Dark Fire (Dark #6)

Dark Fire (Dark #6) Page 1

Flashlight and wrench in hand, she was crawling out from under the troupe's huge touring bus when he first caught sight of her. She was small, almost childlike. At first he was certain she was, at most, a teenager, dressed in baggy overalls, her wealth of red-gold hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her face was grimy, smudged with oil and dirt. Then she turned slightly, and he could see high, firm breasts thrusting against the thin cotton top beneath the bib of her overalls.

Darius stared at her, entranced. Even in the night her red hair gleamed like flames. That he could tell her hair was red stunned him. Dark, predatory, immortal Carpathian male that he was, he had not seen colors, only black and white, in more centuries than he could count. He had not disclosed that information, his accompanying loss of emotion, to his younger sister, Desari, who remained, as she had for eons, sweet and compassionate and everything good that female Carpathians were. Everything that he was not. Desari depended on him, as did the others in their troupe, and he did not wish to distress her with the knowledge of how close he was to either facing the dawn - and his own destruction - or turning vampire, undead instead of immortal.

That this little unfamiliar woman in baggy overalls had captured his attention was shocking to him. But she had a sway to her hips that sent a deep need jolting hard within him. He caught his breath and followed her from a distance as she moved around the touring bus to disappear from his sight.

"You must be tired, Rusti. You've been working all day!" Desari called out.

Darius couldn't see Desari, but, as always, he was able to hear his sister's voice, a blend of musical notes that could turn heads and influence all living things.

"Grab some juice out of the fridge in the trailer, and relax for a few minutes. You can't fix everything in one day," she continued.

"Just another couple of hours and I'll have this up and running," the little redhead answered. Her soft, husky voice touched Darius in the very core of his being and sent blood surging hotly through his veins. He stood still, transfixed by the unexpected sensation.

"I insist, Rusti," Desari said gently.

Darius knew that tone, the one that ensured she got her way. "Please. You have the job as our mechanic. It's obvious that you're exactly what we need. So knock off for the night, will you? Watching you work so hard makes me feel like a slave-driver."

Darius sauntered slowly around the motor home toward the small, red-haired woman and his sister. Beside tall, slender, elegant Desari, the petite female mechanic he had not yet met looked like a scruffy child, yet he couldn't take his eyes from her. She laughed throatily, tightening his body to an aching heaviness. Even from a distance he could see that her eyes were a brilliant green, large and heavily lashed, her face a perfect oval, with high cheekbones and a wide, lush mouth just begging to be kissed.

Before he could hear her, she disappeared again, walking beside his sister around the back of the broken-down touring bus to the rear door. Darius simply stood there, frozen to the spot in the darkness. Night creatures were stirring to life, and Darius allowed his gaze to wander the campsite, noting the various colors around him. Vivid greens, yellows, and blues. He could see the silver of the bus, the blue lettering on the side. The little sports car nearby was fire-engine red. The trail bikes secured to the bus were yellow. The leaves on the trees were bright green, veined with darker hues.

Darius inhaled sharply, pointedly drinking in the stranger's scent so that he could always find her, even in a crowd, always know where she was. Strangely, she made him feel as if he wasn't so alone anymore. He hadn't even met her yet, but simply knowing she was in the world made it seem a completely different place. No, Darius had not told his sister how bleak and empty his life had been or how dangerous he had become, but his gaze, when it rested on the redhead, had been hot and possessive, and something fierce and primitive within him had raised its head and roared for release.

Desari came striding back around the bus alone. "Darius, I did not know you had risen. You are so secretive these days." Her large black eyes scanned him speculatively. "What is it? You look..." She hesitated.

Dangerous. The unsaid word shimmered in the air between them. He nodded toward their mobile home. "Who is she?"

Desari shivered at his tone, then rubbed her palms up and down her arms as if she were cold. "We discussed the need to hire a mechanic to go on the road with us, to keep the vehicles in shape so we could protect our privacy. I spoke to you of placing an ad, with a special compulsion embedded in it, and you gave your approval, Darius. You said that if we found someone the cats could tolerate, you would permit it. Early this morning Rusti appeared. The cats were out with me, and neither of them objected to her."

"How is it that she made it to the camp through our safeguards, the barriers that protect us during the daylight?" he inquired softly, a hint of menace in his even voice.

