“How could anyone do such a thing to her? She is so good, so courageous. She risked her life to help a stranger. How could someone want to harm her?” Mikhail asked, raising his eyes toward the heavens. Silence was his only answer.
Mikhail’s gaze found Gregori. He watched his friend work with the intense concentration of the healing ritual. The low chant was soothing to him, brought a measure of relief to his tormented soul. He could feel Gregori with them, inside her body, working, weaving the magic of body repair, a painstakingly slow process.
“Enough blood,” Jacques whispered hoarsely as he lit the scented candles and began another low chant.
Gregori stirred, his eyes remaining closed, but he nodded. “Her body is attempting the conversion. Our blood is soaking into her organs and working to change and repair tissue. She needs time for the process.” He moved back inside to the deep penetrating wounds he was aligning. Her womb was damaged, and it was far too important to take any chances. She must be made perfect.
“Her heart is too slow,” Jacques said weakly as he slid from the bed to the floor. He looked startled to find himself there.
“Her body needs more time to make the change and heal,” Celeste added, watching Gregori work. She knew she was witnessing a miracle. She had never been this close to the legendary Carpathian everyone whispered about. Few of their people actually saw Gregori up close. Power emanated from his every pore.
“She is right,” Mikhail agreed weakly. “I will continue to breathe for her, continue to ensure her heartbeats. Eric, you must care for Jacques.”
“Rest, Mikhail, see to your woman. Jacques will be fine. Tienn is here if there is a problem. Gregori has many hours of work ahead of him,” Eric replied. “If it is necessary, we can call others in to help.”
Jacques reached up his hand to his brother. Mikhail took it. “You must calm your anger, Mikhail. The storm is too strong. The very mountains rage with you.” He closed his eyes and laid his head against the bedframe, his hand still clasped in Mikhail’s.
Raven felt almost detached from what was happening to her body. Her awareness of others in the room and their movements came through Mikhail. He was with her somehow, in her body, breathing for her. And there was another, one she didn’t recognize, but he was also in her, working like a surgeon would, repairing the extensive damage to her body, to her internal organs, paying special attention to her female organs. She wanted to just stop, allow the pain to swamp her, to carry her someplace far beyond feelings. She could just let go. She was tired, so tired. It would be so very easy. It was what she wanted, longed for.
She rejected the beckoning peace, fought to hang on to life. Mikhail’s life. She wanted to brush her fingertips over the lines of strain she knew would be around his mouth. She wanted to ease his guilt and rage, assure him that everything had been her own choice. His love, total, uncompromising, unconditional, endless, was almost more than she could cope with. Most of all she was aware of the strange changes taking place in her body.
None of it touched her, wrapped tightly, protectively in the cocoon of Mikhail’s love. He breathed, she breathed. His heart beat, her heart beat. Sleep, little one. I will watch for both of us.
After several long, backbreaking hours, Gregori straightened up, his hair damp with perspiration, his face weary and lined, his body aching with fatigue. “I have done my best. If she lives, she will be able to have a child. Mikhail’s blood and the soil should complete the healing process. The change is taking place rapidly. She does not understand and does not fight it.” He pushed a hand stained with her precious blood through his hair. “She fights only for Mikhail’s life, thinks only of his life and how her death would affect him. I think it is better if she does not understand what is actually happening to her. She does not know the extent of her wounds. There is much pain. She suffers greatly, but she is not a quitter, this one.”