Dark Prince - Feehan Christine - Страница 33
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“You need help and I know I can’t be the one to help you. I’ll go. You can contact me when you feel up to it. I promise not to go anywhere until you’re better.”
“Put my ring back on your finger, Raven,” he said softly.
She shook her head, drew away from him. “I don’t think so, Mikhail. Let’s let things be for a while. Let me think things through.”
His hand caressed her nape, slid over her shoulder, down her arm until his fingers circled her wrist. “I need to sleep tomorrow, really sleep. I want you protected from these people.” He knew she would assume he meant that they would drag him.
Raven smoothed back the tangle of coffee-colored hair from his forehead. “I’ll be fine on my own, as I have been for years. You’re so busy looking after the world, you think there’s no one who is capable of looking after themselves. I promise you I won’t leave, and I promise I will be careful. I won’t go hiding in their closets or under their beds.”
Mikhail caught her chin firmly. “These people are dangerous, Raven, fanatical. I found that out tonight.”
“Can they identify you?” All at once she couldn’t breathe. She was becoming desperate to have his friends take care of his wounds.
“No way. And there is no way they will know. I found out two more names. Eugene, very dark, a Hungarian accent.”
“That would be Eugene Slovensky. He came in on the train with the tour group.”
“Someone named Kurt?” He lay back against the pillow, no longer able to block out the pain in his thigh. It was cutting at his nerve endings like a rusty saw blade going through his skin.
“Kurt Von Halen. He was on the tour also.”
“There was a third man. No one spoke his name.” His voice revealed his weakness. “He was about seventy, gray hair, a thin gray mustache.”
“That must be Harry Summers, Margaret’s husband.”
“The inn harbors a nest of assassins. The worst of it was, the midwife told her husband, told all of them that Noelle was not of the undead. How could they believe such nonsense when she gave life to a child? God! What a terrible waste of life.” Grief washed over him anew, added to his burden of pain.
Raven could feel it hammering at her insides cruelly. “I’m going to go now so they can help you, Mikhail. You’re getting weaker by the minute.” She bent to kiss his forehead. “I can feel their anxiety.”
He caught her hand. “Put my ring back on your finger.” His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist. “I want you to wear it. It is important to me.”
“All right, Mikhail, but only so you’ll rest. We’ll sort it out when you’re feeling better. Call your friends now. I’ll drive your car back to the inn.” She touched his skin.
He was cold, very cold. Raven pushed the ring back on her finger. He caught at her again. “Do not go near those people. Stay in your room. I will sleep through the day. You rest, and I will come for you in the evening.”
“Very ambitious of you.” Gently she pushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I think you’ll be in bed for a while.”
“Carpathians heal quickly. Jacques will see you home safely.”
“That really isn’t necessary,” she declined, uneasy in the presence of strangers.
“It is necessary for my peace of mind,” Mikhail said softly, his black eyes imploring her to give in to him. At Raven’s small nod he pushed his luck. “Before you go, please try another glass of juice. It will go a long way to alleviate my worry for you.” He knew by reading her mind that she had tried some juice earlier. Her stomach had rebelled, before the first sip had even passed her lips. He cursed himself for that. He was directly responsible for her body’s rejection of human nutrients. Raven was already far too thin. She couldn’t afford weight loss.
“The smell of it makes me sick,” she admitted, wanting to humor him but knowing it was impossible. “I think I really do have the flu. I’ll try later, Mikhail.”
“I will help you.” He murmured the words softly, his dark eyes clouded with worry. “I need to do this for you. Please, little one, allow me to do this simple thing.”
Behind her, the door opened and his three friends entered. One stood to the side of the door expectantly. He looked like a gentler version of Mikhail. “You must be Jacques.” Raven touched Mikhail’s cold hand once before leaving the room.
“And you are Raven.” He was looking at the ring on her finger, not even trying to hide his smirk.
She lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t want him upset. It seemed the quickest way to get out of here so you people can help him.” She had been unable to use Jacques to “see” Mikhail. His mind shield had been too strong to penetrate. Byron had been an easy target.
When she headed for the front door Jacques shook his head and crooked his finger at her. “He wants you to drink some juice.”
“Oh, give it a rest. I didn’t say I would.”
“We can stay here all night.” He shrugged broad shoulders and flashed a quick, lopsided grin. “I would not mind. Mikhail’s house is comfortable.”
She scowled at him, tried to look fierce when something in her was beginning to find the entire lot of them comical. Males thought they were so logical. “You’re just like him. And don’t take it as a compliment either,” she added, when he looked pleased.
He grinned again, that lopsided, heart-stopping grin that must break hearts everywhere he went.
“You’re related to him, aren’t you?” Raven guessed, certain she was right. How could he not be? He had that same charm, the same eyes, the same good looks.
“When he claims me.” He poured a glass of fresh apple juice and handed it to her. “He wouldn’t know.” It was going to kill her to drink it.
“He would know. He knows everything. And where you are concerned, he can get a mite testy. So drink.”
She sighed in resignation, and tried to force herself to swallow the juice without disturbing Mikhail. She knew Jacques was right about Mikhail. He would know if she didn’t drink it, and it seemed so desperately important to him. Her stomach rolled, heaved in protest. Raven gagged, coughed.
“Call to him,” Jacques instructed. “Let him help you.”
“He’s so weak, he doesn’t need this.”
“He will not go to sleep until you are taken care of,” Jacques persisted. “Call him or we will never get out of here.”
“You even sound like him,” she murmured. Mikhail, I’m sorry. I need your help with this.
He sent her warmth, love. The soft command allowed her to drain the glass, keep the juice in her stomach. She rinsed the glass in the sink and turned it upside down. “You were right. He wouldn’t let them treat him until I drank it. He’s so stubborn.”
“Our women come first always. Do not worry about him; we would never allow anything to happen to Mikhail.” He led the way out of the house to the car hidden under the canopy of trees.
Raven paused. “Listen to them. The wolves. They’re singing to him, for him. They know he’s hurt.”
Jacques opened the car door for her. His dark eyes, so like Mikhail’s, slid over her. “You are very unusual.”
“So Mikhail says. I think that’s beautiful, that the wolves are calling encouragement to him.”
Jacques started the engine. “You know you cannot say a word to anyone of Mikhail’s injury. It would put him in danger.” He made it a statement, but she could sense his deep need to protect Mikhail.
Raven liked him all the more for that, felt a bond with him, but she sent Jacques a little frown of reprimand all the same. “You people are so arrogant. You insist on believing that because the human race does not have great telepathic abilities, we’re somehow lacking in intellect. I assure you, I have a brain, and I’m perfectly capable of figuring that out all by myself.”
He grinned at her again. “You must make him completely crazy. The hotshot thing was great. I would be willing to bet it was the first time he was ever called that.”
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