“I would prefer that you slept for a while.” He shifted, eased his weight off her, surprised to find that he was still partially dressed.
“That’s only because you have so much anger toward Romanov you don’t want me to know what you’re doing.” She propped herself up on one elbow so that her thick mane of silky hair spilled across her body, a thin veil over her breasts.
His gut clenched hotly at the sight, his dark eyes going black with a sudden flare of desire. She laughed softly, tauntingly. He bent down to taste temptation, his tongue bringing her nipple to a hard peak.
Her fingers stroked through his thick hair tenderly. “You think to protect Jacques by leaving him here with me as my bodyguard.” Her eyes softened, warmed. “You think you are going to do something I will be unable to accept, but I believe in you, Mikhail. I think you are a great and fair man. You have every right to despise Romanov, but I know you can put that aside and do what is right. He is a young man, confused and angry, shaken and traumatized by his parents’ brutal deaths. Whatever he found that linked you to those deaths has driven him into a breakdown. It’s a terrible tragedy.”
Mikhail closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. She was effectively tying his hands. How could he go out and kill a man for torturing Raven when she was compassionate enough to forgive him?
“Go feed before you see him. You made me weak, and if you’ll forgive a little crude Carpathian humor, I’ll expect you to bring me home dinner.”
Startled, he stared at her. For a long moment there was silence; then they burst out laughing. “Get dressed,” Mikhail ordered with mock sternness. “I cannot have poor Jacques tormented by you.”
“I fully intend to torment him. He needs to learn not to be so serious.”
“Jacques is the least serious of all Carpathian males. He has retained his emotions far longer than most. It has only been a few centuries since he has lost them.”
“He is serious when it comes to ordering females about. He has definite ideas on how we should behave. I intend to take that up with him.”
His eyebrow shot up. “I am certain you will keep him occupied while we are gone. Do me a favor, little one; do not be too hard on him.”
They were both laughing as they dressed.
Chapter Thirteen
Rudy Romanov was heavily drugged. The scent was a stench in Mikhail’s nostrils. The idea of taking contaminated blood into his body was repulsive to him, but it was necessary. He would be able to read Romanov’s thoughts at will. Raven had sent him off with complete trust and faith in his love for her. Though every cell in his body demanded Romanov’s death, Mikhail could not betray her confidence in him.
“Allow me,” Gregori said softly, easily reading Mikhail’s desire.
“There is great risk to your soul,” Mikhail pointed out.
“The risk is well worth the continuation of our race. Romanov is a danger we cannot afford. We should be concentrating our efforts on finding women to continue our race, not fighting off vampire hunters. I believe it is only a handful of human women, women with great psychic ability who can mate with our males.”
“On what do you base this theory?” Mikhail asked softly, a thread of menace creeping into his tone. Experimenting with women was an unforgivable crime.
Gregori’s silver eyes narrowed, glittered. The black emptiness was growing in Gregori, a dark stain spreading over his soul. He made no effort to hide it from Mikhail. It was as if he wanted to show Mikhail just how desperate the situation was becoming. “I have done many dark, ugly, unforgivable things, but I would never use a female for experimental purposes. I must be the one to take Romanov’s blood if you insist on the continuation of his life.” Gregori was not asking.
The two Carpathians moved easily through the narrow halls of the psychiatric ward of the hospital. The humans experienced a cold sensation, nothing more, as the two passed unseen through the building. They streamed through a lock hole, a flow of vapor like a heavy tinted fog, swirling through the room to wrap around Romanov’s body like a shroud. Romanov cried out, fear gripping him as the mist wound around him like a snake, slithering over his ribs, his wrist, curling around his neck and beginning to wind tighter and tighter. He could feel it on his skin, a vice that continued to twist his body like a corkscrew, but as Romanov clawed at the vapor, his hands passed right through it. Voices hissed hideously, whispered, threatened, so quiet as to be mere threads of sound in his head. He clapped his palms over his ears in an attempt to stop the insidious murmuring. Saliva dribbled from his slack mouth; his throat worked convulsively.