Dark Fire by Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 6

“Aw, Syndil, do not start again,” Barack pleaded. “You’ve just begun speaking to me again. Do not get all worked up once more.”

Darius waved a hand impatiently, dismissing the argument. “I cannot survive without her. She must be found. Without her I am lost to the undead. She is all that matters in my world, and we must retrieve her.”

“No,” Desari gasped, unable to believe that her brother could be so close to turning.

It was Julian who shrugged casually. “Then we can do no other than return her to our family. She is young, Darius, and human. It is natural for her to fear what we are, to fear your strength and power. You are no easy man to deal with. You need patience.”

The burning black eyes settled on Julian’s face for a moment; then some of the tension eased from Darius’s shoulders. “She is hurt and alone. She does not understand the need to merge her mind with mine. She fights herself continually. I am worried for her health.” Darius sighed softly. “And she seems to have a penchant for getting herself into trouble whenever I leave her on her own.”

“That, I fear, is a woman thing,” Julian declared with a wry grin.

Desari thumped Julian’s chest. “Where is she, Darius?”

Tempest sat huddled on the seat near the window, peering out with sightless eyes at the countryside flashing by. She had been lucky to flag down a bus once she made her way to main highway, even luckier that the driver had allowed her on board. But the farther the bus carried her from Darius, the heavier her heart had become. It was now like a leaden weight in her chest. Sorrow was pressing in on her. Grief. As if by her leaving him, Da­rius had died. Intellectually she knew it wasn’t so, but in her resolve to get away, she firmly forced herself to stay away from the path to his mind. And that left her feeling unutterably alone and lonely.

She could hear small snatches of conversation flowing around her. A man, two rows back, was snoring loudly. Several young people were laughing together, exchanging travel stories. At least four military men were on the bus, returning to their homes on leave. Everything seemed to flow around her as if she wasn’t there, as if she were no longer alive.

Tempest knew blood was seeping from the puncture wounds on her rib cage and most likely from the scrapes down her back. Someone was bound to notice if it didn’t stop soon. She tried to concoct a plausible story, but she couldn’t keep her mind on anything but Darius. It took every effort, every bit of concentration and control not to call out to him, not to reach for him when she needed him so desperately. Her shoes were squishing with her own blood. If anyone really looked at her, they’d probably turn her over to the authorities. She huddled down farther in the seat. She just wanted to disappear, become invisible. Even her clothes were damp from her plunge into the stream. She hadn’t returned to the campsite, so she had no money, no tools, no plan. More than anything she wanted to feel Darius beside her.

The miles accumulating between her and Darius were putting more and more of a strain on her. She could feel tears burning behind her eyes. It was becoming difficult to breathe. Even her skin was sensitive, needing the feel of his. Tempest closed her eyes tightly against the pounding in her head, the constant strain of keeping her wayward mind from reaching out to his.

“Looks like we’re running into a freak storm,” the bus driver announced, peering through his windshield at the sky.

The weather was indeed changing rapidly. Rising directly in front of them was a huge cloud shaped like a dark, old-fashioned blacksmith’s anvil. Almost instantly the bus hit a sheet of driving rain, so thick and hard, i was nearly impossible to see. Swearing, the driver slowed the vehicle significantly. The rain turned an ominous white. The driver ducked instinctively as hail pounded the roof and windshield. The sound was alarming, like the chatter of a machine gun.