Dark Fire (Dark 6)

Water dripped slowly from the ceiling of the cave and seeped from the walls, collecting into pools along the floor. It mixed with the rich red soil, making it look like blood lying in puddles on the steaming surface. Somewhere far off a rock fell, clattering against other boulders. Then there was silence again.

Darius became aware that he was lying on the ground, his body heavy and cumbersome. Hunger was a raw, gaping wound in his gut. He was aware of pain; he seemed to be floating in a sea of it. Something held him pinned to the ground, but he had no idea what had happened or where he was. He turned his head slowly, shocked at how difficult it was to do so. His mind seemed to be clouded, to be moving slowly. It took a moment for his eyes to focus. As they did so, the hand covering his mouth fell limply onto his chest.

The cry of pain and fear was torn from his very soul.

It echoed in the cave again and again, tormented and deep, reverberating to the heavens. Darius caught Tempest's wrist and hastily sealed the terrible gaping wound that had saved his life. "Baby, baby, what have you done?" He dragged her close, his hand over her stuttering heart. She was laboring for breath, her heart working far too hard. The blood loss was mortal. Tempest was dying.

Without a second thought, he tore a wound in his wrist and forced it over her mouth. A small amount of his blood would keep her alive until he had a chance to feed and supply her with a transfusion. His mind was a blank. There was only the litany of prayer. She could not die. He would never let her go. She could not die. He swore it to himself, to God. He sent her to sleep, commanding her to stay alive, forcing the edict into her brain, his will like iron. He made it clear that she dared not defy him in this.

When he was able, he left her, taking to the sky to hunt. He wasn't particular in his prey; he fed fast and voraciously, ruthlessly dropping his victims one by one onto the ground before he could kill them, his mind filled only with his need to get back to Tempest. It no longer mattered to him whether anyone else lived or died. There was only room for her. His entire will was bent on holding her to the earth with him.

This time, with his renewed strength, he pulled her into his arms, cradled her against his chest, and cut open a line over his heart. He fed her lovingly, ensuring that she took enough to live. When her body began to respond to the sustenance, she tried to move away from him. Darius merely forced her closer, held her tighter. She would obey him. That was all there was to it. He had given her far more freedom than he had ever thought possible, even when he could have compelled her obedience, but now he gave her no choice. This was for her life, for his soul. If she died, he was damned. He would never go quietly into the sun. He would wreak vengeance upon the world such as it had never seen. He would deliberately choose that course to get at those who had taken her from him.

When Darius was certain she was completely renewed, he gently inserted his hand between her mouth and his chest, closed the laceration, and laid her down. He would have to clean the blood from both of them before she awakened. He closed his eyes, reaching inside his body to repair the damage from the inside out. His hip wound was nasty, the bullet shattering the bone and doing more injury than he would have liked. The thigh wound was easier to repair; he was able to align everything and close off all the veins and arteries without much effort. He even bathed in the steaming pool before replacing the packs on his wounds. This time he mixed herbs with the soil and saliva.

Tempest began stirring restlessly. Darius went to her immediately, lying down beside her to encircle her shoulders in his arms, drawing her up so that she could rest her head against his chest. Her long lashes fluttered, but she didn't lift them. Darius traced the curve of her cheek and slipped his palm over her throat to feel her pulse beating into it.

"Wake up, honey. I need you to open your eyes," he coaxed softly. "I'm thinking about it first," she answered tiredly.

"Thinking?" he echoed. "You took centuries off of my life, and you are thinking before you open your eyes?"

"Tell me what I look like first." Her voice was a mere thread of sound. "You are not making sense." His voice was a black-velvet caress.

"Have my teeth grown? Do I look like a hag? I don't feel deranged, but you never know." Her lashes lifted, and she glanced up at him, laughter in the depths of her green eyes. "I could be, you know."

"Could be what?" She was so beautiful, she took his breath away.

"Deranged. Aren't you listening? After all, I decided on a lifetime of sucking blood from the necks of men."

"From the necks of men?" He could breathe again, really breathe. It was safe to allow his heart to beat again. "You will never, at any time, be sucking on the necks of men, unless, of course, it happens to be mine. I am a jealous man, baby, a very jealous man."

