Dark Fire (Dark 6)

She was lonely. Tempest thought about that as she brushed out her hair and stared thoughtfully into the mirror in the bathroom of the troupe's motor home. The long night had been like a beautiful dream, Darius talking softly to her in the intimacy of the small truck cab, his voice, such a perfect blend of notes, relating interesting bits of history, making it come alive for her. His arm sweeping her next to him, ensuring that her safety belt was snug. The warmth of his body seeping into hers.

They had driven for hours, the night sky unfolding before them, the ribbon of highway their guide. She had become drowsy, her head falling onto his shoulder and settling there. She hadn't intended that to happen, but it felt right. Darius made her feel safe and cherished. It was in his voice, in the heat of his eyes, in the way his body sheltered hers.

Tempest sighed aloud. She didn't want to get used to the feeling. Nothing lasted forever, and ultimately it was better to rely on herself. She didn't want to fall into a seductive trap, no matter how silken it was. In any case, Darius was far too powerful to even contemplate such a foolhardy act. But she could dream, and it seemed as if she was doing a lot of that lately.

She was lonely without Darius. At many times in her life she had experienced loneliness, but this was different. This felt as if a part of her was missing, a dark void she couldn't fill or escape on her own.

She had awakened late again, another bad habit she was developing. It was well after three in the afternoon. She put it down to traveling all night. No wonder the troupe slept during the day. How else could they keep up such an insane schedule?

She peered closely at her reflection in the mirror. Her bruised eye should still be deeply purple, swollen, and ugly, but only the faintest smudge of blue remained. Darius had healed her. Color crept up her face, and her body leapt to life as she remembered how. It was easier to recall it as an erotic dream. Darius. She missed him while he slept, God only knew where.

Disliking the way her eyes were shining, she swung away from the mirror. It was bad enough that she had lingered in the shower like a lovesick calf, dreaming of him. His eyes. His mouth. His voice. The way his body rippled with strength.

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She glared at the lavish interior of the motor home. "You're acting worse than a teenager," she told herself. "He's arrogant and bossy and strange. Keep that in mind when you're going ga-ga over his looks. He's a man. That's bad enough. And he's worse than a man. He's a..." She searched for the right explanation. "A something. Something you don't want any part of. Now go check the oil. Something mundane, ordinary. Something you can relate to."

Just before dawn he had carried her to the bus they had by then overtaken, after driving all night. She closed her eyes and could still feel the strength in his arms, the way the hard muscles of his chest felt against her soft breasts. In the early streaks of light she could see his face, sensual, beautiful, yet as harsh as time itself. He had carried her gently, carefully into the bus and laid her on the couch among the pillows. His tenderness as he covered her with a quilt was forever etched in her heart. The kiss he brushed over her temple still held traces of fire.

And her neck. Tempest pressed a hand to her neck, then turned back to the mirror to look once more. His mouth had left a burning brand there, marking her as his. She could see the evidence, the odd mark that throbbed and seared and called to him. She covered it with her palm and captured the scorching heat there.

"You are in so much trouble this time, Rusti," she murmured softly. "I don't even have a clue how I'm going to get you out."

She attempted to eat cold cereal but found she was more lonely than hungry. She wanted to see his mouth, the way he quirked it, slow and sexy. She wanted to see the black burning of his eyes. The cereal tasted like cardboard. Why was it erotic when Darius took her blood, when the thought of any other doing such a thing sickened her? What made it repulsive when Barack had bent close yet made her entire body clench in anticipation of Darius? She touched the mark with a fingertip this time.

"You are not going to sit here daydreaming, Tempest," she declared staunchly, vaguely wondering why she was calling herself the name Darius insisted upon. "Go do something, anything, but stop acting stupid."

She took only a few minutes to clean up and, after petting the sleepy leopards, went outside. The heavy drapes at the windows had blocked the light out of the bus so that the day seemed brighter than ever, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut against its brilliance. The breeze was soft and playful, tugging at her hair and clothes, rustling leaves and blowing pine needles here and there about their new campsite.

