She shook her head adamantly. “No way.” Her enormous eyes jumped to the others. All at once they looked sinister, beings too powerful for their own good. “I want to leave this place.” It was somewhere between a demand and a plea for help. Instinctively she looked toward Mikhail. His fingerprints were on her swollen throat. She had saved his brother’s life. He owed her.

Raven tightened her fingers around Mikhail’s, feeling his tension, his indecision. Clearly the woman was asking for help, and Mikhail could do no other than offer his protection. But Jacques was already warning them off, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He sensed Shea was looking to the others for assistance, and it triggered his predatory instincts. At once he was dangerous, violence swirling close to the surface, aggressive toward Shea, clearly demanding submission.

Byron nearly leapt forward, but a show of Jacques’ gleaming fangs held him motionless. He glared at Mikhail. “I told you she had not chosen. Take her from him. She must be protected.” Hope was shining in his eyes.

“Jacques.” Gregori’s voice was pure black velvet, a caressing, compelling tone impossible to ignore. “The woman is overwhelmed. She needs rest, a healing sleep. Both of you should go to earth.”

Shea’s heart nearly stopped. She shoved hard at Jacques’ immovable chest, caught the picture of the earth opening, accepting them. Buried alive. A scream of alarm caught in her throat. She flung herself off the bed in an attempt to get away.

Jacques caught both fragile wrists, pinned her to the mattress. Do not fight me, Shea, there is no way to win.Jacques struggled to stay in control. Shea was trembling, her mind filled with fear of him and what he was, what he represented. The loss of freedom, the horror of being a vampire preying on human victims for sustenance as portrayed in old novels, the terror of ever needing a man the way her mother had—to survive.

“Take her from him,” Byron demanded.

Jacques turned his head, eyes glittering like black ice. His voice was hoarse, a growling representation of his long-silent vocal cords. He made a supreme effort to stay in control for Shea’s sake. She had been there for him; he had to do the same for her. “No one will take her from me and live.”

There was no doubt he meant it. Shea lay shocked, unable to absorb that he had spoken aloud. There would be a bloody war here, and someone would die. Please, Jacques, please let me go. I can’t live like this.There were tears in her eyes, tears in his heart.

Jacques tried to reach her, calm her with his mind, but she was panic-stricken, too petrified to think.

“Send her to sleep. She is weak and worn. You must care for her health.” Gregori’s voice was always the same, as pure as the sound of crystal-clear water running over rocks.

“No!” Gregori frightened her more than anything. She was always in control. Always. No one had ever taken her decisions out her hands, not even her mother. She just needed to be alone, have time to think. Shea struggled in desperation against Jacques’ hold “Let me go!”

The purity of Gregori’s voice was finding threads of fragments in Jacques’ head, weaving them together. Shea was so frightened, small, and vulnerable lying beneath him, pinned helplessly. It is all right, my love.Jacques bent his dark head and kissed her temple. You will sleep and heal. I will ensure that you come to no harm. In this you can trust me.The command was firm and strong. He heard the echo of her anguished cry in his mind fading as she succumbed to his order.

Chapter Eight

The storm moved in slowly, blanketing the land in a peculiar, dreary drizzle. All day it blotted out any chance of sunshine and hid the mountain range in sheets of silvery rain and a shroud of thick fog. In an abandoned shack, three men huddled by the fire and tried to escape the water leaking through the cracks in the roof.

Don Wallace sipped at the scalding-hot coffee and stared uneasily out the window into the gathering dusk. “Unusual weather for this time of year.” His eyes met the older man’s in a long, knowing stare.

Eugene Slovensky hunched his shoulders against the cold and regarded his nephew with reproach. “The weather is like this when the land is unsettled. How could you allow the woman to slip through your fingers, Donnie?”

“Well, you had her when she was a mere baby,” he retorted. “You let her escape you then. You couldn’t even trace her mother between Ireland and America. I was the one who did that, nearly twenty years later. Don’t act like I’m the only one who bungled this.”

The older man glared at him. “Don’t take that tone with me. Things were different all those years ago. We didn’t have the advantages of all the modern technology you have now. Maggie O’Halloran had people help her escape with her little demon whelp.” He sighed and glanced once more out the window at the fog and rain. “Do you have any idea the risk we’re taking coming into their territory?”

“I believe I was the one who tracked and killed those vampires we got a few years back while you stayed safe in Germany,” Don snapped, irritated.

“You weren’t very discriminating about who you marked as vampire, Don,” Eugene pointed out waspishly. “You enjoyed yourself whenever the mood struck you.”

“I was the one taking the risks. I should be allowed to have some fun,” Don snapped back. “Well, this time concentrate on why we’re here. This is dangerous work.”

Don’s eyes flattened, hardened. “I was with you when we found Uncle James’s body, remember? Happy fifteenth birthday, Donnie. Instead of a real live vampire to stake, I get my uncle’s body buried in a pile of rubble. I know how dangerous it is.”

“Never forget that sight, boy, not ever,” Eugene cautioned. “Twenty-five years it’s been, and we still don’t have his murderers.”

“At least we made them pay,” Don pointed out.

Eugene’s eyes burned. “Not nearly enough. It will never be enough. We have to wipe them out. All of them. Wipe them out.”

Jeff Smith stirred and glanced at Don Wallace. The old man was crazy. If there really was such a thing as a vampire, Jeff wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to become immortal. They had killed fourteen so-called vampires, and Jeff was fairly certain a couple of them had been the real thing. No human could have taken the kind of punishment Wallace had so eagerly dispensed and survived so long. Most of the victims definitely had been human, though, Wallace’s enemies. Don had really enjoyed those sessions.

Jeff was also certain Shea O’Halloran was no vampire. He had researched her very carefully. She had gone to a regular daytime school, had eaten in front of other children. She was a bona-fide surgeon, respected in her profession. A child prodigy, all her professors spoke highly of her. Jeff couldn’t get her out of his mind. Her voice, her eyes, the fluid, sexy way her body moved. The crazy old man was obsessed with finding her, and Don always did what his uncle said. Don’s uncle, old Eugene Slovensky, held the purse strings, and the money was considerable. If they found the woman, Jeff was not going to let them kill her. He wanted her for himself.

“Why do you think she’s is this area?” Slovensky demanded.

“She always uses cash, so we can’t follow a money trail, but she often leaves her signature behind anyway.” Don grinned, an evil facsimile of a smile. “She just has to help people in these isolated villages. It’s kind of amusing, really. She thinks she’s so clever, but she always makes the same mistake.”

Eugene Slovensky nodded. “The brilliant ones never have any common sense.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I sent word to the Vulture.”

Don Wallace’s hand jerked, and hot coffee spilled over his wrist. “Are you crazy, Uncle Eugene? He threatened to kill us if we didn’t leave the mountains the last time he saw us. The Vulture is a true vampire, and he doesn’t exactly like us.”