"Why don't I feel like I want blood? Shouldn't I have cravings?" She turned her head to look up at him. His color was back, his clothes once more immaculate. How did he do that? She didn't really care. She was so tired, she just wanted to sleep. "I still don't like closed-in places. I thought I might wake up wanting to hang upside down like a bat or something," she teased.

He caught the worried note, the one she was desperately trying to hide from him. His fingers tangled in her hair in a soothing massage. "We will get through this, Tempest. I cannot believe you took such a chance with your life. I will have much to say to you when you are feeling better. You were told the decision was made, and yet you deliberately chose to place your life in jeopardy. I will not get over this for many centuries." He would never get over her courage, the act of sheer love she had committed for him. For him.

His heart was melting even as it was pounding in a kind of terror for what would follow.

"Stop lecturing me, Darius," she said softly, pressing a hand to her stomach. Her insides were beginning to feel hot and uncomfortable, as if they were suddenly twisting and turning. "Oh, God, I'm sick."

Instantly he placed his hand over her stomach and felt the writhing inside her body, the building waves of heat. He swore softly. The breath rushed out of her, tore a cry of pain from her throat. She jerked up, then slammed back against him. He laced his fingers through hers.

"It has started, my love. You are going through the conversion." He merged his mind with hers, focused, shouldered as much of the pain as he was able.

The first wave of pain lasted several minutes. An eternity. Darius was sweating and swearing in every language he knew. When she grew quiet, he wiped the beads of blood from her face with shaking fingers.

Tempest moistened her lips, her green eyes cloudy with shock. "If you leave me in the first century after this, Darius, I swear to you, I'll hunt you down like a dirty dog. They said painful. Remind me to tell them that's an understatement."

"They may not be alive for you to tell," he threatened, brushing back the silken strands of her hair, now damp and clinging to her skin. He wanted to strangle Syndil and Desari for their interference.

She tightened her grip on him, her muscles going rigid. Darius had to hold her down as her body seized and contorted, the fire racing to tissue and bones. It squeezed her heart and lungs, reshaping, changing her organs, the pain so intense that it drove all color from her face even when he shouldered the agony with her.

At last the wave ebbed slowly away, giving her another respite. Her nails were digging into his arm. "Can you make it stop, Darius?" The plea was wrenched from her when she didn't want to ask. She knew him enough to know he would stop any suffering the moment he was able. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that." She whispered the words hoarsely, reaching up to touch his perfect mouth with trembling fingers. "I can do this. I know I can." But it was swelling in her body again, red-hot fire that threatened her very sanity.

Darius could not believe she was trying to reassure him in the midst of such agony. He could only hold her, feeling helpless, tears gathering in his eyes, a prayer for mercy in his soul, his mind merged as strongly with hers as possible.

Tempest wanted to scream and scream, but no sound emerged. She was going to be sick, and some shred of mindless modesty had her blindly crawling away from Darius. But he was merged so tightly with her, he could read the needs of her body. It was desperately trying to rid itself of toxins, of the last remnants of human blood and waste. He held her in his arms, blood-red tears etching paths down his face.

He had never wanted this for her, never wanted her to suffer the fires of conversion. He found he could barely breathe, protesting the pain she was enduring on his behalf. She seemed so small and fragile in his arms, so close to shattering.

Stay with me, my love. In another few minutes it will be safe to send you to sleep, where the pain cannot reach you. Please stay with me.

With the fire ripping through her, with her muscles locking and her body convulsing, she still made the attempt to reassure him. Her fingertips brushed his neck in a light caress before her hand fell away. Darius wept, his chest so tight that he felt his very heart had split in two.

The moment there was no chance of Tempest choking to death on her own vomit or blood, Darius sent her into a deep sleep so that her body could finish its work on its own. He held her tightly in his arms, a part of him still locked with her, insurance that nothing could go wrong. Only when he was certain the conversion was complete and she was safe did he strip the filthy clothes from her body and wash her gently and lovingly.