"I honestly don't know, Darius. I scanned her mind for any hidden agendas and found none. Her brain patterns are different from those of most humans, but I could detect only her need for work, honest work."

"She is a mortal," he said.

"I know," Desari replied defensively, aware of the heavy, oppressive weight in the air signaling her brother's censure. "But she has no family, and she has indicated a need for a great deal of privacy herself. I don't think it will bother her if we're not around during the day. I told her that, because we work and travel mostly at night, we often sleep during the day. She said that suited her fine. And we do really need her to keep our vehicles running properly. You know it's true. Without them we'd lose our facade of 'normalcy.' And we can handle a human without any problem."

"You sent her into the trailer, Desari. If she is there, why are the cats not with you?" Darius asked, his heart suddenly in his throat.

"Oh, my God." Desari paled. "How could I make such a mistake?" Stricken, she ran toward the door of the motor home.

Darius was there before her, jerking open the door and leaping in, crouching low, ready to fight the troupe's two leopards for the small female body. He froze, motionless, his long black hair falling across his face. The red-haired woman was curled up on the couch with one large panther on either side of her, dwarfing her in size yet pushing against her hands, seeking attention.

Tempest "Rusti" Trine stood up quickly as the man burst into the touring bus. He looked wild and dangerous. Everything about him screamed peril and power. He was tall, sinewy like the cats, and his long dark hair was shaggy and untamed. His eyes, as black as night, were large and mesmerizing and as penetrating as those of the two panthers. She felt her heart jump, and her mouth went dry.

"I'm sorry. Desari told me I could come in here," she offered appeasingly, trying to move away from the cats as they continued to nuzzle her for attention, nearly knocking over her small frame with each nudge. They attempted to lick her hands, which she avoided, since their rough tongues could take the skin off her.

Desari shoved into the bus past the large man and stopped, wide-eyed and shocked. "Thank God you're all right, Rusti. I never would have told you to come in here alone if I had remembered the cats."

That is not something you should ever forget.

Darius delivered the reprimand in a soft whip of velvet straight into his sister's mind, using their familiar mental pathway. Desari winced but made no protest, aware her brother was right.

"They seem quite tame," Rusti ventured hesitantly, touching first one spotted feline head and then the other. The slight trembling of her hands betrayed her nervousness - of the man, not the leopards.

Darius straightened slowly to his full height. He looked so intimidating, his broad shoulders seeming to fill the bus, that Rusti actually stepped backward. His eyes bored straight into hers, his gaze holding her prisoner, searching her very soul. "No, they are not tame. They are wild animals and do not tolerate close contact with humans."

"Really?" Mischief danced for a moment in the woman's green eyes, and she shoved the bigger cat away. "I didn't realize. Sorry." She didn't sound sorry; she sounded as if she was making fun of him.

Somehow Darius knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this woman's life would be tied to his for all eternity. He had found what Desari's new partner, Julian Savage, called his lifemate. He allowed burning desire for her to flare briefly in his eyes and was satisfied when she stepped back again. "They are not tame," he repeated. "They could tear apart anyone entering this bus. How is it you are able to be with them safely?" he demanded, his voice deep and compelling, that of a man obviously accustomed to instant obedience.

Rusti's teeth scraped across her lower lip, betraying her nervousness, but her chin went up defiantly. "Look, if you don't want me here, it's no big deal. We haven't signed a contract or anything. I'll get my tools and leave." She took a step toward the door, but the man was a solid wall, blocking her way. She glanced behind her, judging the distance to the rear door, wondering if she could make it before he pounced. Somehow she was afraid that running would trigger his own predatory instincts.

"Darius," Desari objected gently, laying a placating hand on his arm.

He didn't so much as turn his head, his black eyes remaining on Rusti's face. "Leave us," he ordered his sister, his voice soft and menacing. Even the cats grew uneasy, pushing close to the red-haired woman whose green eyes flashed like jewels.

This man called Darius frightened Rusti in a way no one else ever had. There was stark possessiveness in his eyes, a sensual cruelty around his beautiful mouth, an intensity burning in him that she had never witnessed before. She watched her only ally desert her as Desari reluctantly obeyed her brother, leaving the luxurious touring bus.

"I asked you a question," he said softly.