The air smelled fragrant with both pine and wildflowers. Water bubbled somewhere close by. Tempest fiddled halfheartedly with the bus engine, fine-tuning until she was satisfied. The wind made her feel more lonely than ever. Colors seemed so much more vivid when Darius was around. Everything was more vivid when Darius was around.

Obsession.

Was that what this was? Tempest filled a water bottle and slid it into her knapsack. She would go hiking, wade in the stream, and cool off. Wash him away. Whistling, she pushed her hands into her pockets and started off, determined that Darius's presence was no longer going to haunt her. But a feeling of dark oppression began to overtake her as she walked farther from the camp.

She tried singing, but her heart seemed heavy, her legs like lead as she took each step. A terrible sorrow was growing in her. She needed to see Darius, touch him, know that he was alive and well. She found the thin ribbon of a stream and followed it until it widened and poured in a frothy silver blanket over an outcropping of rocks. She took off her shoes and strode in. The icy cold cleared her head enough that she could reason again.

Darius was not dead or hurt. Nothing was wrong. The bond between them was growing because he merged his mind more often with hers. They shared an intense intimacy that was not meant for humans. Without his mind touching hers, she was feeling the loss. That was all. It was simple. She just had to learn to live with it.

Tempest waded farther out into the stream so that the water poured over her knees and the current urged her to follow its course. She became aware of the insects in the air, their constant hum, their buzzing about. They were darts of color, a whirring of gossamer wings. She listened in the way Darius had taught her, in utter stillness, with the water flowing around her and her mind centered on the tiny creatures teeming with life.

Tempest watched a brilliant blue dragonfly hover above the stream. Very slowly she looked around and saw butterflies gathering. So many beautiful colors, wings beating in the air. They came from everywhere, brushing up against her, landing on her shoulders, her arms. Entranced, she stayed attuned to them until she feared she was gathering too many. Abruptly she released them, and they gracefully began to take flight.

Musical notes seeped into her mind as the birds began a concert, a rivalry of sound. Various species vied for air waves and tried to outdo one another. She listened intently, repeating the sounds in her mind until she was certain she had each separate song, each meaning, before she answered them.

One by one she called them to her. Holding out her arms, she sang to them, coaxed them, her throaty warbling luring the birds from their branches and nests. They flew around her, circling low, dipping to inspect her warily before settling on her arm.

Chattering and scolding, the squirrels came next, rushing forward to stop at the edge of the water. Slowly, with great care, Tempest made her way toward them, all the time still talking quietly to the birds. They fluttered around her, cooing and singing, trilling their favorite tunes to her. Two rabbits moved hesitantly into the open, wiggling their noses at her. Tempest stayed very still, reaching out only with her mind to include them in the circle of communication.

It was a bird that first warned her of danger. Riding an air current high above them, its sharp eyes caught a stealthy movement in the brush several yards from the gathering. It keened an alarm, cautioning those below that they weren't alone. Tempest turned around quickly as the birds took flight and the squirrels and rabbits raced to safety. She was left alone in the clearing, her bare feet still in the water. The man partially hidden in the thick brush was busy taking a series of pictures. He looked all too familiar and, worse, all too triumphant. He had obviously taken photos of the animals swarming around her.

Tempest sighed and ran a hand through her hair. At least she hadn't managed to draw out anything major or exotic. No bears or fox or minks. But she could still see the reporter's tatty little rag with her picture on the front, captioned

Birdwoman of the Dark Troubadours.

What a great article that was going to make. How did she manage to get herself into such messes?

"Hello again. You seem to be following us around," she greeted Matt Brodrick, hoping she didn't sound as afraid as she felt. She hated being alone with men, and this meandering stream in a remote wooded area was about as alone as it got. "Did you get some good pictures?"

"Oh, yeah," he answered, allowing the camera to hang loosely around his neck. He began to move toward her, looking cautiously around. "Where's the bodyguard?" he asked with great suspicion.

Tempest's feet moved of their own volition, wading backward into the middle of the stream as Matt Brodrick strode toward her.

"I thought that bodyguard stuck to you like glue."