He sat for a long while, exhausted and wrung out by her ordeal, his mind, so often calm, in chaos. He had never conceived of anyone ever loving him enough to suffer the fires of hell for him. He felt humbled by her sacrifice. He kissed her, his touch tender and reverent, before opening the ground. Then Darius put Tempest into the sleep of Carpathians, closing the earth over her so that the soil could rejuvenate her.

As the earth closed over her body, Darius turned his head slowly toward the tunnel leading from the cave back toward the surface. His black gaze was utterly cold, without mercy. He felt the beast in him rising, and he made no effort to stop it. Red flames flickered in his black eyes. He had not hunted down and destroyed these murderers months ago when they had first attacked his sister. His instincts had been to find and destroy all of them, but his kind had always attempted to fit into the civilized world, to avoid drawing attention to themselves and their activities. At this moment, however, there was no longer hesitation; there was not a shred of civility in his body or soul.

He protected the cave with the strongest safeguards he had ever used, determined that no one, human or Carpathian, would go near Tempest while she slept, would not live if they tried to enter the cave. And then he was streaking through the tunnel, bursting out into the night sky, his mind a red haze of vengeance.

The concert was over, Desari and Syndil safe in a closely guarded room, Cullen with the group. They suddenly all went quiet, exchanging a long, knowing look. Julian glanced skyward. "He has risen. There will be no calming him. He is bent on destroying those who took Tempest." He sounded complacent and unhurriedly bent to kiss Desari. Then, with Dayan and Barack, he went out to the small porch off the suite.

Dayan took a running leap and launched himself skyward. "It is rather ironic that we now leave the human with our women." He was shape-shifting even as he spoke, feathers rippling along his wide-spread arms.

"Our women can handle one human male," Barack growled as he joined Dayan, also choosing the body of the night owl to race across the distance, attempting to catch up with their leader.

Syndil, stay across the room from that blond human flirt. If I catch you making eyes at him, there will be hell to pay. Oh, now we can handle one human male! I like that. So if I want to take him to the nearest bedroom, you have no say in it. Do not force me to kill this human. Darius has a fondness for him, although I cannot imagine why. Barack?

There was a short pause while Syndil considered how to phrase her concerns.

Please be careful. I would not want Desari to have to grieve for you.

He laughed softly, a velvet caress in her mind.

And you wish me to believe that you would not? I never thought of myself as an angel, but my patience with you certainly qualifies me far sainthood. I cannot imagine anyone considering you an angel or a saint.

Again there was a slight hesitation.

Be careful, Barack I feel the intensity in Darius. The darkness is on him. He will not turn back, whatever the danger. His lifemate has chosen our way. Did you not feel his sorrow at her suffering?

Barack's voice held a note of censure.

At once he could feel the tears gathering in her.

Do not remind me. He shared with us what we had wrought with our meddling. She suffered much for him. It is done, my little love.

It wrenched at his heart that he had made her cry.

We will remove the threat to you and Desari, and all will be well once more.

Barack was reassuring.

Darius is truly angry with us.

He will not forgive us for a long while.

Barack wanted to turn back and comfort Syndil. Instead, he sent her waves of reassurances, warmth, and love. He knew Darius was furious. Coldly furious. He also knew Darius was capable of things neither woman could conceive of. He was a harsh, unrelenting enemy. His woman, the one he deemed his very soul, had suffered agonies this night. He would not forgive easily. Barack flew faster, streaking through the dark sky to catch up with the hunter.

Once the three Carpathians were united with Darius, Julian signaled them to settle to earth. Mostly he wanted to see for himself just how far gone Darius's condition was. All three males fully intended to protect Darius. They knew he had been wounded.

Impatiently Darius's cold black eyes swept over Julian. "What is it?"

They were in an orchard not far from where Darius had forced the car carrying Tempest off the road. Julian had blown the car sky high. Fire and police vehicles were already leaving the scene.

"Cullen told me a man named Wallace came over from Europe and fired up this Brady Grand against the band and Julian and Desari in particular," Dayan volunteered. He was studying Darius's face as he spoke.

Darius looked drawn and harsh. There was a spot of blood on his hip and another larger stain spreading on his thigh. Dayan glanced uneasily at Julian and Barack but refrained from commenting. There was cold fury in Darius's eyes. A strange scarlet glow that seemed to come from the blood-red moon was trapped and reflected back at them from the very depths of those black, black eyes. It was an eerie flame of savage rage, as primitive and unrelenting as time itself. There would be no stopping Darius this night. He was the ultimate predator. His quarry could never escape him.