His voice sent butterfly wings brushing at her stomach. It was a black-velvet weapon, a sorcerer's tool, and it sent heat curling unexpectedly through her body. She felt the color creeping up her neck and into her face. "Does everyone do everything you say?"

He waited, as still as a leopard poised to pounce, his unblinking eyes fixed on her face. She felt a strange compulsion to answer him, to reveal the truth. The urge beat at her head until she rubbed her temples in protest. Then she sighed, shook her head, and even attempted a smile. "Look, I'm not certain who you are, other than Desari's brother, but I think we've both made a mistake. I saw the ad for a mechanic and thought this job would be something I'd like, traveling with your band around the country." She shrugged carelessly. "It doesn't matter. I can just as easily move on."

Darius studied her face. She was lying to him. She needed the job. She was hungry but too proud to say anything. She covered her desperation well, but she needed work. Yet not once did her green eyes waver from his black stare, and her entire body bespoke defiance.

He moved then, gliding close to her so fast that she didn't have a chance to run. He could hear her heart pound, hear the rush of blood, of life, through her veins. His gaze rested on the pulse beating so frantically in her neck. "I think this job will suit you perfectly. What is your real name?"

He was too close, too big, too intimidating and powerful. Up close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the magnetism he exuded. He wasn't touching her, but she felt the warmth of his skin against hers all the same. She had an urge to run as fast and as far as she could.

"Everyone calls me Rusti." She sounded defiant even to her own ears.

He smiled in an infuriatingly male way that told her he knew she was afraid of him. The smile did nothing to warm the black ice of his eyes. He bent his head slowly toward her until she could feel his breath against her neck. Her skin tingled in anticipation. Every cell in her body went on alert, screaming a warning.

"I asked you what your name is," he whispered into her pulse.

Rusti took a deep breath and made herself remain perfectly still, unflinching. If they were playing a game, she was not going to make a wrong move. "My name is Tempest Trine. But everyone calls me Rusti."

His white teeth flashed again. He looked like a hungry predator eyeing its prey. "Tempest. It suits you. I am Darius. I am the guardian of this troupe. What I say goes. Obviously you've made the acquaintance of my younger sister, Desari. Have you met the others?" He felt an unfamiliar rage rip through him at the mere thought of any of the other men around her. And in that moment he knew that until he made Tempest his, he was extremely dangerous, not only to mortals but to his own kind as well. In all his centuries of existence, even in the early years, when joy and pain still existed for him, he had never experienced such jealousy, possessiveness, or any other emotion remotely like it. He had not known what rage felt like until that moment. It was sobering to realize just how much power this small human woman wielded.

Rusti shook her head. She edged away from his intensity, from the way he made her heart pound in alarm, glancing frantically at the rear door. But Darius was too close for her to make good her escape. So she looked to the big cats, then focused and aimed her thoughts at them, a talent she had had since birth, though one she would never admit aloud.

The smaller of the two leopards, the one with the lighter coat, moved between her and Darius and showed her teeth in a warning snarl. Darius reached down and laid a calming hand on the cat's head.

Be still, fade friend. I would not harm this one. She seeks to leave us. I feel it in her mind. I cannot allow such a thing. You would not wish it either.

At once the cat moved to position itself in front of the rear door, leaving Rusti no chance of escape. "Traitor," she hissed at the leopard under her breath, forgetting herself.

Darius rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully.

"You are an unusual woman. You communicated silently with the animals?"

She looked guilty, ducking her head, her eyes shirting away from him as she pressed the back of her hand to her soft, trembling mouth. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about. If anyone's communicating with the animals, it's you. The cat's in front of the door. Not only everyone but everything obeys you, huh?"

He nodded slowly. "Everyone in my domain, and that now includes you. You are not to leave. We need you as much as you need us. Did Desari assign you a place to sleep?" He felt not only her hunger but also her fatigue. It beat at him, inside him, so that his every protective male instinct roared to life.

Rusti stared up at him, measuring her options. Somewhere deep inside herself, she knew that Darius had taken away her choices. He would not allow her to leave. She saw that in the merciless line of his mouth, the implacable resolve stamped on his features, and his soulless black eyes. She could pretend if she wanted to, leave it unspoken between them, not challenge him. Power clung to him like a second skin. She had been in dangerous situations before, but this felt entirely different. She wanted to run... and she wanted to stay.

