Dark Slayer - Christine Feehan [59]
Razvan glanced at her. Ivory willed herself not to blush. She tried to look as nonchalant as possible. Razvan seemed very large in the confines of the bedchamber. His masculine frame filled up the entire room. Every breath she took seemed to draw the scent of him into her lungs. Every breath he took made her ultra-aware of him, the way his heavy chest muscles moved beneath his thin, tight tee; the way his body looked in that brief moment before he’d donned that thin, tight tee.
Raja turned his head and looked at her, giving her an aloof glare, baring his teeth at Razvan. The Dragonseeker shrugged his shoulders.
“I know what it feels like to be displaced, old man,” he soothed. “We will get along.”
“Offer him your blood.”
Razvan stood slowly, his eyes meeting Ivory’s. “You feed them Carpathian blood?”
“You do not remember much of our first meeting.”
“Some.”
She took a breath, let it out, and then made her confession. “Many years ago, so long now that I cannot remember when it all started, a wolf pack helped me. They found pieces of me and would have consumed them, but I was able to touch their minds, and instead they buried the pieces of me together. In return, I found their descendents and I made certain they thrived. I did not spend much time aboveground in those days. My body just could not handle it. But when I did, the wolves were all that kept me sane. They were my only companions and all I had to trust.”
She spoke in a soft, clear voice, as if she was telling a tale she had heard about someone else, as if the horror of those endless years had not been hers to bear. He had his horror locked away in his mind, but somehow hers seemed so much worse.
Something frightening deep inside Razvan lifted its head and roared in rage. He had long ago buried any aggressive feelings. Too many years of captivity, of being unable to do anything about it had pushed rage and anger aside, and then, finally, his emotions had faded into oblivion, so that he forgot the intensity, the sheer strength of feelings.
“That was a terrible time for me. I couldn’t be out of the ground for very long, but I went looking for my brothers. I needed them. I could barely function. My mind or my body.” She ducked her head and her hair fell around her face, hiding her expression. Her voice remained as steady as ever. “It took me twenty-two years to locate the first of my brothers. I had a few run-ins with vampires along the way and inadvertently began building a reputation for slaying the undead. They began to hunt for me. I still had to spend most of my time in the ground in order to hold my body together.”
“You do not have to tell me this if it distresses you,” Razvan said.
Ivory shrugged her shoulders and tossed back her hair, her eyes steady. “It matters little now. It was a long time ago. Over the next fifty years I searched for my family, only to find that they had all turned. It felt very much like they had betrayed me.”
Ivory felt the lump rising in her throat, threatening to choke her, threatening to humiliate her. She shrugged a second time. “I had the wolves. You understand? They were everything to me. They do not have a long life span in the wild and so each new litter of cubs, each renewal, was my only family. I needed them.”
Razvan wanted to hold her, to offer her comfort, but when he took a step toward her, she moved away from him, back toward the other room as if she hadn’t noticed. He followed her, moving through the pack of wolves, ignoring Raja’s bared teeth as if the wolf was beneath his notice. He couldn’t help but be intrigued by the story. He had no idea that wolves could carry Carpathian blood, and he doubted if anyone else had known it either.
“So these wolves are not the original pack,” he prompted, watching as she picked up a comb and began running it through her hair. It was a soothing action, not one of necessity.
Ivory moved