"Have you heard of this Wallace?" Darius asked Julian quietly.

"A few years back there was a man who hunted our people, our Prince, his lifemate, and his brother. He tortured and killed both humans and immortals alike. That man was named Wallace, but he was destroyed. I know he belonged to a society of fanatics. I can only imagine that the two Wallaces are related, especially if he came over from Europe. He must be at the head of the society now."

"These lunatics are like Medusa, the snake woman. Cut off one head, and another grows in its place. If we take this one, we can hope they will at least be forced to regroup for a while," Darius said softly. "It will give us time to collect more information on them."

Julian nodded solemnly. "Human vampire-hunters have plagued our people for thousands of years. As long as our males turn, there will be those humans who become suspicious and continue to hunt us all."

"Perhaps the solution is to find out more about these fanatics and actively hunt them," Darius suggested grimly.

"We have some of our people gathering information on them. A toxin was developed by one of their laboratories. Injected into the body of a Carpathian, it can paralyze," Julian informed him almost soothingly. "Our healer - your brother, Darius - has found an antidote. But these are determined men. Even if we take this Wallace, they may come after us again and continue to develop new and more deadly poisons against us."

"Not if, Julian," Darius returned with quiet menace.

"I will destroy this man. If it gives our people respite, so be it. If it does not, we will not back away from our duty."

"Do you have the scent of our prey?" Julian asked.

"It is a stench in my nostrils. He cannot escape his fate this night."

"Your lifemate still lives," Dayan said softly.

Darius's head snapped around, his eyes blazing with smoldering fire. "I am well aware of the state my lifemate is in, Dayan. There is no need for you to remind me."

"Tempest is one of those unusual women who never hold a grudge," Julian said to no one in particular. "It is difficult to imagine her harming a fly."

"Thank you for pointing that out to me, Julian," Darius snapped, and he launched himself straight upward.

Few could accomplish such a feat. He was in the sky, a stream of vapor streaking through time and space. Julian laughed softly and followed suit, not to be outdone by his brother-in-law. Dayan shrugged his powerful shoulders, grinned at Barack, and took a running leap.

Barack shook his head at them all and went after them. Someone who had some sense had to go along.

The dark, ominous cloud grew heavier as the separate streams of vapor gathered together and moved rapidly overhead, blotting out stars as it went. Below them animals scurried for cover or cowered in trees and dens. They sensed the dark predators moving rapidly overhead and chose to remain as small and still as possible.

The cloud abruptly stopped, as if the wind had ceased to blow. Darius allowed the breeze to blow around him, through him. It told him exactly where he wanted to go. He had the scent of Brady Grand's companions. He would know them anywhere.

Far below, tucked into the side of a hill, a ranch house sprawled in an L-shape. At first glance it appeared deserted, but there was no way to stop the wind from carrying the stench of their prey to Carpathians. The cloud moved slowly, spreading a dark stain over the hill. The wind rose sharply and should have carried the cloud away, but it stayed stubbornly overhead, a portent of death and destruction.

The wind tugged at the windows of the ranch house, looking for a way in, searching for weaknesses. It grew stronger, rattling the glass in the panes, banging the shutters insistently. Then there was movement at the south side of the house; someone opened a downstairs window and reached out into the night to try to close the shutter.

The ominous black cloud struck hard and fast. It poured out of the sky and streamed into the house through the open window, filling the room like suffocating smoke. The man staggered backward, his mouth gaping open in a silent scream. The sound failed to emerge, muffled by the thick vapor as it moved through his body, taking his breath, removing the air like a vacuum.

One by one the Carpathians shimmered into solid forms. Darius was already moving. He could hear every sound in the house. Four men were playing pool in a room three doors to their right. Overhead, two others were moving around. Someone was watching television in a room upstairs and to their left.

Darius glided through the house, a silent predator stalking his prey.