Darius reached out and tipped up her chin with two fingers so that he could stare directly into her green eyes. Two fingers. That was all. But it felt as if he had put chains on her, bound them together in some inexplicable manner. She felt the impact of his gaze burning into her, branding her as his.

The tip of her tongue nervously moistened her full lower lip. Darius's body clenched in hot, hard, urgent demand. "You are not going to run, Tempest. Do not think you can get away. You need the job. We need you with us. Just follow the rules."

"Desari said I can sleep in here," she found herself answering. She didn't know what she was going to do. Down to her last twenty dollars, she had been certain this was the perfect job for her. She was an excellent auto mechanic, she enjoyed traveling, she liked being alone, and she loved animals. And something about this particular help-wanted ad had jumped out at her, drawn her to this place, these people, as if it was meant to be. It had been strange, almost a compulsion she couldn't resist to find these people, so sure was she that the job was meant for her. She should have known it was too perfect. Without thinking, she sighed softly.

Darius's thumb feathered lightly over her chin. He felt her tremble, but she stood her ground. "There is always a price to pay," he observed, as if reading her mind. His hand moved to her hair, and he fingered the red-gold strands as if he couldn't help himself.

Rusti stood very still, like a small animal caught out in the open by a stalking panther. She knew he was extremely dangerous to her, yet she could only stare up at him helplessly. He was doing something to her, mesmerizing her, hypnotizing her with his burning black eyes. She couldn't look away from him. She couldn't move. "How high is the price?" Her words came out strangled - sounding and husky. She couldn't tear her gaze away from his no matter how much her mind screamed at her to do so.

His body moved close, closer still, until his hard frame seemed to imprint itself on the softness of hers.

He was everywhere, surrounding her, enveloping her until she was a part of him. She knew she should try to move, to break the spell he was weaving around her, but she couldn't find the strength. Then his arms closed around her, drew her into him, and her heart turned over at the gentleness in a man of such power and enormous strength. He whispered something soft and soothing. Something compelling. A sorcerer's seduction.

She closed her eyes, the world suddenly hazy and dreamlike. She felt as if she couldn't move, as if she didn't want to move. She waited almost breathlessly. His mouth brushed her right temple, moved across her ear, feathered across her cheek to the corner of her lips, breathing warmth, leaving little dancing flames wherever he touched. She felt torn in two. One part of her knew it was so perfect, so right; the other urged her to run as fast and as far as she could. His tongue stroked across her neck, a velvet, rasping caress that curled her toes and sent heat pooling deep within her. His fingers curved around her nape, drawing her even closer. His tongue stroked a second time. A white-hot sensation pierced her skin exactly over her frantically beating pulse. Pain sliced through her, then gave way instantly to erotic pleasure.

Rusti gasped, found some deep reservoir of self-preservation, and squirmed, pushing at the muscles of his chest. Darius shifted subtly, but his arms remained tight and unyielding. Drowsiness slipped over her, a willingness to give him whatever he wanted.

She felt divided into two selves, one locked helplessly in the dark embrace, the other looking on in shock and horror. Her body was hot. Burning. Needing. Her mind accepted him and what he was doing. Taking her blood, staking his claim on her. Somehow she knew that he was not trying to kill her but possess her. Knew also that he was not anything human. Her eyelashes swept down, and her legs buckled.

Darius slipped one arm under Tempest's knees and lifted her, cradling her against his chest as he fed. She was hot and sweet and unlike anything he had ever tasted. His body was on fire for her. Still feeding, he carried her to the couch, savoring the essence of her, unable to stop himself from taking what was rightfully his. And she was his. He felt it, knew it, would accept nothing less.

Only when her head lolled back on her slender neck did he realize what was happening. Swearing eloquently to himself, he closed the wound in her neck with a sweep of his tongue and bent to check her pulse. He had taken far more blood than she could afford to give. And his body still throbbed with a relentless, savage demand. But Tempest Trine was a small woman and not of their race; she could not afford such a blood loss.

