The thought was barely out of his mouth before the revelation followed. Was it possible? Maybe Marguarita had no choice, either. That love she felt, so strong, so deep, sharing parts of him he couldn't even see or touch without her could have made their bond much deeper than he realized. She was in him. His mind, yes, but she tapped into his soul. She saw things in him that he didn't. And those traits she'd relied on had to be there or she couldn't have felt such strong emotion for him.
She turned her head toward him. Her lashes fluttered and she looked directly into his eyes. The impact of her gaze hit him like a punch. He could see the change in her eyes already, the color deeper and richer. Before she could speak, her eyes went wide. He felt the wave as it consumed her, faster and harder, a shock to his body when it had been centuries since he'd acknowledged actual pain.
The sensation of a thousand knives stabbing at the insides of his body, slashing and cutting all at once burned through him. His insides felt shredded and tangled, tied into thick, hard knots. The breath left his body and the punch came, a tidal wave like a battering ram, slamming through him. His skull was suddenly too small for his brain, an explosion of shrapnel bursting in his head sending shock waves through his body.
Beside him, Marguarita's body convulsed. He held her to him, skin to skin, sharing the agony, riding on top of it with her, his body sweating tiny beads of blood that smeared over the matching ones dotting her body.
He hadn't known. How could he not have even asked his brothers? Had each of them shared information, told one another just how bad conversion could be?
"It is fading, sivamet ," he whispered. By sharing the pain with her, at least he had lessened the violence of the seizures. "Try to breathe evenly. Your heart is beating too fast. Let your body follow the rhythm of mine."
Deliberately he matched the frantic, accelerated pounding of her heart, the gasping, ragged breathing of her body, and very slowly, holding her to him, began to slow both their rates. Her gaze clung to his. His heart stuttered for a moment. She looked defeated, not at all like the Marguarita who went alone into a rain forest at night with a predator stalking her. Marguarita who would smile at him when he was at his worst.
Marguarita. He breathed her name, holding her close to him, inside his mind.
She didn't fight him this time, far too weak to make much sense of what was happening to her. He lay there beside her and listened to the rain falling on the roof, amplifying the sound enough that she could hear the soothing sound through the roaring in her head. Deliberately he added small bursts of a breeze to change the pattern of sound against the windows and walls.
Beside him, Marguarita slowly relaxed, the tension easing from sore, knotted muscles enough to allow her to breathe in the soothing mixture of lavender and chamomile scents. She didn't fight him again and Zacarias found the terrible knot in his own gut easing.
He stroked her hair in a gentle caress and murmured nonsense in his own language. Or maybe it wasn't nonsense, maybe he tapped into those feelings of that stranger dwelling deep inside of him, the one who knew he couldn't lose her, not for the burden of his soul, but for the overwhelming emotion that welled like a tsunami he couldn't stop.
She couldn't possibly know what he was saying, he hardly knew. But when the next wave hit, she turned her head and looked at him, focusing on him,rather than turning away. Her eyes went wide, glazed, as the pain hit. This time, Zacarias was prepared and knew exactly how to take most of it from her. Her body was cleansed of all toxins and well on its way to becoming fully Carpathian. As the pain receded, he sensed it would be safe to put her in the healing earth.
"I can send you to sleep, Marguarita. When you awaken you will feel hunger and the need for blood, but you will not be in such pain."
Her gaze jumped to his as his palm wiped those tiny dots of blood from her forehead.
"You will awaken fully Carpathian."
Her tongue touched her dry lower lip in an attempt to moisten it. It doesn't matter. I just want this over with.
He detested the defeat in her. Marguarita was all fire to his ice, not outwardly, not in the sense of temper and picking fights, in fact, just the opposite. But she was passionate about what she believed in and who and what she loved. She poured herself completely into everything she did, just as she had wholly given herself to him.
She was worn out, her body and mind exhausted. He couldn't blame her. He felt wrung out and he hadn't suffered as she had.
"I do not want you to think I am doing anything else without your knowledge." He waited, but she didn't respond. "I will command your first sleep, and after that, your body will take over and sleep on its own when you command. You have my blood running in your veins. It is ancient blood, very powerful, and you will learn quickly to wield that power." He had to hurry before the next swelling pain came.
"You know the earth will rejuvenate you." He made it a statement.
Her lashes fluttered and fear crept into her eyes, but she nodded. What do I do if I find myself trapped beneath the earth?
He brushed another caress through her hair more because he needed to touch her than because it was in her face. "You will it to move. Command it. Picture the soil in your mind, doing what you wish. It may take a few times, but if you do not panic and think as a human, that you are buried alive, then you will be fine."
Her heart accelerated when he used that phrase, buried alive , but she nodded.
"I will be with you to ease your way," he assured.
It's coming. She didn't plead with him to take her away. There was no asking, no pleading. Marguarita made it clear, even in her exhausted state, that she would not be asking anything of him.
He felt the swell just as she did and he took command instantly, demanding she sleep deeply, the healing, rejuvenating sleep of his people. Carpathians shut down their hearts and lungs and lay as if dead while Mother Earth used her rich nutrients and minerals to aid them to full recovery and strength. He stopped Marguarita's heart and lungs as gently as possible.
