Dark Tarot (Dark Carpathians)

Knowing the demons had their hands on Adalasia was worse than any physical agony they could put him through. Watching them torture her, flaying the skin from her with their fire whips, hearing her screams and pleas, was worse than anything he could have imagined. He was a Carpathian male, an ancient, sworn to protect her, sworn to see to her health. He loved her with every fiber of his being, and yet he couldn’t save her.

He felt movement, a sweet voice calling to him to waken, drawing him from his slumber toward the surface—and excruciating pain. He didn’t want to answer the call, but it was Adalasia. How could he abandon her?

The roaring in his ears was too loud to hear anything, but he knew she was there with him. Her scent reached him. Surrounded him. Drove out the odious smell of sulfur and brimstone.

You should not have come, Sivamet, he whispered into her mind. Tet vigyázam. He told her he loved her because she needed to know.

They were both going to suffer the fires of damnation. There was no way to end it for either of them. He knew, even if they gave the demons what was asked of them, there would be more asked. Always more. He could hear a chant, the words far off, spoken in the ancient language of his kind.

He smelled blood. Tasted it as someone pressed closed to his lips. He tried to turn his head away. He would not betray her. Adalasia. Sweet goddess. His lifemate. He was so tired, and the pain ripped at his insides, scraping him raw. His mind felt fragmented, sanity elusive. He couldn’t quite hold on to any real thought.

I know you’re weary, Sandu, but you have to take the blood offered to you. Your brethren surround you now. You are no longer in the Cave of Fire. You are here in the healing grounds with me. With all of us.

Was she real? Was she telling him the truth? The shadow realm was a place of illusion and lies. A blowtorch burned through his insides. Fire took off his skin. Parasites ate his flesh and crawled relentlessly through his organs. Acid blood of the vampire was forced into him so that his veins burned every moment of his existence.

Sandu, beloved, come back to me. Feel me with you. Take what is freely given to you.

It was a leap of faith. That voice. The feeling of Adalasia moving in his mind, filling all those fragmented places so that for a few moments he felt whole. His spirit moved against hers. Recognized her. Trusted her.

Sandu allowed the wrist to be pressed to his mouth. At once, he tasted rich Carpathian blood—ancient, powerful, healing. The blood was unlike anything he had ever experienced, not even with the oldest of the ancients. It hit like a fireball, rushing through his veins, so that acid and blowtorches receded before it. Parasites and bacteria exited as quickly as possible through his pores, unable to survive should that powerful blood touch them.

He tried to be polite and thoughtful. He didn’t want to be greedy or succumb to the demon prowling so close to the surface inside him, but it was nearly impossible to force himself to stop feeding when he was starving. He shouldn’t have worried so much; the ancient feeding him stopped him easily. Sandu was weak, and somehow, the two were connected.

He could hear the Carpathian healing chant all the while he fed and then Adalasia’s soft voice urging him to go back to sleep, promising to be with him, to guard him, to never leave him. He felt his brethren close. The ancient who had given him blood, which moved through his body, a powerful healing light, searching out every burn, every ragged tear, each horrendous wound, attempting to lessen the damage done to his body.

Sleep, Sandu, Adalasia said softly. I will call to you when next you need blood and another healing session.

Sandu found it ironic that his lifemate was the one taking care of him when he was an ancient, sworn to protect and care for her. Nevertheless, he allowed himself to succumb to the need for healing sleep and soil, trusting his lifemate to watch over him.

Adalasia stared down at Sandu’s beloved face there in the moonlight. She had opened the soil herself to allow the silver of the moon to coax him back to the living. His handsome face was still ravaged by the cruelty of the demons in the Cave of Fire. Lines of suffering were carved deep, but along with that were the lash marks where fire had raced up the side of his face from his jaw to the edge of his temple. With a gentle finger, she traced each of the three scars embedded so deep in his skin.