Worse, what he was doing was strictly forbidden, breaking every code, every law he knew. Every law he himself had taught to the others and demanded they follow. Yet he couldn't stop himself. He had to have this woman. True, a mortal female could be used for sex, a simple pleasure of the body, if one could still feel such things. And as long as one did not drain the life from her entirely, a mortal female could also be used for sustenance, to feed upon. But not both, and never at the same time. It was taboo. Darius knew that if she hadn't fainted from the blood loss, he would have taken her body with his. Not once but again and again. And he would have killed anyone who tried to stop him, who tried to take her from him.

Had it happened, then? Was he turning vampire? The one thing every Carpathian male feared - was it happening to him? He didn't care. He only knew that Tempest Trine was of the utmost importance to him, the only woman he had ever wanted in centuries of a lonely, barren existence. She made him feel. She made him see. She brought life and color into his bleak world, and now that he had seen it, felt it, he would never go back to total emptiness.

Cradling her on his lap, he started to tear open his wrist with his teeth. But something stopped him. It didn't seem right to feed her that way. Instead, he slowly opened his immaculate silk shirt, his body unexpectedly tightening even more in anticipation. One fingernail lengthened into a razor-sharp talon and sliced a thin line across his chest. Then he pressed her mouth to the wound. His blood was ancient and powerful and would replenish her quickly.

At the same time he reached for her mind. In her unconscious state, it was relatively easy to take control, to command her to do his bidding. Still, he was astonished at what he discovered. Desari was right. Tempest's mind did not follow the usual human pattern. It was more like that of the cunningly intelligent leopards he often ran with. Not exactly the same, but definitely different from the normal human brain. For the moment it didn't matter; he easily controlled her, demanding that she drink to replenish what he had taken from her.

Out of nowhere an ancient chant came into his mind. He found himself saying the words of a ritual, uncertain where they came from, knowing only that they must be said. He murmured them in the ancient tongue of his people, then repeated them in English. Bending over Tempest protectively, stroking her hair, he breathed the words softly into her ear. "I claim you as my lifemate. I belong to you. I offer my life for you. I give 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 all eternity and always in my care." As he uttered the words, he felt a curious shifting in his body, a release of a terrible tension. He also felt the words weaving tiny threads between her soul and his, his heart and hers. She belonged to him. He belonged to her.

But it wasn't right. She was a mortal. He was Carpathian. She would grow old; he never would. Still, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered to him except that she was in his world, that she was beside him. That it felt right to him. She fit with him as if she had been fashioned only for him.

Darius closed his eyes and held her to him, savoring the feel of her in his arms. He closed his wound himself and laid her among the pillows lining the couch. Very gently, almost reverently, he cleaned the dirt and grime from her face. You

will not remember this when you awaken.

You will know only that you took this job and are now part of our crew. You know nothing of what I am or that we exchanged blood.

He reinforced the command with a hard mental push more than sufficient to convince a human.

She looked so young in her sleep, her red-gold hair framing her face. He touched her, his fingers possessive, his black eyes burning fiercely. Then he turned to regard the large cats. You

like her. She can speak to you, can she not?

he asked them.

He could feel their answer, not in words but in images of affection and trust. He nodded.

She is mine, and I will not give her up. Guard her well while we sleep until the next rising, he silently commanded them.

The two cats rubbed against the couch, trying to get as close as possible to the woman. Darius touched her face once more, then turned and left the mobile home. He knew Desari would be waiting for him, and her gentle doe-eyes would be accusing.

She stood leaning against the front of the trailer, confusion on her beautiful face. The moment she saw him, she looked anxiously at the bus. "What have you done?"

"Stay out of this, Desari. You are my own blood, the one I most love and treasure, but - " Darius stopped, amazed that he could express that emotion honestly for the first time in centuries. He did feel love for his sister again. It beat in him, real and strong, and his relief was tremendous at not having to reach for and feign remembered emotions. He recovered his composure and continued. "But I will not tolerate your interference in this matter. Tempest will stay with us. She is mine. The others will not touch her."

Desari's hand went to her throat, and her face paled. "Darius, what have you done?"

"Do not think to defy me, or I will take her far from here and leave you all to go your own way."

Desari's mouth trembled. "We are under your protection, Darius. You have always led, and we have always followed you. We trust you completely; trust your judgment." She hesitated. "I know you would never hurt this girl."

