“Damn you to hell,” Slovensky snarled. “My brother will track you down.”
Mikhail said nothing, simply watching the havoc Gregori was creating. Mikhail would have killed James Slovensky outright, without the drama Gregori had such a flare for, but he was tired, his body in a precarious state. He had no wish to drain his energy further. Raven would be in the vampire’s hands for the time it took Gregori to heal him. He couldn’t allow himself to think of what Andre might do to her. Mikhail stirred, pain shafting through him. More rocks fell on Slovensky in retaliation, covering him like a blanket, beginning to form a macabre grave.
Gregori moved into the room with his familiar silent glide, grace and power clinging to him as he strode through the wreckage of the wall. “This is becoming a bad habit.”
“Oh, shut up,” Mikhail said without rancor.
Gregori’s touch was infinitely gentle as he inspected the wounds. “They knew what they were doing. Placed these precisely to miss vital organs but to bleed you as much as possible.” It took seconds to deal with the manacles and free Mikhail from the chains. Gregori pressed soil over the wounds to stop further leakage.
“Check Father Hummer.” Mikhail’s voice was weak.
“He is dead.” Gregori barely glanced at the broken body.
“Be certain.” It was an order. Mikhail never ordered Gregori to do anything. That had never been their relationship.
For a moment Gregori’s silver eyes glittered as they stared at one another.
“Please, Gregori, if there is a chance…” Mikhail closed his eyes.
Shaking his head at the delay, Gregori dutifully went to the priest’s crumpled body and felt for a pulse. He knew it was fruitless, knew Mikhail knew it, too, but just the same he checked. Gregori was careful to be gentle with the body. “I am sorry, Mikhail. He is gone.”
“I do not want him left in this place.”
“Stop talking and allow me to do my job,” Gregori growled, easing Mikhail back onto the floor. “Take my blood while I stop up these holes.”
“Find Raven.”
“Take my blood, Mikhail. The vampire will not harm her. He will have some patience this night. You must be strong for the hunt. Drink what I freely offer. I would not want to find it necessary to compel you.”
“You are becoming a nuisance, Gregori,” Mikhail complained, but obediently he took hold of the healer’s proffered wrist. Gregori’s blood was ancient, as was Mikhail’s. There was none other that could help as quickly. There was silence as Mikhail fed, replenishing what was lost. Gregori turned his wrist slightly to ease Mikhail away from him, knowing his strength was needed for healing and transporting his prince to safety.
“The priest goes with us,” Mikhail reiterated. A wave of heat coursed through the ice of his body, leaving him needy, hungry. His mind reached for his lifemate, the need to merge overwhelming.
Pain exploded in her head, in his, so that he gasped and withdrew, his black eyes seeking Gregori’s pale ones in agony. Sleep for now, Mikhail. We will go on the hunt soon enough. We must take care of these wounds first. Gregori commanded it in a mesmerizing voice. Singsong, a flowing chant of ancient language. You will hear my words, let Mother Earth welcome you. The soil will heal your wounds and soothe your mind. Sleep, Mikhail. My blood is powerful, mixing with yours. Feel it healing your body. Gregori closed his eyes, merging completely with Mikhail, flowing in him so that he could find every ragged hole, push out foreign objects, and repair all damage from the inside out with the precision of the most skilled surgeon.
A large horned owl circled the ruined building, then settled on the crumpled wall. Slowly the wings folded and the owl’s round eyes surveyed the scene below. The talons flexed, relaxed. Gregori lifted his head, coming back to his own body. He spoke the Carpathian’s name softly in acknowledgment. “Aidan.”
The owl’s shape lengthened, shimmered, formed a tall, tawny-haired man with glittering gold eyes. His blond appearance was unusual for a Carpathian. He carried his body like a soldier, his manner sure and confident. “Who dared to do this?” he demanded. “What of Jacques and Mikhail’s woman?”