The girl was young, in her twenties, the male not much older. They waited for him, their faces eager, as if waiting for a lover. As Gregori approached, the girl held her arms out to him, smiling joyously. Hunger burned red and raw, his body screaming with need. With a low growl, Gregori reached for her, unable to fight the power of the beast.

As Gregori dragged the female roughly to him, he heard a whisper of sound. Light. Rhythmic. Fast. With a throaty growl, he thrust the woman safely away. She was with child. Gregori stretched out a hand and splayed his fingers across the slight bulge of her stomach. It was a male child. So small, so in need of protection. Abruptly he spun around and seized the man. He fought to control himself, to keep the young fellow tranquil and willing. He listened for a moment to the ebb and flow of blood, of life, then lowered his head and drank.

In his state of arousal, the rush hit him hard. The taste of power burst into life, filling him. He needed, burned, craved. He fed hungrily, ravenously, desperate to fill the terrible emptiness. The male’s knees buckled, forcing Gregori back to awareness. For a moment he had to fight the beast, happy to feast on rich life, nearly corrupt with the power of life and death. He had to struggle to regain some semblance of control before he drained the man. It was so tempting, so promising. Calling, insistent.

In the midst of the red haze building and growing in him, his body burning and raging, a single thought crept in. Savannah.All at once he could smell the night air again, smell her clean, fresh scent. He could feel the breeze on his hot skin like the touch of her fingers. He could see the branches of the trees swaying gently, see her beautiful, knowing eyes staring into his blackened soul.

With an oath, Gregori closed the wound in the man’s throat and eased him to the ground, propping him up against a broad tree trunk. Crouching, Gregori felt for a pulse. He did not want to go to Savannah with death on his hands. He had thought to give her time to adjust to him, to their relationship, but he was far too dangerous and unpredictable in the state he was in. He needed her inside him, drawing him back from the edge of madness.

The man sat with ashen skin, his breathing labored. With rest and care, however, he would be fine. Planting a believable accident in the couple’s heads to explain the male’s weakness, he left them as quickly as he had come, running lightly through the thick stand of trees, easily clearing fallen logs and narrow ribbons of water. Once inside his compound, he slowed to a lazy saunter and once more sent a call into the night. The couple would need aid, so he drew a family out strolling to the spot. He heard their gasps of alarm and concern even with the miles separating them, and his mouth curved in satisfaction.

Just as Gregori leapt for the balcony, he felt the first prickle of unease, of warning. His eyes swung back to the night sky as he faded into the shadows. This place, remote, wild, still savage yet a place of power, would draw the attention of any renegade Carpathian. The vampires would be unable to resist the call of the earth, the draw of the wolves. They might even sense his terrible struggle, one of the hunters so close to turning, so close to becoming one of their kind, damned for all eternity. He had been so caught up in the moment of feeding, he had failed to hide his presence from any of his kind who might be near—another sign of how very close he was to losing his soul.

Gregori touched the minds of his wolves to reassure them and prepare them for a probe. Already he could feel the vampires approach in tight formation, as large bats. They were seeking to touch the minds of humans and animals alike.

Inside the house, the wolves circled, paced, endured the mind search, but Gregori was locked on to them, his calm centering them. The vampires would pick up only the instincts of wild animals roaming, hunting food. Gregori’s white teeth gleamed. Had he been the one searching, no one would have felt his presence unless he allowed it. And no mind block would have been strong enough to resist his probe.

Savannah.The renegades were probably searching for her, certain Roberto had found her and secreted her away from them. The rogue had not had the time or strength at the end to send out a warning to his cohorts. They would search all the remote areas as a matter of course.

Gregori shook his head at their stupidity. Savannah was Mikhail’s daughter. Mikhail was the Prince of their people, an ancient, his blood powerful. Savannah might have diminished her strength by refusing human blood, but when she chose to feed, she would be dangerous beyond their imaginings.

He turned another humorless smile, cruel and taunting, toward the sky. The searchers were heading away toward the south, toward the teeming city. Gregori spared a thought for the havoc the vampires would create, for the victims they would take before Aidan Savage, the hunter in the area, could track them down. He trusted Aidan with the job and felt justified in leaving the other Carpathian the duty of clearing out the vampires in the Bay area in due time.

Time meant nothing and everything to Gregori. It was limitless, one endless stretch of bleak isolation. For long centuries he had endured the stark, ugly isolation of the solitary male of his species. His emotions had died, leaving him cold-blooded, capable of immeasurable cruelties. But after years of being alone, of being nearly like the undead, he was awakening once again to scents, colors, light, darkness. The way his body burned, so sensitive to the feel of her hair, her body against his, just the sight of her. Was it too much, too late? Would he survive the onslaught, the flood of powerful emotions, or would it all send him careening over the edge into the world of madness?

Gregori had survived for centuries because, like Mikhail, he was meticulous with his plans, never forgetting the minutest detail. His first mistake in hundreds of years had been in failing to keep himself alert to the possible presence of other Carpathians or undead in the stadium parking lot at the magic show. Moments ago he had done the same. All because he was distracted by needing Savannah too much and waiting for her for far too long.

He reentered his house and padded downstairs on bare feet. Once inside the bed chamber, he lit candles and ran a hot bath in the huge sunken marble tub. Then he gave the command for Savannah to wake. His body felt heavy, uncomfortable with his urgent need, but his gluttonous feeding had helped to take the edge from his bloodlust. He watched her face as her heart began to beat and her lungs began to expand with air. He knew the precise moment that she mentally scanned her surroundings and sensed the threat to herself, sensed immediate danger. Sensed his presence.

Savannah surprised him by sitting up slowly, shoving at the silken hair tumbling around her face. Her eyes fastened on his, enormous, beautiful. Her tongue darted out, touching her lips in apprehension.

If it was possible, Gregori’s body tightened even more.

He looked powerful, intimidating, his face harshly sensual, Savannah noted in trepidation. His eyes burned with hunger, touched her, devoured her. And in spite of her resolve, in spite of her fears, she could feel her body taking on a life of its own. Heat spread slowly throughout her, bringing a torturous ache and a raging hunger. She could smell his masculine scent. The wild forest clung to him, giving up secrets. Her eyes flashed, sparkling stars in the midst of violet. “How dare you come to me with another woman’s perfume clinging to you?”

A faint smile touched his mouth, easing the harshness in his face. “I merely fed, ma petite.” Savannah was the most beautiful, sensual woman he had ever met. She might think she was in terror of him, but she certainly had no qualms about reprimanding him.