Darius studied his sister's face for a long moment. "No, you do not, Desari, and neither do I. I know only that, without her, I will bring danger and death to many before I am destroyed."

He heard her swift intake of breath. "Is it that bad, Darius? Are you so close, then?" She did not need to use the words vampire or undead.

They both knew intimately of what she spoke.

"She is all that is standing between the destruction of mortals and immortals alike. The line is fragile. Do not interfere, Desari. It is all the warning I am capable of giving you," he said with a merciless, implacable resolve.

Darius had always been the acknowledged leader of their small group, ever since they were all children and he had saved them from certain death. Even as a mere youth he had reared and protected them, given them his all. He was the strongest, the most cunning, and the most powerful. He had the gift of healing. They relied on him for his wisdom and expertise. He had steered them safely through the long centuries without thought for himself. Desari could do no other than support him in this one thing he asked. No, not asked. Demanded. She knew Darius was not exaggerating, not lying, not bluffing; he never did. Everything he said, he meant.

Slowly, reluctantly, Desari nodded. "You are my brother, Darius. I am with you always, whatever you choose to do."

She turned as her lifemate abruptly shimmered into a solid state beside her. Julian Savage still took her breath away, the sight of his tall, muscled frame, the striking, molten-gold eyes that always reflected love back to her.

Julian bent to brush Desari's temple with the warmth and comfort of his mouth. He had caught her distress through their psychic link and instantly returned from hunting prey. When he turned his gaze on Darius, his eyes were cold. Darius met that gaze with one equally chilling.

Desari sighed softly at the two territorial males measuring each other. "You two promised." Instantly Julian leaned into her, his voice extraordinarily tender. "Is there a problem here?"

Darius made a sound of disgust, a rumbling growl deep in his throat. "Desari is my sister. I have always seen to her welfare."

For just a moment the golden eyes flickered over him, cold with menace. Then Julian's white teeth gleamed in a semblance of a smile. "It is true, and I can do no other than be grateful to you."

Darius shook his head slightly. He was still unused to tolerating the presence of any male not of his own small group. Accepting his sister's new lifemate traveling with them was one thing; liking it was quite another. Julian had been raised in the Carpathian Mountains, their native land, and though he had been forced into a solitary existence, he had had the benefit of years of training in their ways, of adult Carpathian guidance during his fledgling years. Darius knew Julian was strong and one of their people's most skilled hunters of vampires. He knew Desari was safe with him, but he couldn't quite relinquish his own role as her protector. He had had far too many centuries of leadership, of learning the hard way, through experience.

Some centuries ago in their almost-forgotten homeland, Darius and five other Carpathian children had seen their parents murdered by invaders who thought them vampires and carried out their ritual slayings: a stake through the heart, beheading, with garlic stuffed in the mouth. It had been a frightening, traumatic time as Ottoman Turks overran their village while the sun was high in the sky, just as their parents were at their most vulnerable. The Carpathians had tried to save the mortal villagers, standing with them to fight the invasion despite the fact that the attack had come when the Carpathian people were at their weakest. But there were far too many assailants, and the sun was too high. Nearly everyone had been massacred.

The marauding armies had then herded the children, mortal and immortal alike, into a straw shack and set it on fire, burning the youngsters alive. Darius had managed to fabricate an illusion to cloak the presence of a few of the children from the soldiers, a feat unheard of at his age. And when he noticed a peasant woman who had escaped the bloodthirsty assailants, he had cloaked her presence as well and forced a compulsion upon her. He embedded within the woman a deep need to flee and take with her the Carpathian children he had saved.

The woman took them down the mountain to her lover, a man who owned a boat. Though sailing the open seas was rarely attempted in that century, since tales of sea serpents and falling off the earth abounded, the marauders' cruelty was a worse fate, so the small crew took their vessel far from their shores in an attempt to flee the steadily advancing army.

The children had huddled together in the precarious craft, all terrified, all shocked at the hideous deaths of their parents. Even Desari, a mere infant, was aware of what had happened. Darius had kept them going, insisting they could make it if they stuck together. A terrible storm had come up, washing the crew overboard, the sea rising up to claim the sailors and the woman as efficiently as the Turks had massacred the villagers. Darius had refused to yield his charges up to such a fate. Although still very young, he already had an iron will. Holding the image of a bird in their minds, he forced the children, as young as they were, to shape-shift with him before the ship went down. Then he had flown, clutching tiny Desari in his talons, leading them to the nearest body of land, the shores of Africa.

