Almost without thought Shea reacted instinctively, her slender arms circling his neck, her body soft and pliant against the aggression in his, her mind calm and loving, a warm, safe haven for his fragmented, tortured mind. She kissed him without reservation, pouring every ounce of love and support she could into her response. He lifted his head reluctantly and rested his forehead on hers.
“Nothing is going to happen to me, Jacques. I think you’re having anxiety attacks.” She tousled his hair as if he were a small boy, gave him a teasing grin. “Do Carpathians have shrinks, too?”
He laughed softly, astonished that he could do so when he had been so terrified only moments earlier. “You are as disrespectful as a woman can get.”
“I’m not just any woman, silly, I’m a doctor and terribly brilliant. Everyone says so.”
“Do they now?” He held her tight against his hard frame, thinking to take her into his very body, his arms protectively sheltering her.
“Is this going to be too much for you, Jacques? Facing those horrible butchers again? Are you certain you can do this?”
He raised his head so that she couldn’t see the wolfish smile that didn’t reach his ice-black eyes. “I am looking forward to renewing our acquaintance.”
Shea touched his mind with hers, found a grim satisfaction at the thought of a confrontation, but Jacques was too strong to allow her to see the rage and hatred welling up, threatening to spew forth violence and revenge. Shea was a healer, a gentle woman who could not conceive of an evil such as he had seen, such as he himself possessed. She took his hand, her fingers lacing tightly with his. She might not ever have a child, but she had Jacques. She wanted him far away from pain and torment, far from men or creatures who might try to destroy him again. She was very determined to see him safe.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
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Raven stood in the comparative shelter of the porch, her face turned up toward the sky, eyes closed. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, and her fingers twisted together compulsively over her stomach. She was not with the others, rather somewhere out of her body and concentrating on attempting to find Byron’s location. Beside her stood her dark, intimidating husband, his mind obviously locked with hers. Mikhail was so like Jacques that Shea could not tear her gaze from him. As she moved onto the porch a step behind Jacques, she could clearly see that Mikhail was furious. He was seething with anger, violence swirling very close to the surface, yet his posture was purely protective. He had placed himself between Raven and the ferocity of the storm.
Gregori was as still as a statue, his face a blank mask, his silver eyes as empty as death, yet Shea gave him a wide berth. There was something dangerous in his utter stillness. Shea felt she had no way to sorting out the complexity of the Carpathian male’s nature. Gregori was watching Raven through narrowed, restless eyes, eyes that saw far too much. Suddenly he cursed, low and vicious, startling from someone of his stature and power. “She should not put herself at risk. She is with child.”
His eyes met Jacques’, silver lightning and black ice. Total understanding between the two men. Shea merged her mind with Jacques’ quickly to try to understand the hidden currents. Raven’s pregnancy, if she was pregnant, changed everything as far as the men were concerned. Shea could see no evidence of a child—Raven appeared as slim as ever—but she couldn’t believe the healer would be wrong. He seemed so infallible, so completely invincible. The child was everything, all-important to the men. It surprised, even shocked her, the way they regarded the pregnancy. It was a miracle to both of them. The baby was more important than any of their lives. Shea was confused. Despite Jacques’ fractured memories, his protective streak was extremely strong.
“He’s aware of his surroundings, but he can’t move. Even his mind is locked and still. He is paralyzed somehow.” Raven’s voice startled Shea, brought her back to the stormy weather and their rescue mission. Raven was clearly speaking of Byron. “He can’t move or call out, not even mentally. It is dark and damp, and he knows he will suffer greatly before they are done with him.” Raven swayed, her hands protectively covering her stomach.