"Where would you get an idea like that? I'm the mechanic, not a band member. He sticks to Desari, the lead singer, like glue. That's his job. I can give him a message the next time I see him if you'd like." Something about Brodrick made her uneasy. She knew he was more than a nosy reporter trailing after the troupe, but what he wanted, she couldn't guess.

"Someone tried to kill her a couple of months back," Brodrick said, watching her face carefully. "Did they tell you that? Did they mention that when the attempt was made, two other members of the band were shot also? This group can be dangerous to be around."

She went still inside. He was telling the truth; she could feel it. But he had deliberately told her in the quiet solitude of these woods to shock her, to see if he could shake her up. Tempest inhaled, taking in fresh air, pushing out the terrible fear. She began to move in the direction of the current even as she gave a casual shrug. "It has nothing to do with me. I fix cars, that's all. You're probably in as much danger as I am if someone is trying to hurt Desari and you're always hanging around."

She glanced up at the sky. It was a clear, beautiful day, clouds like cotton balls floating serenely high above them. "It's probably some crazed fan. You know the type. Desari is sexy and beautiful. She draws all kinds of attention. Sometimes so much attention isn't a good thing." Some of nature's tranquillity seeped into her mind.

Or was it Darius again? He was far from her; she couldn't touch him even when her mind, of its own accord, reached out to find his. She met only blankness, yet she sensed he was helping her. She could feel something of his characteristic calm entering her and helping her toward the stillness that better attuned her to nature.

Brodrick was stalking her along the edge of the stream, careful to keep his wingtips dry. "More likely someone knows what they are." His eyes bored into her. "You were warning me, weren't you, trying to tell me if I stayed around here I could get hurt?"

"Where did you get an idea like that?" Tempest wished she'd thought of it. She was allowing him to intimidate her, when maybe he was just as scared. "I don't read slimy tabloids, Brodrick, so maybe you should tell me what you're looking for. I take it you plan to use those pictures of me. I'm not a celebrity, and, in any case, what would be the point? So I prefer animals to people. I have an affinity for them. You print that, and all you'll do is maybe lose me my job. How is that going to help you accomplish whatever it is you want?"

Brodrick was studying her. She was standing with the sun behind her, so he didn't spot right away the love bite on her neck. When he did, he made a strangled sound and scrambled backward, hastily reaching inside the neckline of his shirt to drag out a silver cross. He held it out in front of him, facing her.

Tempest stared at it a moment without comprehension. Then, as the significance sank in, she burst out laughing. "What are you doing, you idiot? You're nuts! You really believe the junk you print, don't you?"

"You're one of them. You bear the mark of the beast. You're his servant now," he accused hysterically.

The sun shining on the silver glared into her eyes.

Tempest touched her neck with her fingertips. "Who is he?

What beast? I'm beginning to think you're insane. My boyfriend was playing around and gave me a hickey. What did you think it was?"

"They're vampires, the lot of them," Brodrick said. "Why do you think they sleep during the day?"

Tempest laughed softly. "Is that why there's so many coffins in the bus? Wow. I never thought they were vampires."

Brodrick swore angrily, furious that she would make fun of him. "You won't be laughing at me when I prove it to the world. We're on to them. We have been for some time. We're traced them over the last fifty years, and they haven't aged a bit."

"Who are 'we'? And you have proof of this?" Her heart was in her throat, but she forced the taunting grin to remain on her face. "You don't look fifty yourself, Brodrick, so maybe you're one of them, too."

"Don't laugh at me," he hissed, furious. "We're a society of concerned citizens trying to save the world from these demons. We put ourselves at great risk. Some of our people were killed in Europe, you know - martyrs for our great cause. We can't let vampires continue to endanger mankind."

Her eyes widened. She was looking at an honest-to-God fanatic, doubtless somehow behind the effort to kill Desari. "Mr. Brodrick." She tried to be reasonable. "You can't actually believe what you're saying. I know these people. They're hardly vampires; they're just a little eccentric. They travel around singing like most bands do. Darius cooked me vegetable soup the other day. Desari has a reflection in the mirror - I've seen it myself. And I was only kidding about the coffins. The bus has every luxury, including a sleeping area. Please believe me, these are just talented people trying to make a living."