Darius had been six years old, his sister barely six months. The other female child, Syndil, was one. With them were three boys, the oldest four years of age. Compared to the familiar comforts of their homeland, Africa seemed wild, untamed, a primitive, frightening place. Yet Darius felt responsible for the safety of the other children. He learned to fight, to hunt, to kill. He learned how to exert authority, to take care of his group. Carpathian children did not yet have the extraordinary talents of their elders - to know the unknowable, to see the unseeable, to command the creatures and natural forces of the Earth, to heal. They had to learn these techniques from their parents, study under those who would teach them. But Darius didn't allow those limitations to stop him. Though he was just a little boy himself, he would not lose the children. It was that simple to him.

It had not been easy to keep the two girls alive. Female Carpathian children seldom survived the first year of life. At first Darius had hoped other Carpathians would come and rescue them, but in the meantime he had to provide for them as best he could. And as time passed, the memory of their native race and ways faded. He took the few rules imprinted on him from birth, what he could remember of his talks with his parents, and he devised his own ways and his own code of honor by which to live.

He harvested herbs, hunted animals, tried every nutritional source on himself first, often sickening himself in the process. But eventually he learned the ways of the wilds, became a stronger protector, and ultimately the group of children became much closer than most families, the only ones like themselves in their remote world. The few of their kind they had encountered had already turned, become the undead, vampires feeding on the lives of those around them. Always it was Darius who took the responsibility of hunting down and destroying the dreaded demons. His group was fiercely loyal to, fiercely protective of, one another. And all of them followed Darius without question.

His strength and will had carried them through centuries of learning, of adapting, of creating a new kind of life. It had been a shock to discover, a few short months ago, that others of their kind, Carpathian and not vampire, still existed. Darius had been secretly afraid that all males of his kind eventually turned, and he feared what would become of his wards if he did. He had lost all emotion centuries earlier, a sure sign a male was in danger of turning. He never spoke of it, always afraid the day would come when he would turn on his own loved ones, relying on his iron will and private code of honor to prevent such an outcome. Already, one of the males among them had turned, become the unthinkable. Darius glided away from his sister and her lifemate, thinking of Savon. Savon had been the second oldest boy, the closest of friends, and Darius had relied on him often to hunt or to watch over the others. Savon had always been his second in command, the one he trusted to watch his back.

He stopped for a moment beside a huge oak tree and leaned against the trunk, remembering that horrible day a few months earlier when he had found Savon crouched over Syndil, her body a mass of bite marks and bruises. She was naked, blood and seed seeping from between her legs, her beautiful eyes glazed with shock. Savon had then attacked Darius, going for his throat, ripping and tearing nearly fatal wounds before Darius had time to realize that his best friend had become what all the males feared becoming most. The vampire. The undead. Savon had brutally raped and beaten Syndil and was now trying to destroy Darius.

Darius had had no choice but to kill his friend and incinerate his body and heart, having had to learn the hard way how to destroy a vampire properly. For the undead could rise again and again from the most mortal of wounds unless certain techniques were used. Darius had had no one to instruct him in those techniques, only an eternity of instincts and mistakes to correct. After that terrible battle with Savon, Darius had lain for some time deep within the soil, healing himself.

Syndil had been largely silent in the months since, often taking the shape of a panther and staying with the other cats, Sasha and Forest. Darius sighed. It was only now that he could feel the deep sorrow sweeping over him for Savon, the guilt and despair that he had been unable to see it coming and find a way to help his friend. After all, he was their leader; he was responsible. And Syndil was like a lost child, with such sadness, such wariness in her beautiful dark eyes. He had failed her most of all, failed to protect her from one of their own, thinking in his arrogance that his leadership, the unity among them, would prevent the ultimate depravity one of their species could experience. He still could not look Syndil fully in the eyes.

And now he was breaking his own laws. But, he wondered, had he made up those laws so the "family" would have a code to live by? Or had his father told him of these matters? Or had they been imprinted on him before birth, as certain other knowledge had been? Had he been better friends with Julian, they might have shared more information, but for centuries Darius had always learned for himself, remaining self-contained, private, answering to no one, accepting the consequences of his own actions and mistakes.

