the children had been rounded up, along with mortal children, and driven into a straw shack, which had been set on fire, burning them alive. Mikhail had eluded the slaughter, along with a brother and sister, Gregori had not fared as well. He had lost a brother around six years of age and a new baby sister, not yet six months.

Julian took a deep breath and let it out, going over each and every male Carpathian he had encountered over the centuries, trying to place the unusual black panther.

He recalled the legends about two ancient hunters, twins, who had disappeared without a trace some five or six hundred years earlier. It was believed one had turned vampire. He inhaled sharply at the thought of that. Could he still be alive? Could Julian have escaped relatively unscathed from one so powerful? He doubted it.

Julian searched every corner of his mind for information. Had there been a child he didn’t remember? Wouldn’t any Carpathian, male or female, from Gregori’s bloodline be far too powerful to miss? If there was a chance that any relative of Gregori’s existed some-where, anywhere, in the world, wouldn’t the rest of their people know it by now? Julian himself had traveled near and far, in new lands and old, and had come across no strangers of their kind. True, there were rumors and hopes that Carpathians as yet unknown to their people might well exist, but he had never found them.

Julian dismissed the matter for the moment and sent forth a call, luring prey in close to him rather than wasting valuable energy hunting. He waited beneath the tree, and a light breeze carried to him the sounds of four people. He inhaled their scent. Teenagers. Males. They had all been drinking. He sighed again. It seemed that was the favorite pastime of young mortals—drinking or using drugs. It didn’t matter; in the end, blood was all the same.

He could hear their conversation as they stumbled almost blindly through the forest toward him. None of the boys had permission from their parents for this camping outing. Julian’s white teeth gleamed in the night in a slightly mocking smile. So the boys thought it was funny to make fools out of people who loved and trusted them. Their species was so different from his own. Although his race was often more predator than man, a Carpathian male would never harm a woman or child or be disrespectful to those who loved or protected or taught him.

He waited, his intense eyes molten gold, easily piercing the veil of darkness. His mind continually strayed to his lifemate. Every Carpathian male knew the chance of finding a lifemate within their dwindling race was nearly impossible, their numbers being repeatedly decimated by the vampire and witch hunts in the Middle Ages and during the bloody Turk and Holy Wars. To complicate matters, the few remaining women had not given birth to a female child in years, and the rare children born in recent centuries nearly all died within their first year. No one, not even Gregori, their greatest healer, nor Mikhail, the Prince and leader of their people, had found the solution to these grave problems.

Many had tried in the past to turn mortal women Carpathian, but the females had either perished or become deranged vampiresses, feeding on the lifeblood of human children and always killing their prey. Such women had had to be destroyed to protect the human race.

Then Mikhail and Gregori had discovered a rare group of mortal women who possessed true psychic ability who could survive the conversion. Such women could be turned with three blood exchanges, and they were capable of producing female children. Mikhail had made such a match, and his daughter, Savannah, had been born as Gregori’s lifemate. A new surge of hope had spread among the Carpathian males. But though Julian had traveled throughout the world—granted, preferring the wilds of the mountains and the freedom of the open spaces to long periods spent among humans—he had never come across any women possessing the rare abilities required.

Julian had long since ceased to believe or hope the way the others had, even when his own twin brother had found such a woman. Julian knew he was a cynic, that the darkness in him, calling out to the undead, was like a stain spreading across his soul. He had accepted it, as he accepted the rest of the ever-changing universe, as he accepted the sin of his youth and his own self-banishment from his people. He was of the earth and the sky. He was a part of it all. And as he neared the time when he was dangerously close to the change, he accepted that, too. He knew he was strong; he was willing to walk into the sun before he became a demon with no soul at all. For a very long time he had had no hope, had had nothing to hold out for.

Now everything had changed. In one heartbeat, one instant. His lifemate was out there. But she was wounded, hunted. At least she had a decent bodyguard, and her cats were obviously protecting her. Still, he could not get it out of his head that the huge male leopard was not what it had seemed. And there was the way the assassins had been dealt with, not in the human way but that of a Carpathian hunter. If there was a powerful Carpathian, another male, that Julian wasn’t aware of, he did not want the man anywhere near his lifemate.

The teenagers were traipsing closer, their voices loud in the stillness of the night. One stumbled repeatedly, having consumed far too much alcohol. They laughed raucously, and from the deep woods, the golden eyes watched them, the white teeth gleamed. Julian stepped out slowly from behind the trees. His face was hidden in the shadows. He smiled at the boys. “You seem to be having a good time tonight,” he greeted softly.

All of the boys stopped abruptly. They could not make him out in the dark. And they were suddenly aware that they were somewhere deep in the forest, far from their campsite, without a clue how they got there or how to get back. They exchanged puzzled, alarmed looks. Julian could hear their hearts beating loudly in their chests. He prolonged the suspense for a moment, his teeth gleaming, allowing the faint red haze of the beast within him to be reflected in his eyes.