On the ground floor two men lounged in a room, talking in low voices. The soldiers. They waited for Tempest. Waited for a helpless woman they could torture, use to draw one of the Carpathians to them. Each of those soldiers carried a syringe on him. Darius was certain of it. He didn't care. Nothing mattered to him except that these were the men who had attempted to harm his lifemate and his sister. Nothing would stop him.

He stood in the open door to the pool room, his eyes glowing a fiery red, his white teeth gleaming. The men turned as one being, a slow-motion pirouette orchestrated by a relentless conductor, performed with the grace of a ballet. As one they grabbed their heads, clapping their hands tightly over their ears. Darius gave a menacing smile of mocking amusement. He applied pressure, a steady, relentless application of pain. As one they dropped to their knees.

"I believe you gentlemen were looking for me," he said softly, the harshness in his face implacable, his emotions as cold as ice. He watched them die dispassionately, giving a fleeting thought to the coroner who would have to try to explain how four men died of brain aneurisms all at the exact same time. Instantly the victims were dismissed from his mind.

Julian, Dayan, and Barack could handle those in this portion of the house. Darius moved like a cold, killing wind to the other leg of the L, where he knew he would find the head of the monster. He moved so fast that one of the soldiers coming down the hall brushed against him without realizing what he had run into. The man staggered backward, looked around, scratching his head, and continued down the hall toward the pool room. Darius dismissed him as already dead. Julian had witnessed the first attempt on Desari's life so many months ago, when men such as these had raked the stage with automatic weapons, nearly killing her. Despite his offbeat sense of humor and his rather sardonic manner, Julian was every bit as lethal as Darius. He simply hid it better. Julian would not allow any of these assassins to escape.

The huge living room boasted high ceilings and a rock fireplace on one wall with a large conversation area grouped around it. Two men were lounging in deep recliners, sipping coffee as they waited for their victim. Darius's large frame filled the doorway. He simply stood there, waiting.

The older man had to be Wallace. He was of medium build with a shock of graying hair, rather coldly handsome features, and empty eyes. His companion was a good twenty years younger, with dark hair and an obvious eagerness to prove himself. Darius touched their minds. In Wallace he found a sick, perverse nature, a man cruel to animals and women. He enjoyed hurting them, found arousal in watching others suffer. This elder Wallace had obviously passed the legacy on to his son, the man killed in Europe by the Carpathians a few years earlier. His hatred ran deep and strong, and he was anticipating a long, pleasurable session with Tempest. The perverted fantasies in his head roused the demon in Darius to an almost uncontrollable pitch. Darius fought for control and won.

When neither man looked up, a situation he found laughable under the circumstances, Darius cleared his throat softly to direct their attention toward him. "I understand you requested my presence. It was completely unnecessary to issue the kind of invitation you did. Although now that I have seen you and looked into the rot of your minds, I understand why you did so." His voice was beautiful, a black-magic weapon he wielded easily. "Please do not feel it necessary to get up," he added to the younger man. "I have business with your boss."

He lifted a hand and rather carelessly slammed the younger soldier back into his seat with ease holding him in his thrall even from a distance.

William Wallace stared at the tall, elegant man filling the doorway. Midnight-black hair flowed to his broad shoulders. His eyes held a demon's red glow. Power clung to him, and his white teeth gleamed with menace when he smiled. He was inordinately polite, but Wallace sensed the smoldering threat beneath the surface. Physically he was beautiful, a handsome, intensely masculine specimen of a man with a sensuality around his mouth matched only by its edge of cruelty.

Wallace felt his heart began to pound in alarm. His fingers curled into two tight fists. "Who are you?"

"I think, more to the point, is what am I? Have you ever met a vampire before, Mr. Wallace?" Darius asked politely. "As you have gone to so much trouble to invite one into your home, I would expect you to have a fairly good idea of what you are dealing with."

Wallace glanced at his companion, frozen in place by the mere whim of the intruder. He decided to be as polite as his guest, hoping to catch him off guard. The house was swarming with his men. Sooner or later one would come. In any case, he had a secret weapon, if he could just get the vampire close enough. "Do come in." He waved an expansive hand, indicating a chair close by.

