Dark Slayer - Christine Feehan [40]
Falcon stirred, his dark eyes looking deep into the shadows as if he might see their oldest, most dangerous enemy. “Do you endanger your lifemate?”
“I am a danger to anyone near.”
Mikhail flicked Falcon a quick, quelling glance. “How is it you came to escape?”
“The last attack on the ice cave forced him to move me from the chamber where I was normally held. He had little time to prepare, and it wasn’t as secure. I had not been fed in days. I believe he thought me too weak to make the attempt.” Razvan shrugged.
Mikhail studied the face ravaged by hardship. That small shrug told him a lot about the man. He wasn’t asking for sympathy, nor was he apologizing for the life he’d been forced to lead. Those simple sentences spoke volumes.
Mikhail bowed. “You are a true Dragonseeker.” No Dragonseeker had ever succumbed to the darkness preying on the males of their species. If anyone had reason to embrace bitterness, hatred and anger, it was Razvan, if all that was suspected was correct. “We are in a battle for our very existence. Perhaps there are things you can tell us that might aid in our fight to save our children. Lara has been invaluable to us.”
Razvan kept his gaze on Ivory, not answering. Just hearing his daughter’s name was hard, and emotions swamped him, but he refused to let it show. He had centuries of practice at learning to keep his face a mask, and he didn’t allow the prince to see how the mere thought of Lara twisted him up inside. Ivory lifted her lashes and looked up at him. His gaze locked with hers and his heart jumped.
She knew. She had to be in tremendous pain—she had to be fearful of the outcome of his threatening the prince of the Carpathian people—but a small half smile curved her mouth. He knew that smile was for him. That secret smile locked them together, fit them like two pieces of a puzzle, private and intensely intimate. Her eyes were soft as she sent warmth into his mind.
Something deep inside of him twisted into hard knots. Something else melted. His heart gave a curious flutter and his throat closed. Ivory. Why had he found her now? She was the most unexpected treasure. No one, least of all him, deserved her, with her tenacious courage and generosity.
Feminine amusement slid into his mind. Do not deceive yourself. No one but you would call me generous. I am the slayer. That is all.
She was so much more—she was everything. He kept his eyes locked with hers while she shuddered again as more parasites fell from her pores to the blood-spattered ground. He filled her mind with strength and the scents he had discovered in her lair, the ones he knew soothed her, to sustain her through the rest of the healing.
The extraction of parasites was a difficult process. The healer had to be especially careful not to miss even one and, as Gregori rejoined his body, he swayed with weariness.
“She needs blood,” Gregori announced, and sank into the snow beside her.
“So do you,” Mikhail said, gliding over the snow to the healer’s side. He held out his wrist in a casual, easy gesture that spoke of longtime familiarity with donating blood.
Razvan hesitated. He had no idea of the extent of Xavier’s hold on him. If it was cellular or molecular, if he gave his blood to Ivory, would Xavier be able to somehow possess her as well? He didn’t know and he didn’t want to chance it.
The healer slashed him with peculiar silver eyes, eyes that reminded him eerily of Xavier. They glittered with menace, a threat, a reprimand, and for the first time in his encounter with these men, he felt shame.
“You protect me,” Ivory said, “and I am grateful. No one here has an understanding of what you—we—deal with.”
“I offer my blood freely,” Sara reiterated and stepped close to Ivory, holding out her wrist in offering.
Ivory inclined her head. “I am grateful.”
The blood was rich, a Carpathian’s blood, hitting her system like a fireball of energy, soaking into her cells and aiding the healer’s careful repair of her shoulder and ribs.
Gregori studied Razvan’s face.