“No!” Raven fought the vampire in earnest, fear lending her strength that the loss of her blood had taken. For a moment she wrenched herself nearly free but was jerked back, the vampire’s hands around her throat, squeezing hard. Raven fought down panic. She didn’t dare pass out. Gregori, Mikhail’s down. They shot him.
I feel it. All Carpathians feel it. Do not worry. He will not die. Gregori was clearly moving closer. They were very careful to inflict flesh wounds that bleed heavily, not mortal wounds such as they gave Jacques. He is conveying to me the extent of his injuries.
The vampire dragged Raven with him to the door. “The others will come, but it will be too late. Do not think he will get out of this,” he hissed in her ear. “Slovensky and the others will die for this deed, and with them all records of what occurred in this place. You will be mine, far away where they cannot find you.”
Raven kept her eyes and mind focused on Mikhail, broadcasting to Gregori everything she saw: Slovensky manacling Mikhail’s wrists and ankles, chaining him to a wall, laughing, taunting, kicking at him. Mikhail remained silent, his dark eyes very black, glinting like ice.
The vampire lifted her slender body, ran with blurring speed from the place of death and destruction, launched himself skyward, his talons gripping Raven as he sped into the night.
Gregori merged his mind with Mikhail’s easily. Over the centuries of battles, wars, and vampire hunters, they had exchanged blood many times to preserve one another’s life. Mikhail was in pain, his blood loss great. The shooting had been a deliberate attempt to weaken his immense power. Slovensky was busy taunting Mikhail with graphic details of torture.
Mikhail’s black eyes smoldered an eerie red, a burning flame he turned on Slovensky as the man approached him. The power in those chilling eyes stopped Slovensky for a moment. “You’ll learn to hate me, vampire,” James Slovensky snarled. “And you’ll learn to fear me. You’ll learn who really holds the power.”
A slight, mocking smile touched Mikhail’s mouth. “I do not hate you, mortal. And I could never fear you. You are but a pawn in a game of power. And you have been sacrificed.” The voice was very low, a musical thread of sound that Slovensky found himself wanting to hear again.
The man knelt beside his victim, smiling his pleasure at the other’s pain. “Andre will give us the rest of you bloodsuckers.”
“And why would he do that?” Mikhail closed his eyes, his face lined and strained, but the hint of a smile remained.
“You turned him, forced him into such an unholy life, the same way you turned the woman. He is going to try to save her.” Slovensky leaned closer, drew his knife. “I think I should dig that slug out of you. We wouldn’t want you getting an infection now, would we?” His giggle was high-pitched with anticipation.
Mikhail didn’t flinch away from the blade. His black eyes snapped open, blazing with power. Slovensky fell backwards, scrambling away on all fours to crouch against the far wall. Fumbling in his coat, he jerked out the gun and held it pointed at Mikhail.
The ground rolled almost gently, seemed to swell so that the concrete floor bulged, then cracked. Slovensky grabbed for the wall behind him to steady himself and lost the gun in the process. Above his head a rock fell from the wall, bounced dangerously close, and rolled to a halt beside him. A second rock, and a third fell, so that Slovensky had to cover his head as the rocks rained down in a roaring shower.
Slovensky’s cry of fear was high and thin. He made himself even smaller, peering through his fingers at the Carpathian. Mikhail had not moved to protect himself. He lay exactly as Slovensky had positioned him, those dark eyes staring at him. Swearing, Slovensky tried to lunge for the gun.
The floor bucked and heaved under him, sending the gun skittering out of reach. A second wall swayed precariously and rocks cascaded down, striking the man about the head and shoulders, driving him to the floor. He watched a curious, frightening pattern form. Not one rock touched the priest’s body. Not one came close to Mikhail. The Carpathian simply watched him with those damn eyes and that faint mocking smile as the rocks buried Slovensky’s legs, then fell on his back. There was an ominous crack, and Slovensky screamed under the heavy load on his spine.