“But you are certain Rand is your father?” Mikhail persisted.
“When I was born, my blood caused quite a stir in the medical community. In my mother’s diary she wrote that Rand was my father and that he had a strange blood disorder. She thought I had inherited it. She took me to Ireland, hid me, because the doctors and scientists frightened her with their persistent questions. She was certain Rand was dead.”
Mikhail and Gregori exchanged a look. Their race was dying out. The last female child to be born had been Noelle some five hundred years earlier. The men were choosing to end their existence or turning vampire without a lifemate. Mikhail and Gregori had long suspected that a handful of human women, those with true psychic talent, had the ability to become a lifemate as Raven had. There had never before been an instance of a child born half-human, half-Carpathian. The only explanation possible was that Shea’s mother had been Rand’s true lifemate. Everyone had known he did not have real feelings for Noelle. Yet Rand had not turned Shea’s mother. No Carpathian woman would have allowed her child to grow up alone as Shea’s mother had. Why hadn’t Rand said anything? Their people would have cherished a child.
Rand did not mention suicide when he awakened, Gregori mused. He stays to himself, but that is not unusual.
“Is it possible for us to see this diary?” Mikhail asked Shea gently.
Shea shook her head sadly. “I was being hunted. I had to destroy it.”
“Your life must have been difficult, with no one to guide you,” Gregori said quietly. “You are not without your own unique capability. You are a true healer.”
“I studied many years.” She sent him a small smile. “I had plenty of time to apply myself.”
“You were born a healer,” he corrected. “It is a rare gift.” Gregori’s silver eyes dwelt on her slender figure. “Jacques.” His voice dropped even lower so that the sound seemed to seep into one’s bloodstream and warm it like a good brandy. “She is growing weaker. Her body trembles. I know that you do not fully understand her importance to our entire race, but I know your instincts are strong and intact. You are her lifemate, sworn to her protection and care.”
Shea’s hand gripped Jacques’ tightly. “Don’t listen to him. What we choose to do has nothing to do with any of them.”
“Trust me, love, I would never allow him to harm you,” Jacques said softly in reassurance. “He is only concerned that you are so weak.”
“I am a healer, like you, Shea.” Gregori seemed to glide forward. His body flowed without a hint of movement or threat. He was just suddenly closer. “I would never hurt a woman. I am Carpathian. A male seeks only to protect and care for our women.” His hand reached out to her neck. The touch of his fingers was astonishing. Light. Heat. A tingling sensation. “You must feed, Shea.” The voice was around her, in her, working at her will. “Jacques needs you strong to see him through what lies ahead. Our people need you. My blood is ancient and powerful. It will serve you, heal you, strengthen both of you.”
“No! Jacques, no. Tell him no.” For some reason she was alarmed at the idea.
“I will feed her,” Jacques objected quietly, his voice all the more menacing because of its hush.
The pale eyes slid over him. “You need to conserve your strength to heal your own body. Mikhail will supply you with what you need. There was a time, not so long ago, when you gave freely to your brother.”
Jacques carefully inspected Shea. Her skin was so pale, she looked translucent. The bruises on her throat, stark smudges; had not healed. She looked tired, her body far too slender. Gregori was right; she was trembling. Why had he not seen her weakness? He certainly had contributed to it. His blood is very pure, Shea. It is what aided my healing so quickly. 1 am not happy with another male seeing to your needs, but he is our healer. I want you to do as he says.