"I saw the mark on you. They use humans. No one has seen them out in the sun. I know I'm right. We almost had them the last time. And what happened to our best marksmen - the ones we sent out to destroy them? They disappeared without a trace. How did Desari escape? How did she live with several bullets put into her? Tell me that. They claim she went to the hospital, and a private doctor took care of her. Ha!"

"That's easy enough to check on."

"The doctor says she was there. So do three nurses and a few techs, but no one else. A famous singer in their hospital and most of the staff can't remember it? And I didn't find one surgical nurse who knew a thing about it. They claimed everyone on the operating team was a specialist brought in from the outside."

"The Dark Troubadours are wealthy, Brodrick. Wealthy people do things like that. But are you openly saying you were part of an attempt on Desari's life?" The admission frightened her; she had the feeling he wouldn't bother to confess unless he planned to get rid of her, too. For the first time she was afraid for her life. Did he have a gun? It was entirely possible. Worse, she believed Brodrick was insane. No one in his right mind would believe in vampires taking over humankind. She'd always believed vampires to be myth - at least until she saw Darius in action. This man was basing his notions on mere foolishness and hoary old legends.

It seemed Darius was far more trustworthy than any human she had met as yet. Not that that did her much good right now, wherever he was. Oh, Lord, she didn't even want to know where he was. What if he really slept in a coffin? The idea gave her the willies. He had mentioned going to ground. What did he mean by that?

Don't think about it, Tempest. That will make you as crazy as this nutcase. Keep focused here. Stay with what's important.

Matt Brodrick was watching her, his eyes narrowed and mean. "I know they need human servants to watch over them during the day. That's what you are. Where are they?"

"You need help, Brodrick. Seriously, you need intense therapy." She wondered if Darius knew the reporter had been involved in the attempt on Desari's life.

"You're one of them," Brodrick accused her again. "You help me find them while they're sleeping, or I'll have to destroy you."

Tempest was wading faster downstream while Brodrick kept pace along the bank. Her heart seemed to be racing as fast as the water itself. "The truth is, you've told me too much already, Brodrick. You have no other choice but to kill me. I'm not about to tell you where Darius and Desari or the other members of the band are, but they aren't in coffins, and I'm not about to help you put them there."

His lip drew back in an ugly snarl. "Did you know one of the band members disappeared some months ago? I think they killed him. He probably wasn't one of them, and they were just using him for blood until he ran dry."

"You have a sick mind, Brodrick." Tempest was looking around frantically for a way to get free of him. They were so secluded, and she was certain she had left the perimeter of safety Darius was always on her about. If she ever got out of this mess, he'd likely give her a lecture she'd never forget.

She sent her mind seeking into the forest, the sky, calling on the aid of the animals in the general vicinity, needing information, an impression of a hiding place nearby. Brodrick was mumbling to himself, angry with her for not doing as he wished. Very slowly, he withdrew a small revolver. "I think you'd better reconsider."

Tempest could feel the pull of the current on her legs. It was much stronger now, the water louder, more aggressive. She didn't want to run into any unexpected waterfalls, and she was afraid that, or rapids, was where she was heading. She waded to the opposite bank from Brodrick, although still within easy range of his gun. She was still barefoot, her shoes strung around her neck by the laces. What an attractive way to die, she decided. And who else would get caught shoeless when she had to make a break for it across the rocky, uneven ground? What was it about her that attracted trouble?

Far above the bird screamed again, a high-pitched, unusual cry. She instantly received the impression of a steep cliff. She was out of the water, back pedaling quickly, keeping her eyes warily on the gun. It never wavered from her heart, though Brodrick didn't follow her across the fast-moving stream. Evidently he didn't want to get his shiny shoes wet.

His first shot reverberated loudly. A bullet whined close to her ear and kicked up dirt and pine needles several feet behind her. Tempest stumbled backward but refused to run. The rocks underfoot were sharp, tearing at her soles. The lacerations barely registered, though as a second shot had her backpedaling again, moving as fast as she could, her gaze riveted on the ugly little gun.

