Darius wanted to lie there a moment and rest, but the man who had succeeded in shooting him was moving in for the kill. Putting aside pain, he focused his will on the enemy. Already, however, he was directing the male leopard, stirring up the wind, and creating the dense fog, and he was weary now, his great strength draining, along with his life’s blood, onto the ground.
Still, he rose up like an apparition, his body contorting, his face lengthening into a long muzzle, fangs exploding into his mouth as the wolf surged forward and tore into the oncoming wall of a man’s chest. The enemy was so frozen with terror at the sight of something half man and half wolf, he could only gape in horror.
Tempest had hit the ground so hard, it knocked the wind out of her. For a moment she could only lie there, trying to collect her scattered wits. She wasn’t even certain who had tackled her. It was Sasha who prodded her into action, with her mewling, painful cries, the harsh images of torn flesh. Tempest rolled over to see Darius drop a body onto the ground. She cried out a warning, and he instantly turned and met a huge attacker rushing him with a machete.
He caught the man’s raised arm with his casual strength and stared at him a moment, his eyes holding the other captive. Slowly he bent his head and drank, needing to replace his own loss, needing the nourishment and power of adrenaline-laced blood. The rush hit him hard in his weakened state, and he drank voraciously.
Darius!
Tempest whispered to him urgently. Something in her knew she had to stop him. She didn’t understand why; she knew he had killed, but not this way, never this way.
Darius, I need you now.
The soft, beautiful voice penetrated his mind, subduing the raging, beast, appeasing the wild hunger for death and blood. He forced his teeth away from his prey and dropped the man into the dirt while he still lived. Without looking into the woods, he sent his message to the male leopard. The man must be destroyed, leaving no witnesses to what had happened here. It was necessary to the survival of his race.
“I will carry Sasha,” Darius said gruffly, the beast still strong in him, red flames flickering ferociously in his eyes.
Tempest gasped when she saw the blood, inky black in the darkness, running down Darius’s back. “Go. I’ll cover you.”
“They are coming in from the left,” he said, pushing her ahead of him, bending to lift the huge cat.
She stepped behind him and laid down a covering spray of automatic fire, the bullets zinging viciously, giving him time to get Sasha into the bus. Tempest was backing toward him when he caught her in his arms, taking the weapon out of her hands.
Darius was well aware that she wasn’t shooting at anyone, only keeping them away. Tempest did not have one killer instinct in her body. Courage, loyalty, yes—she would never leave him or the cats, and she would do her best to protect them, but she would have a difficult time actually killing another human being.
Ruthlessly he took the decision out of her hands. “See to Sasha. Use the herbs in the closet. She will allow it.” He literally tossed her into the bus, turning away before she had time to protest.
At once it began to rain. Not lightly, but sheets and sheets pouring from the sky, drenching the forest and campsite, as if the heavens had opened up and dumped an entire ocean on them. Tempest concentrated on her task. Sasha was flicking her tail back and forth in agitation, a low, menacing rumble coming from her throat.
Darius protected the bus, shielding it from the hidden hunters who had now become his prey. His form, real and solid, shimmered in the driving rain briefly, then simply evaporated. In the silver sheen of the downpour, blood-red drops occasionally splashed to the ground.
The wind rose to a frantic pitch, screaming through the trees, as sharp as any knife. The male leopard was a whirling blur of savage fangs and claws, an instrument of revenge. For a brief moment the forest was alive with moans and cries and the horror and stench of death. When at last it was over, only the sound of the wind and rain remained.
Darius knelt for a moment in the rain, weary, wounded, revulsion for the necessity of this deed welling up in him. He bowed his head while the water began to flow in small streams around him. The bodies looked as though they had been attacked by wild animals, yet if they were studied, there would be a roar of interest heard halfway around the world. He could not allow that.
He spent considerable time arranging the area in a way humans would accept without too many questions. A battle had broken out between fanatical factions of weekend warriors, and they had killed each other, their bodies then disturbed by a multitude of scavenging animals. He took great care to remove any traces of his family’s presence from the area. They couldn’t afford to leave even tire marks in the campsite. The accumulating water would take care of that for him. He could hide the bus, blurring it from prying eyes until they were on a main highway.
Exhausted, he finally called in Forest, and man and cat made their way back to the bus together. Sasha was lying quietly, and the big male leopard went to her side and touched her several times, examining the wound, stitches, and wrapping. Tempest turned to look at Darius, her heart in her eyes. He felt he had come home, the weariness dropping away, the stench of death replaced by her welcoming light.
“You’re bleeding,” she said softly.
“I will live,” he answered. Ordinarily his kind shut down heart and lungs to preserve their blood, but Tempest and he were not safe yet. They still had to run the gauntlet of trucks blocking every road to the highway, and Darius knew others would be in those trucks waiting for them.
“Tell me what you need,” she said, aware that his body healed differently than hers. “The herbs and soil I need are in the cupboard above the couch.”
He sounded tired, and that frightened her. She looked away, careful to avoid allowing tears into her eyes. The sight of Darius, soaking wet, weary, streaked in blood and mud, his black hair plastered to his head, nearly broke her heart.
She worked on him quickly. It was easier than she had envisioned, as the bullet had exited his body and he had started sealing off the wounds from the inside out. But it required tremendous energy on his part to heal his insides without benefit of the earth and rejuvenating sleep. Tempest packed his wound with the mixture of his healing saliva, soil, and herbs. It was strange to follow his directions to mix dirt with his saliva, but she accepted his explanation that Carpathians were of the earth and took advantage of its healing properties. Her hand caressed his neck, her fingertips conveying her growing love when she still could not voice it to him.
Darius caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. “I am sorry, Tempest. I never would have willingly exposed you to this side of our life. We are often hunted by mortals. Down through the centuries many of us have been massacred. I wish I could have spared you this.”
“I don’t wilt in the sun, Darius, or melt in the rain. I’m tough, you know. Now let me drive us out of here. You go to sleep. Real sleep. I know you can’t go into the ground, but you can sleep the way you’re supposed to and trust me to take care of you.” Her green eyes captured his black gaze and held it every bit as easily as he could do. “You do trust me, don’t you, Darius?”
He found himself smiling. In the midst of blood and death, pain and weariness, she made him smile. “With my very life, baby,” he responded, his voice velvet soft, brushing at her insides like the touch of his fingers. He cupped her chin in his palm. “I promise you, I will rest when I know we are safe.”