Darius smiled, a show of teeth, a leap of flame in the depths of his eyes, but he did not move. "By all means, let us be civilized. I'm sure you had that in mind when you sent your assassins after my woman. Do not bother to deny your intentions. I can read your thoughts so easily."

Wallace decided to brazen it out. "Evil calls to evil. I know your kind and what you're capable of. Others like you killed my own son, murdered two of my brothers-in-law. Yes, I intended to take my time enjoying the woman. She is pretty enough. It would have been... delicious."

Darius put out his hand and studied his immaculate fingernails. One by one, razor-sharp talons sprang to the tips. He smiled again with the menace of a predator. Once more his black gaze touched the older man, and it was like a physical blow, a punch that seemed to shake Wallace's brain so that he clutched his head in pain. He felt the tremendous power of the visitor, and his insides turned to jelly.

Darius glided into the room, fluid and supple, muscles rippling with power beneath his elegant white shirt. He seemed to take up the entire room, seemed to suck the very oxygen out of the air. "I see you have decorated the windows with garlic. Do you believe vegetation bothers me in some way, perhaps weakens my power?"

"Doesn't it?" Wallace countered, stalling for time. The gleam of stark white teeth was his answer. Darius moved to the fireplace, reached out, and touched the large silver cross there. "You seem to have all the supplies for bagging yourself a vampire."

Wallace was horrified. He glanced toward the door, suddenly aware of the deep silence in the house.

Darius glided closer. "What is it precisely you wished to learn about me, Mr. Wallace? Now is your opportunity."

Wallace jerked out the syringe filled with the toxin and plunged it deep within Darius's arm. He jumped back, grinning in triumph.

"Ah, yes, the poison you worked so hard to develop," Darius said softly, his voice as beautiful and unconcerned as always. "It is so difficult to know what really works unless you have the chance to test it. Let us observe the results together." The soulless eyes met Wallace's. "You do fancy yourself a scientist, do you not, Mr. Wallace?"

Wallace nodded slowly, staring at the one he thought was a vampire. Darius slowly rolled up the sleeve of his silk shirt, exposing the roped muscles of his arm. He stared at his skin, causing red flames to flicker and dance, and Wallace nearly screamed when golden dots of liquid poison began to ooze from the Darius's pores and run in a stream down his skin to drip onto the floor.

"Interesting, is it not?" Darius inquired in a menacing purr. "You should have known more about an enemy you wished to challenge, Mr. Wallace. It is a poor business to hunt without sufficient knowledge of your prey."

"Where is the woman now?"

Darius's eyebrows shot up. "Are you really so arrogant that you think I would allow your ridiculous assassins to take from me what is mine? I suspect you are more interested in the whereabouts of your soldiers."

Wallace sighed and ran a hand through his shock of gray hair, leaving it standing on end. "And where are they?"

"What was left of them can be claimed from the local morgue," Darius answered, unconcerned.

"I suppose my other men are also destroyed," Wallace ventured.

Darius sent his mind seeking throughout the house, then smiled in satisfaction. "I must admit, they seem to have been in very poor health. You should choose your companions more carefully, Mr. Wallace."

Wallace's faded eyes flashed with sudden malice. "I see that you yourself have not gone unscathed. You are bleeding."

The white teeth gleamed again. "It is nothing, a mere scratch. My body will heal without difficulty, but thank you for your concern."

Wallace hissed between his teeth. "You mean to kill me."

The glowing red eyes poured over him like molten lava. "With great pleasure, Mr. Wallace. I protect my own. I allowed you to go free after the last threat you made to my family, but you insist on asking for release from your miserable life. I can do no other than oblige you."

"I will go back to Europe, leave you alone."

Darius shook his head slowly. "You had her touched by your filthy servants. You intended to rape her, torture her. Not because you thought her vampire but because it would bring you pleasure. You wanted me here, Mr. Wallace, and now you have the very thing you wished for."

Wallace glanced at his young companion, the one he had chosen to groom as his prot§ڧ§٠because he had found the same deviant nature in the young man as was in himself.

Darius had easily picked thoughts of starring in a snuff film with Tempest out of the younger man's head, knew he didn't believe in vampires but was attracted to the violence and sexual rush the vampire-hunting society promised to provide. His black eyes bored into the young man while he contemplated the evil that existed in both his world and the human world. He released the young man from the thrall. Instantly the youth launched himself at Darius, seemingly too dense to understand that Darius had been controlling him.