Time seemed to slow down. She could see individual leaves rustling in the faint wind, hear the bird overhead scream its warning. She even noticed the way Brodrick's eyes became flat and cold. She kept moving backward.

"Why are you doing this? What if you're wrong? Then you have killed an innocent person because you think her traveling companions are vampires. I'm out here in the hot sun, in broad daylight. Doesn't that tell you anything?" She tried to buy herself time.

"That mark on you is all the proof I need," Brodrick explained. "You're their human servant."

"Then half the teenagers in America are slaves to vampires. Don't be stupid, Brodrick. I'm a mechanic, nothing else." The rocks were slicing her feet, and Tempest was beginning to feel desperate. There had to be a way out of this mess.

Behind her, she felt empty space under the heel of one foot. The rocky expanse ended abruptly on the edge of a cliff. She stood on that edge, over open air. She could feel the unstable dirt beneath her feet crumbling. The bird screamed again, this time much closer, but she didn't dare take her eyes from Brodrick to look up at the sky or behind her.

"Jump," he ordered, grinning at her, waving the gun. "If you don't jump, I'm going to take great pleasure in shooting you."

"It might be preferable," Tempest said grimly. Falling to her death didn't seem highly desirable.

Tempest, I can feel your fear.

The voice was calm and steady, with no hint of haste or emotion. Your

heart beats far too fast. Look at what it is you fear, that I may also see what you have gotten yourself into.

Darius sounded far away, miles away, a disembodied voice.

She kept her eyes trained on Brodrick.

I'm certain he was partially responsible for the attempt on Desari's life a few months ago. He said as much.

She stared intently at the gun.

Brodrick pulled the trigger, the bullet striking inches from her foot, the ricochet zinging off a rock and flying into space. Tempest cried out, losing her precarious balance, her arms flailing to aid in regaining her footing.

She never saw the gun turning slowly but surely toward Matt Brodrick's temple, never saw his finger tightening on the trigger. She wasn't a witness to the beads of perspiration dotting his forehead or the horror in his eyes. Tempest never saw the weird battle with Brodrick's unseen opponent, the struggle for control of the weapon. In Darius's present state, with his great strength low in the daylight hours, he had to use tremendous mental powers to overcome the human's own strength. She heard the loud report of the gun as she fell over the cliff's edge.

Darius swore, deep within the ground. Tempest would get into trouble now, of all times. It was still too early to rise; he was weak and vulnerable, unable to go personally to her side. Few but the strongest, the most ancient of his kind, could give aid at such a time. Only his iron will, honed by centuries of enduring, and his terrible need of her allowed him to do battle with the human who threatened her. With the sun high, with the earth covering him, still his will prevailed.

Tempest's fingernails scraped frantically at the cliff's side, trying to secure a purchase that she might prevent herself from falling to her death. She slid, the crumbling dirt and rocks scoring her hands and breaking her fingernails as she fought the soil for anything she might hold onto. It was a tree root jutting out of the craggy rocks that broke her fall. It hit her squarely in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Still, she grabbed it with both hands, hanging on with all her strength while she wheezed and fought for air.

Even her slight weight made the root teeter precariously so that she cried out and wrapped her arms around it, her legs dangling helplessly in the air. Above her, she heard the rush of wind, wings beating strongly as the huge bird plummeted toward her, diving straight for her face. Tempest buried her eyes in the crook of her arm and remained as still as she was able, terrified she was near the large bird's nest.

She had never seen an eagle, but the bird was too large to be anything else. The eyes were beady and clear, the beak hooked and wicked looking. The wing span had to be close to six feet. Tempest was certain she must have fallen near its nest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeated like a litany.

The bird had pulled up sharply and was once again circling, dropping lower as it did so. Tempest took a cautious look around. The fall was steep and long, several hundred feet. She would never survive. She glanced up, trying to determine whether she had a chance of climbing. At any moment she expected Brodrick to lean over the edge and take another shot at her.

Above her, the cliff was too steep, and she couldn't see a single indentation to try for with her fingertips. How long could she hold on? Darius would come for her, but not until nightfall. How many hours could she hang suspended there? And would the flimsy root hold? She could see the dirt falling away at the base of it, and the wood itself was rotten and dry. Her arms held the slender length in a death grip.