The boys stood frozen to the spot as Julian emerged from the shadows. “Has no one ever told you the forest can be dangerous at night?” His beautiful voice purred with menace, and he deliberately deepened his foreign accent, evincing a danger the boys could feel moving through their bodies.

“Who are you?” one of them managed to croak. They were sobering up fast.

Julian’s eyes were glowing a feral red, and the beast within, always crouching so close to the surface, fought for release. He allowed hunger to sweep through him, the terrible emptiness, the biting, gnawing craving that was never fully sated, could never be sated until he was with his lifemate in every way. He needed her dwelling in him to anchor the raging beast. He needed her blood flowing in his veins to stop the horrendous craving, to bring him back for all eternity into the light.

One of the boys screamed, and another moaned. Julian waved a hand to silence them. He didn’t want them terrified, only scared enough to remember their fear and modify their behavior. It was easy enough to take possession of their minds. He erected a veil to cloud their memory of the event as he stepped forward to drink his fill. He needed a large volume of blood and was grateful there were several boys so none of them would be left too weak. In each boy he planted a slightly different memory, wanting confusion to reign. At the last moment, smiling sardonically, Julian planted a firm command in each boy to blurt out the truth to his parents every time he intentionally sought to deceive them.

Julian melted into the shadows and released the teenagers from the thrall paralyzing their minds and bodies. He watched them as they stirred to life, all sitting or lying on the ground. They were dizzy and scared, each remembering a close call, an attack that came out of the deep forest, but all remembered it differently. They argued briefly but without much spirit. They just wanted to go home.

Julian made certain they made it back to their camp without incident; then, as they huddled together around the fire, he began mimicking the hunting cries of a pack of wolves. Laughing, he left them throwing things helter skelter into their car and racing away from the terrors of disobeying their parents.

Feeling much better with the soil pressed into his wounds, and the biting hunger appeased for the time being, Julian slowly returned to the cabin. Beneath the wooden planking of the floor was a small crawl space. With a slight wave of his hand he opened a plot deep within its earth floor. It beckoned him, the soothing peace of the ground, calling to its own.

Julian floated to his resting place and lay still, his arms crossed lightly over his wounds. He pictured Desari as he settled into the soil. She was tall and slender, her skin creamy white. Her hair was luxurious, shining like a raven’s wing, masses of curls and waves falling in a shimmering cascade to her hips. She had small, delicate bones, making her classically beautiful. Her lips were luscious, sexy. He loved the way her mouth had looked, even in her unconscious state. She had a perfect mouth.

Julian felt a smile softening the hard edge of his chiseled lips. A lifemate. After all these centuries, after never believing. Why in the world would he be chosen for such a thing? Out of all the Carpathian males he knew, men who religiously followed the rules, why would he find a lifemate? He was practically an outlaw.

He gave more thought to the mortal woman now stuck with him. It took three blood exchanges to convert a human. And he would have to ensure that she was truly psychic. Still, excitement beat at him. A lifemate to make the world beautiful and mysterious, a wonderful, intriguing place, when for so long it had only been barren and dark. Unfortunately, for the woman, things would have to change. Singing before crowds would be impossible. Desari. He remembered now that she also used a nickname. Dara. Something, some recognition shimmered for a moment in his mind. Ancient. Persian. Dara. Meaning from the dark one.

Julian felt his heart jump at the connection. Could such a coincidence be just that? Gregori was referred to as the Dark One. As his father had been before him. The bloodline was pure, ancient, and very powerful. Why was her nickname Dara? Was there a connection? There had to be. But how?

Julian shook his head slowly, discarding the idea. No Carpathian lived unknown to the others of his kind. And certainly no Carpathian female could do so. Since the decimation of their ranks, the females were closely guarded, given from the father into the care of the lifemate at an early age to ensure the continuance of their race. Otherwise every unattached Carpathian male around the world would be following her, pressing his suit. And Mikhail would have her under the mantle of his protection.

Julian put the puzzle aside for the time being. He closed his eyes and concentrated on reaching Desari. Dara. Ordinarily, a blood exchange was needed to keep track of another, but Julian had studied and experimented for many years. He could do incredible things, even for one of his kind. He built the image of Desari in his mind, focusing on every detail.

Then he aimed and thrust his will into the night. Seeking. Drawing. Commanding. Come to me, cara mia, come to me. You are mine. No one else will ever do for you. You want me with you. You need me. Feel the emptiness without me.

Julian was implacable in his pursuit. He ruthlessly applied more pressure. Find me. Know that you are mine. You cannot bear another’s touch, cara mia. You need me with you to fill the terrible emptiness. You are no longer happy and content without me. You must find me.

He sent the imperious command, his entire focus bent on finding her mental channel. He did not stop until he was certain he had connected with her, that his words had penetrated any barriers separating them and found their way to her soul.