He lifted her into his arms, cradling her gently against his chest, his eyes burning and his heart shredded. She lay limp, her long hair sweeping to one side, revealing the curve of her cheek and her long lashes. She looked so young and innocent, a beautiful woman, ravaged by the conversion, disillusioned by the man sworn to cherish and protect her.
Zacarias carried her through the house to the master bedroom, waving his hand to move the bed out of the way. The hand-woven rug followed and the floor opened to the sleeping chamber deep beneath the structure. Another wave of his hand opened the beckoning soil, almost a black loam rich with minerals. He felt the earth reaching for her as he floated them both down into that warm cocoon of an environment.
Very gently he laid her down, careful of her hair, bending to brush his mouth over hers. She wouldn't feel him - wouldn't know how silly he was acting when she was in a deep sleep, but he felt free to stroke his fingers down her arm to her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers, tenderness welling up unexpectedly.
Could he have lost her? She had pulled away from him. Rebuffed him. It hurt. Plain and simple, her rejection had been so complete, when she'd needed him the most. She would rather have suffered than allowed him into her mind, melding their spirits. His refusal to enter into the modern world could have cost him everything.
He sank down beside her, his eyes burning, his chest aching. He kept possession of her hand, his fingers caressing hers. He'd had everything in Marguarita. She'd offered him a world he could barely conceive of, let alone long for. He hadn't known how much he wanted it. Not the people, not the friends; he knew himself. He was a loner, but he could tolerate others for her sake. He should have paid attention to what those ritual binding words meant. Her happiness. Her care.
He was a man who was confident for a reason. He couldn't shove his responsibility off on Marguarita. If he expected her to follow where he led, he needed to place blame where it belonged. None of this would have happened if he had taken Solange's blood when it had been offered. He didn't want anything to do with the new world and its modern ways. He wanted to stay where he was comfortable. There would have been no question of taking command of the situation and protecting his lifemate. He didn't have the tools available to him because of sheer stubbornness.
He groaned and shook his head. He had the means right in front of him to provide his woman with protection and happiness, but he'd been too arrogant, too filled with his pride and honor to take advantage of the gifts handed to him. No more.
He was a fighter. That was who he was and Marguarita Fernandez was a woman worth fighting for. He was the one who was meant to walk beside her. Zacarias brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed her hand, little butterfly kisses, his heart aching for both of them.
Stay with me, mi?a emni ku¦Çenak minan - my beautiful lunatic. I promise you, I will be a better man, a better lifemate to you. You gave yourself to me once. Do it again. I have learned what cherish means. And I cherish you.
He kissed her hand again and took a deep breath, closed the earth over her and left the chamber to go out into the night. His world. He belonged there. For the first time he felt his affinity for it, the strong kinship of his kind for the night itself. Clouds dimmed the half-moon. The rain was a soft melody, steady and gentle, music to him. The insects and frogs provided a chorus to the symphony. He would make this Marguarita's world, as well. But he needed to at least - for her - take a few steps into the world she loved.
In his lifetime he had never once called for aid from any other. Not his brothers, not those brave enough to call him friend. Asking for help went against his code, yet for Marguarita, for his woman, he knew it had to be done. He stepped off the porch into the night rain, listening to the familiar comfort of the night creatures. Without Marguarita in his mind, bridging all those broken connections and filling all the dark shadows, he no longer saw in color, but the memory of emotion was strong in him. How could it not be? She was on his mind, in his heart, connected to his soul, and he felt his love for her, if not anything else.
Zacarias sent his call into the night. I have great need, Dominic. Come to me. It is of utmost urgency.
Part of him was shamed to call to the one Carpathian he loosely thought of as a friend. Men like Dominic and him didn't exactly have friends. Zacarias wasn't altogether certain what that word actually encompassed. He would die to protect Dominic, but that was his way of life, not friendship.
I must get to the Carpathian Mountains as soon as possible. We have news we must carry to the prince.
The reply was faint, as if over a great distance. But at least he had been heard and it meant Dominic was within range that he might meet him and yet he might stay within the night's distance of Marguarita.
I will meet you. Give me a range. I have need of a blood exchange.
Are you injured?
There was a part of him that didn't want to share that he had a lifemate.
Marguarita was too important and he feared that every enemy would come after her if word got out. And he had many enemies. He closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to trust. My lifemate will awaken in need in a few days and it will be necessary to protect her at all times. Already she has been endangered from my refusal of Solange's gift.
He felt Dominic's shock even over the great distance and it almost made him smile. In that moment, although he accepted that he would always be different, that without Marguarita's presence, he would never feel as others did, he nearly felt true amusement at Dominic's reaction.
This news is - unexpected - but welcomed.
Give me your coordinates. I will meet you and hopefully can make it back before this night ends. She cannot be left unprotected. We have already had a confrontation with human vampire hunters. If one came, there is the possibility of more.
Zacarias was certain that Ruslan was in the area, but he hadn't showed himself, and the small attacks on the ranch had been just probes. It was possible Ruslan had planned to attack the prince even with his army diminished and the attacks on the ranch were merely a persion, but he was taking no chances.
Dominic sent the necessary information, and Zacarias took to the air.