“What have you done?” Syndil wailed. She looked at Darius. “He cannot do that. He has bound us together without my consent. He cannot do it. Tell him, Darius. He must obey you.” She sounded on the verge of hysteria.
“Have you never wondered why Barack did not lose his feelings as Dayan and I did?” Darius asked her gently. “He laughed where we could not. He felt desire where we could not.”
“With every human groupie who gave him the eye. I do not want such a lifemate,” Syndil said firmly. “Take it back, Barack, right now. Take it back.”
“Well, that is too damned bad,” Barack snapped. “I am your lifemate, and I have known it for some time. You merely refused to see it.”
“I do not want a lifemate,” Syndil protested. “I will not have some pompous male directing my life.”
Barack’s harsh features softened to sensual male beauty. “Fortunately for you, Syndil, I am not pompous. I have a need to discuss this with you while we are alone. Come with me.”
She was shaking her head even as he was drawing her out of the bus.
When they were gone, Desari turned to her brother. “Did you know? All this time, did you know?”
“I suspected,” Darius answered. “Barack saw colors. He retained so much of what Dayan and I lost. When Savon attacked Syndil, Barack was a monster unlike anything I had ever tried to control. He raged for weeks, so much so that Dayan had to lend me his strength to keep him under control.”
“I did not realize,” Desari said softly.
“We kept it from you because he was so violent and angry, we worried for his sanity. After losing Savon, we didn’t want to worry you with the possibility of losing Barack also. I realized he was experiencing not only the male need to protect but also the grief and rage, the violation and betrayal, Syndil was feeling.”
“He went to ground for some time,” Desari remembered.
“I sent him to sleep to keep mortals and immortals alike safe. He was so distraught, in so much pain, I could do no other. Syndil needed the time to let the horrifying experience fade enough that Barack could cope with her pain.”
“That’s why he was so quiet, so unlike himself these last weeks.” Desari nudged Julian. “Why would he wait so long to claim her?”
Julian shrugged with his casual, elegant grace. “It is long since we have had women born close to their lifemates. I know of no such case, so I cannot answer. Perhaps the proximity allows the male many more years of freedom.”
“Freedom?” Desari glared at him. “Do not talk to me of male freedom, lifemate. You stole my freedom from me just as Barack has stolen Syndil’s.”
Tempest stirred, caught by the conversation. “She can refuse him, can’t she? I mean, these are modern times. Men can’t just carry women off against their will can they?”
“Once a male Carpathian recites the ritual words to his true lifemate, they are bound, soul to soul. She cannot escape him,” Julian said softly.
“Why?” Tempest asked, turning her head to give Darius the full benefit of her censuring green eyes.
Darius didn’t so much as wince or even look repentant. Nor did he deign to answer her. He had the audacity to look amused.
“A true lifemate is the missing other half of our soul The ritual words bind the soul back together again. One cannot exist without the other. It is very”—Julian searched a moment for the right word
“uncomfortable
to be apart from one’s lifemate.”
“And the man can choose to bind the woman to him whether she wants it or not?” Tempest was outraged. She wasn’t entirely certain she believed him, but if it was so it was barbaric. Totally barbaric.
Darius circled her shoulders with his good arm. “Practical only, honey. Women seldom know their own minds. But a woman cannot escape the need of her own lifemate, either. He is
her
other half, as well, you see.”
Heedless of his injury, Tempest shoved him away from her. He didn’t budge even an inch. She knew he was teasing her, laughing at her, although his face remained perfectly expressionless. “Well, I don’t believe it anyway I’m not Carpathian, so it can’t work on me. And I’m going to talk to Syndil about this nonsense.”
Darius kissed the side of her neck. Not a brief, elusive kiss but one that lingered, that sent tiny shivers down her spine, sent fire dancing in her bloodstream. She glared at him. “I thought we agreed, none of that. Didn’t we have a lengthy discussion about this?”
His teeth scraped her collarbone, his chin nudging aside the neckline of her shirt to find bare skin. “Did we? I cannot seem to recall.”
“You recall everything else.” Tempest did her best to sound severe, but it was difficult when electricity was arcing back and forth between them. “Darius, you’re hurt. Act like it, will you? We need paramedics and stretchers and maybe a dozen knock-out pills.”
He moved then, with his easy, familiar grace, fluid and supple with the strength of an ancient’s blood flowing in his veins. His arm was rock hard around her waist, taking her with him toward the bathroom. “I need to clean the stench of the kill from me, Tempest, before I can touch you properly.”
It came out unexpectedly, a confession. Tempest touched his mind, astonished at the ease with which she could accomplish the feat. He felt sorrow. Not for those he had dispatched in battle. He was pragmatic about that; he did what was necessary for his people and would do so again. He would protect Tempest without feeling remorse or sadness for those who were evil enough to threaten her. But he felt sorrow for his inability to come to her as an innocent man. He did not want her to look upon him as a beast, an undisciplined killer. He wanted her to understand that he was a dispenser of justice, very necessary to his people.
He lifted her into the tub with him, and the water felt cool on her hot skin, breathing some life back into her depleted body. Very carefully she washed the blood from his shoulder and back, wincing at the sight of the angry wounds. She reached up to shampoo his thick mane of hair, massaging his scalp with gentle fingers. Darius bent his head forward to make it easier for her.
Despite her exhaustion, finding herself pressed naked against him sent her pulse skyrocketing. His body stirred to life, pushing hard and thick against her. “We can’t possibly,” she whispered. But her tongue flicked out and caught the water droplets running down his stomach. She traced the path lower still, feeling his body clench. Her hands, of their own volition, slid over his hips, massaging, kneading, tracing the firm muscles of his buttocks.
She loved the feel of his hair-roughened skin against her softness. He made her feel beautiful and feminine. Hot and restless. Hungry and sexy. He made her feel safe, as if she would never be alone again. She clung to him, pressing herself close to the shelter of his body.
Darius forced his mind away from her teasing mouth. She was drooping with exhaustion. He could have her—she would never refuse him, and he knew he could ensure her pleasure—but her body cried out for rest and nourishment. Before all eke he needed to see to her health and protection.
He pulled her head up so he could kiss her gently, tenderly. “You are right, baby,” he said softly. “We cannot possibly until you have rested. I want you to sleep.”
He held her against him with his one good arm while the water cascaded over them, washing away the stench of blood and death.
“Make me be like you.” Her words were so low, barely discernible even to his acute hearing, that he wasn’t certain he had heard her correctly. Perhaps his mind was simply playing tricks on him.
“Tempest?” He said her name against her neck, his heart pounding with temptation. He closed his eyes, praying for strength to resist the velvet seduction of her words.