Tempest. The bird will make another pass for you. As it approaches, release the root.

As always, Darius sounded tranquil; they could have been discussing the weather.

If I let go, I'll fall, Darius.

She did her best not to sound hysterical, but if there was ever a moment when it was warranted, she figured this was it.

Trust me, honey, I will not allow you to die. The bird will carry you to safety. It isn't strong enough. I weigh a hundred pounds. I will aid it. Do as I say, Tempest. It is making its dive now.

She felt more than the mesmerizing, hypnotic persuasion of his voice; he was mentally pushing at her. She felt the need, the compulsion to obey him. He was implacable in his resolve. No one defied Darius Tempest heard the long, keening cry as the raptor plummeted toward her. She could feel her heart slamming with alarming force against her chest. Dangerous as it sounded, she was going to do what Darius had ordered. She couldn't stop herself. Already the need to obey was upon her, loosening her death grip on the root she never could have released if Darius hadn't commanded her to do so.

The bird raced at her, talons extended. With an inarticulate cry, Tempest let go. Instantly she was falling through space. The raptor was a terrifying sight as it came at her, its feathers blowing in the rush of air as it descended, its speed incredible. At the last moment Tempest closed her eyes. The sharp talons snagged her in midair, digging through clothing into soft skin, puncturing painfully. Then they dropped together, the bird's enormous wings flapping hard to keep them aloft, to compensate for the extra weight of its burden. Her shoes swung and nearly choked her, and she had to clutch at them to keep from being strangled by the laces.

Pain burned through her, her neck, her ribs on fire. Drops of blood traced down her sides to her hips. The eagle gripped her harder with its claws as it fought to bring her to safety. It was unable, even with Darius's help, to lift her above the cliff, so it made its way to the nearest outcropping, dropping her onto the ground. But its talons were caught in her ribs, its wings flapping strongly in an effort to break free. Tempest tried to help, extracting the piercing claws digging into her muscles. Then she collapsed into a heap on a pile of pine needles and dirt and rocks as the large bird rose high and soared away.

Tempest pressed her hand to her side, and her palm came away stained with blood. She coughed several times to relieve the pressure on her throat. Still, there was no doubt in her mind that this was a better fate than being shot or falling to her death on the rocks below. She struggled to a sitting position and tried to assess the damage done to her body and where she might be. Despite what she told Darius, she had a terrible sense of direction.

I know. Stay where you are.

Tempest blinked, unsure whether she had really heard his voice or whether she merely wanted to hear it. He was so far away from her. She tried to rise, focusing on the sound of water. Where was Matt Brodrick? As weak as she was, she couldn't afford to run into him, but she needed to get to the water.

Wait for me, Tempest.

The voice was stronger this time, an order if she'd ever heard one.

She supposed he had the right to sound imperious when he was always having to save her, but it grated just the same. Tempest staggered toward the stream, ignoring her screaming muscles, the sound of the bird calling to Darius, and the fear that Brodrick might come dashing at her at any moment. The only thing that mattered to her was reaching the water.

The stream was icy cold, and she lay down in it, full length, wanting the water to soothe the burning slashes in her skin, to numb her enough that she could think again. She stared up at the blue sky and saw only the agitated bird. She sat up slowly and pulled herself to the streambank. The wind combined with the icy water began to seep inside her, and she started to shake.

You should have stayed within the perimeters I set for you, Darius said quietly, with only the slightest edge to his voice.

Shut up about your stupid perimeters, she snapped. Even though she'd expected it, she couldn't bear to be lectured over some idiot reporter who thought he was on to a nest of vampires. The hell with that. "What are you saying?" she asked herself aloud. "There is a nest of vampires. Or maybe it's called a coven of Carpathians. No, covens are for witches. But whatever it is, it isn't my fault that some nut wants to shoot everyone."

Her neck and side were throbbing. So were the soles of her feet. She examined one, winced, and put them back in the water.