Hunger bit at him, and he knew he had no choice but to hunt. The campground they had chosen to stay in for a few days was deep within a California state park, little used and, at the moment, empty. A highway ran close by, but he had spread an invisible warning net between it and the camp, creating a sense of oppression and dread in humans who might think of stopping there. It wouldn't harm the humans, just make them wary. Yet it hadn't deterred Tempest.

Darius thought about that as he shape-shifted on the run, his body contorting, stretching. Muscles and sinew soon encompassed a loose, supple leopard's powerful frame, and Darius loped silently through the forest toward a more popular campsite situated near a deep, clear lake.

The leopard covered the distance quickly, scenting prey, circling to stay downwind and low in the bushes. It observed two men fishing from the reed-covered shore, talking to each other in short bursts of speech.

Darius paid no attention to their words. In the body of the cat he slunk close to the ground. Carefully positioning each large paw, he crept stealthily forward. One of the men turned his head toward the sound of laughter coming from the campsite. Darius stopped, then resumed his slow-motion progress. His prey turned his attention back toward the lake, and in absolute silence the leopard edged ever closer, then crouched low, powerful muscles bunched and waiting.

Darius sent forth a silent call, enveloping the shorter of the two men, drawing his prey to him. The man's head went up, and he turned toward the leopard waiting in the brush. He dropped his fishing pole into the lake and began to lurch forward, one foot in front of the other, eyes glazed.

"Jack!" The other man grabbed the sinking pole, twisting around to stare at his friend.

Darius froze both men with a mind block and shape-shifted back to his own form as "Jack" approached the big cat. It was the only safe thing to do. He had found that the cat's hunting instincts made it dangerous to use its body to feed. The leopard's sharp canines pierced and killed its prey. It had taken several trial-and-error episodes on his part as a child, not powerful or skilled enough for hunting, to learn what was acceptable and what was not. Until he was grown he had had no choice but to use the leopards and their abilities, and he accepted the responsibility for the Africans who had died, for it was the only way he could keep the other children alive.

Now he kept the other man calm and accepting with the ease of long practice, a method perfected long ago. He bent his head and drank his fill, careful not to take too much. He didn't want his prey sick and dizzy. Helping the first man to a sitting position in the brush, he summoned the other one to him.

Finally sated, he slowly allowed his body to reshape. The cat snarled silently, its instinct to pull what appeared to be carcasses deeper into the trees and finish consuming them, blood and meat. Darius fought the urge and padded on cushioned paws back toward the touring bus.

His group now traveled together as musicians, modern-day troubadours, going from city to city singing, as often as possible, in the small local venues Desari preferred. The constant travel also preserved their personal anonymity even as their outward fame grew. Desari had a beautiful voice, haunting and mesmerizing. Dayan was a superb songwriter, and his voice, too, captured audiences and held them spellbound. In the old days the troubadour life had allowed them to travel from place to place without close scrutiny, and no one could notice or compare their differences from others. Now, with the world growing smaller, maintaining privacy from fans was a much more difficult feat. Thus, they made every effort to act and appear "normal," including using inefficient, imperfect, automotive travel. And thus their need for a mechanic to maintain their caravan of vehicles.

Darius made his way back to the campsite and shapeshifted as he entered the motor home equipped with every luxury. Tempest was in a deep sleep, due, he was certain, to the fact that he had been greedy in the taking of her blood. He should have tried to control himself, to deprive himself of the unexpected ecstasy of it.

Just looking at her made his body ache with a relentless, urgent demand he knew was not going to go away. He and this fiery little woman, would have to learn to strike some sort of balance. Darius was unaccustomed to opposition. Everyone always did as he bade without question. He could not expect a tempestuous human woman to do the same. He tucked the blanket more closely around her and bent to brush his mouth against her forehead. His thumb skimmed the softness of her skin, and he felt a jolt throughout his body.

Darius collected himself and directed a firm command to the leopards before stalking out of the bus. He wanted Tempest safe at all times. Though the cats slept the day away, as did Darius and his family, the leopards gave the troupe semblance of security, guarding the bus while the troupe members were resting and restoring themselves deep within the ground. He directed the cats' protective instincts to include Tempest above all.