His woman. Teagan. He breathed her name in his mind. Beautiful, sweet Teagan. Her light shone bright even in the darkest of times. He had never thought to relive his worst day and yet he had when he clawed his way from Carpathian paralysis knowing Teagan was so close to a vampire’s lair. He hadn’t been able to breathe. He could barely think, his mind swamped with images of the loss of his human family.
Sweet, beautiful Teagan who commanded the light and could find humor in anything. He had vowed if he saved her, if he reached her in time, he would never allow her to be in such a precarious position again.
He’d faced countless battles and had suffered horrendous wounds. Nothing had ever threatened to break him—to shatter him—after the death of his human family. Not once in all the centuries of his existence, until he thought he might lose Teagan.
He found the way she brushed her teeth with such enthusiasm fascinating. He found everything about her fascinating. He liked the way she walked, the soft sway to her hips. He liked that she was small and he could practically surround her waist with his hands. Her muscles were small as well, but firm and tight, a climber’s muscles.
She had cried for him. His own mother had never looked at him with soft eyes or wet ones. Only Dorina, his human mother who had died far too soon and in such a brutal way. No one else ever had. Until Teagan. Every moment he spent with her, he was aware he was falling deeper under her spell. He knew the lifemate bond was strong, unbreakable even, but he hadn’t known his feelings for her would be equally as strong and unbreakable.
He was having a much more difficult time with his emotions being so new and raw and overwhelming. He felt everything and when the memories closed in, the sorrow was all too real and impossible to ignore.
He felt her then, pouring into his mind. Strong. Unbelievably strong. Her ability shocked him when few things in the world did anymore. She was a powerful psychic and with the enhancement of his blood, she was growing even more in strength. He didn’t know if it was her particular gift or not, but she was definitely already partway in the Carpathian world.
He took her hand, locking their fingers together as he drew her back to the chairs he’d manufactured for her. She had a long way to go before she learned all that was in store for her with her new life, but everything she saw, even his memories, would help to prepare her.
She settled into the smaller of the two chairs, drawing up her knees almost protectively, although he knew she wasn’t aware that was what she was doing. Andre couldn’t have that. He reached over and lifted her right out of the chair and into his lap.
“What are you doing? This lap thing is becoming a habit, and I’m not the kind of girl to sit in men’s laps,” Teagan declared, but she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You might want to rethink your position on that,” Andre said. “I like having you close.” He paused, nuzzling the top of her head, wishing again that her long hair was out of the braids so he could bury his hands in all its richness. “I need you this close to me.”
Teagan leaned into Andre, allowing herself to breathe him in. She was already rethinking her position on laps. He was so warm, and he felt as good as he looked. More, his arms were strong and that made her safe. Well . . . she loved the way he smelled. Really loved it. Mostly, if he was going to relive the rest of his nightmare, she wanted to be close. She wanted to be holding him so he knew he wasn’t alone.
“I’ll rethink,” she said, and brushed a kiss along his jaw. “Share the rest of it with me, Andre. Let me all the way in.”
She hoped she was strong enough to be the woman he needed. The moment he reached for the memory, sorrow pressed in; not a blanket of it, more like a weighty stone. Grief was so acute she felt she was drowning in it. She took a breath and let herself go, gave herself to Andre. He needed her more than anyone else ever could.
She inhaled and smelled blood. She didn’t know fear had an odor, but it did. Fear permeated the entire area between the house and the forest. She couldn’t see Ion, but she knew it was impossible to save him. Euard was pinned by the four stakes through his shoulders and ribs. The hideous vampire gripped Elena—sweet young Elena—forcing her face toward the blood flowing from her brother’s body. A few feet away lay Dorina, looking like a broken doll, her neck torn, her legs and arms twisted in macabre ways.
Andre rushed the vampire. Only a boy. No experience. His uncle was a big man, much like Andre fully grown. Clearly he had a lot of experience. Teagan wanted to close her eyes, just like she did if she inadvertently went into the room when her sisters were watching horror movies, but she couldn’t. The scene played out in her mind—in Andre’s mind—and she wasn’t going to pull away and leave him alone. Still, she knew.
Ciprian laughed as he dropped the child to the ground and caught Andre as the boy tried to slam his fist through the vampire’s chest.
“That is not the way, ghost,” Ciprian said. “Join me. You led me here, now join me in the feast.”
“Never,” Andre declared, struggling against the power and strength of the larger man.
Ciprian caught Andre in his bony hands, his terrible talons digging deep into Andre’s flesh. He bent his head and sank his teeth into Andre’s neck, gulping at the rich blood. He didn’t rend and tear as he’d done with the humans. He was more careful. Clearly he enjoyed watching Andre squirm. When he’d fed on Andre’s blood, he flung the boy to the ground, deliberately aiming for Dorina’s body.
“Even your blood is not strong yet,” Ciprian said with derision. “You are a child playing at being a warrior. Join me or you will die with them.” Contempt twisted his face, and he dismissed the boy, turning back to Elena, dragging her by her hair, off the ground where she’d crumpled at her brother’s feet.
Andre landed almost on top of Dorina, on his back, the wind knocked out of him so that he lay there, his lungs burning, his face turned toward the only woman who had ever really showed him kindness. She was dying. He could see that, but still, her eyes, when she looked at him, were soft with love and fear for him. He touched her hand. He might not be able to save her, but he was determined to save her daughter at least.
The boy gathered himself, and this time he used his limited abilities to weave together a weapon. His uncle, completely absorbed in terrorizing the two human children, didn’t bother to look at him a second time, certain Andre was no threat to him.
Andre moved fast, with blurring speed, and slammed the long spear through Ciprian’s body, using his combined speed and weight for the force necessary to drive the wood through his back toward the vampire’s heart. Ciprian screamed and flung Elena from him, whirling around as black blood splattered in a circle. He caught Andre by the throat with one hand.
“I am going to tear out your heart and eat it,” he declared. A crafty look came into his eyes. “But first, you can wait while I kill the others.” He waved his free hand and lifted Andre by his throat and drove him backward to the side of the house, right beside Euard.
Four stakes appeared anchored into the house, a good two inches around, the points razor-sharp. Ciprian slammed Andre’s body right against the house itself, so that the stakes went through his shoulders and ribs, pinning him just like Euard. The tips came out the front so that his entire weight was suspended there.
The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing like the agony Andre suffered as he watched helplessly while his uncle tortured and killed both Elena and Euard. He wanted to die. He welcomed death. Not because of the physical pain, that didn’t matter. In one long night he’d lost his birth parents. He had lost his uncle long ago, and now this human family—the one he loved—was dead. Ion. Dorina. Euard. Elena. All because of him. Because he’d sought them out and left a trail to them. He hadn’t been strong enough to save them.
After what seemed hours, but couldn’t have been, Ciprian turned toward Andre, smeared with the bright red blood of his victims and covered in his own black blood. The spear still protruded from his body as if he couldn’t be bothered with such a paltry inconvenience as removing the weapon while he feasted.
Wind hit the building hard. Dark clouds roiled overhead. Ciprian whirled around, and out of the forest came another man. He was tall. Powerful. His slashing eyes took in the scene immediately and he was on Ciprian before the vampire could move. With the spear already through his body, just below his heart, the undead had little maneuvering room.
“Roman,” Andre whispered, barely lifting his head. Blood streamed from around the stakes. He had struggled while Ciprian tortured and killed his friends, but now he didn’t move. He didn’t want to survive.