It isn't safe around you, Darius. Things just happen. Bizarre things. It is very safe around me, but you do not know your limits, and you seem to have a problem listening to reason. If you had stayed where you were supposed to stay, none of this would have happened.

"Oh, go to hell," she muttered aloud, certain he couldn't possibly hear her. Did he have to be so blasted superior all the time? She hurt everywhere; the last thing she wanted to do was listen to an infuriating male. Not that she wasn't grateful for his help. She could tell by his voice, by the fact that he was so far away, that his intervention had been difficult. Still, that didn't give him the right to chastise her, did it?

I have the right because you belong to me and I can do no other than to see to your safety and happiness.

The voice was calm and very masculine, holding a dark promise she didn't want to think about.

"You can do no other than shut up," she muttered resentfully. Clenching her teeth against the pain, she eased her shoes from around her neck. She didn't want Matt Brodrick sneaking up on the campsite and shooting Desari or Darius from some bush.

He cannot, Darius said soothingly. This time there was a hint of laughter in his voice at her rebellion.

Go to sleep or whatever it is you do, she snapped. I'll make sure no one can hurt you.

She added the last just to set his teeth on edge.

She immediately received the impression of gleaming teeth, that predator's smile, his black eyes burning with the promise of retaliation. Tempest pulled her mind abruptly from his, mostly because he could intimidate her even from a distance, which was hardly fair. Wincing, she eased her sneakers on over her wet, damaged soles and gingerly stood.

She swayed, her every wrenched and punctured muscle protesting, from holding up her own weight. With a sigh, she followed the stream, hoping to find her way back to the campground. It wasn't easy going, the terrain rough in places as she moved steadily upward away from the stream bed. Twice she sat down to rest, but finally she reached the stand of trees where she had first spotted Brodrick.

Tempest looked around carefully, certain she was in the correct spot, but the man was nowhere in sight. A black feather floated from the sky, a slow swirling in the breeze that dragged her attention skyward. Several large birds circled above the trees, more gathering even as she watched. Her heart nearly stopped. Buzzards.

She sat down abruptly on a rock, her heart pounding loudly.

Darius?

Even in her own mind, her voice trembled, wavered, sounding forlorn and lost.

I am here, honey.

He sounded strong and reassuring.

Is he dead? I don't want to find his body. You didn't kill him, did you?

She was pleading with him, hoping he hadn't, but it suddenly occurred to her just why he had assured her Brodrick couldn't hurt them and why, earlier, she didn't need to go to the police and report Harry's attack on her. Why he had suggested neither assailant would bother anyone again. Had she always known? Had she simply pretended to herself that Darius was always sweet and gentle, if a bit too imperious? She had known all along he was a dangerous predator; he had said as much himself. And when he said she was under his protection, it meant something to him. Darius was not human. He had his own code he lived by.

Did you kill him, Darius?

There was a short silence.

He died by his own hand, Tempest, he finally replied.

She covered her face with her hands. Could Darius have somehow forced him to do such a thing? She didn't know. Just how powerful was he? He could shape-shift. Convince a raptor to rescue her from a cliff. What else could he do? And did she want to know? You're

very dangerous, aren't you? Not to you, honey. Never to you. Now go back to camp, and allow me to get my rest. But his body. Someone has to call the police. We have to take his body to the authorities. We cannot, Tempest. He is a member of a society of assassins. These so-called vampire hunters would come at the first word of his untimely death, and all of us will be in danger. Leave him for some hiker to find later, once we're gone. He has been unstable for some time, and they will rule it a suicide, as they should. He did it himself?

She sought reassurance.

Anyone who would come after me or mine is clearly suicidal, he answered enigmatically. She wasn't going to touch that one.

And the other man who attacked me? Is he alive? Why would you think such a man should live, Tempest? He preys on women. He has done so for years. What does the world need with such a person?

Oh, God, she could not think about this. Why hadn't she considered the consequences of staying with a creature like Darius? It is

wrong to kill. It is the law of nature. I have never killed wantonly or indiscriminately. This is tiring, Tempest. I cannot sustain this communication for long. Return to camp, and we will continue this discussion when I rise.

She recognized an order when she heard it.