Darius stood so still that he seemed to be a part of the room, of the earth itself, silent, watchful, unmovable. At the last second, just as the man was about to lay hands on him, Darius shimmered into vapor, dissolved, and reappeared behind the young man.

"Daniel, behind you!" Wallace warned.

Daniel tried to drag the gun from out of his waistband as he turned. Even as he caught sight of the intruder, the vampire's face rippled, contorted, and lengthened into a long muzzle. Teeth burst forth, razor-sharp, jaws rushing forward to bore straight into Daniel's chest, tearing a hole to reach the pounding heart.

Wallace leapt out of his chair, knocking it over as he tried to get to the door. The elegant figure moved, a gliding blur that cut off his line of retreat. Once more Darius looked like a handsome man, black eyes impassive, mouth set and cruel. There was not a stain on his immaculate shirt, although a puddle of thick sticky blood pooled around Daniel's body. He looked like a rag doll lying in a heap on the floor.

Wallace froze, not daring to get any closer to the terrible fiend that threatened him. "Don't you see?" he hissed. "I'm like you. I could serve you. Make me like you are - immortal."

Darius lifted an eyebrow. "You flatter yourself to think we are anything alike. There are those of my people who have become evil and twisted, rotten shells as you are. They might grant you a short stay of execution, allowing you to live for a while on the meat of the dead while you serve their dark purposes. But that is not who I am."

"Who are you, then?" Wallace whispered. He could hear something else now. Not the silence that haunted this house of death. Not the sound of his men coming to his aid. But low, insidious whispers assaulting his ears. He tried to repress them, not understanding the language but knowing there were more creatures near than the one he was facing. They waited, calling to this one to finish Wallace, to come to them.

"I am an instrument of justice. I have come to send you from this world to another, where you must answer for your terrible crimes against mortals and immortals alike." Darius said the words softly, almost gently.

Wallace shook his head adamantly. "No, you can't do that. You can't. I'm a leader. I have an army behind me. No one can defeat me." He raised his voice hysterically. "Where are you? All of you, I'm in danger. Protect your leader!"

The terrible soulless eyes never left Wallace's face. Those black eyes were completely empty, devoid of all feeling. Then tiny red flames began to flicker in their depths, feeding Wallace's dread.

"There is no one left," Darius said. "Only you. And I sentence you to death for your crimes against all humanity. Please oblige me, sir." Darius gestured toward the hall.

Wallace found he could not fight the compulsion.

Step by macabre step, he moved, his body jerking like a marionette as he moved down the hall toward the stairs. Wallace tried to scream, but no sound emerged. His body continued to obey the commands of the demon he had summoned to the ranch house. Once upstairs, the creature continued to gesture him forward. Inch by inch, step by step, relentlessly, implacably, Wallace was drawn forward toward the pool room.

He gasped as he saw the four men lying lifeless, without a mark on them, in the middle of the floor. Then the compulsion pushed him to the balcony door. Below was a wrought iron fence, each separate post rising like a sharpened stake. Wallace stared down at the lethal pegs and tried to stop his next step. But he felt space beneath his forward foot, then air beneath his other one. And then he was falling, released from the demon's thrall so that his scream echoed in the night.

Darius stared down dispassionately at the body hanging on the fence, a stake driven directly through his heart. He stayed there quietly, fighting down the beast still raging for release, still calling for retribution and blood.

Tempest.

Deliberately he thought of her, took her into his body and soul, allowed her light to calm the terrible beast, to once more restore the balance between intellectual man and instinctive predator. He was no longer a savage ruled by instinct, demanding blood and vengeance, but once more her other half. He could do no other than return to her as quickly as possible. He turned then, back to his family, back to his people.

Julian sighed softly. "You must take my blood, Darius, and then go to ground to heal your wounds."

"I suppose I must concede you are right."

"And it nearly kills you to admit that." Julian smirked at him.

A slow smile touched the hard edge of Darius's mouth. "Oh, shut up," he said tiredly but with a glint of real humor in his eyes.