Jacques sat on the floor, aware of the wall at his back, the woman lying so still in his arms. Dark, violent emotions swirled; his body shook with the need to kill his enemies. A ribbon of sanity moved through his mind, caught his attention. Both intruders had been familiar to him.

Someone he knew and trusted.

A silent snarl revealed his sharp fangs.

Betrayers sometimes ran in packs.

They thought him weak, but he was faster than all but the ancient ones. He had honed his fighting skills, his mental powers. They would not torture and kill his woman.

Shea.

Hername was a soft, clear breeze blowing gently through his mind. Shea.

A single candle leapt into flame, a light to guide him through the layers of black fury. He felt her then, small and slender in the circle of his arms. Her skin was soft, her hair, against his bare chest, like skeins of silk. He dropped his chin to the top of her head and rubbed gently, tenderly. It took a few moments before he realized her body was limp, cold, nearly lifeless, laboring for blood.

An anguished cry broke from him. He pulled her head back, saw the bruises and torn flesh at her throat.

Shea, do not leave me!

The plea was wrenched from his heart. Had he done this? The fingerprints were not his, but the ripped flesh? Had he done this to her?

A ripple of unease ran through the very land, the ground shifting, rolling.

Donot leave me, Shea.

Jacques tore at his wrist with his teeth, trickled life-giving fluid into her mouth.

Come on, little red hair, try.

His life force ran down her throat. He stroked the swollen column, forcing her to swallow.

You cannot leave me in darkness.

He could not remember attacking her, yet somehow, his heart in his throat, Jacques knew he had done this. He was insane.

Outside the wind rushed through the mountains, and thunder cracked. The dark clouds burst, and rain pelted down in sheets. Out of the trees loped a huge black wolf with pale, burning eyes. As he approached the small porch, the powerful body contorted, stretched, shape-shifted into a heavily muscled man with wide shoulders, long dark hair, and slashing silver eyes. He stepped onto the porch out of the pouring rain and regarded the two men facing him. The tension was tangible between Mikhail and Byron. Mikhail, as always, was inscrutable. Byron looked like a thundercloud. The newcomer's eyebrows went up, and he leaned close to Byron. "The last time someone got Mikhail seriously angry, it was not a pretty sight. I do not wish to attempt to replace major organs in your body, so go take a walk and cool off." The voice was beautiful, with a singsong cadence - compelling, soothing even, yet it clearly commanded. It was a voice so hypnotic, so mesmerizing, even those of their kind were drawn into its power.

Gregori. The dark one.

Ancient, powerful, instrument of justice. He dismissed Byron by simply turning his back and addressing Mikhail. "When you sent the call, you said it was Jacques, yet I cannot detect him. I have tried to touch him, but there is only emptiness."

"It is Jacques, yet he is not the same. Not turned, but he has been severely injured. He does not recognize us, and he is extremely dangerous. I cannot restrain him without further injuring him."

"He fought you?" The voice, as always, was mild, even gentle.

"Absolutely, and he would again. He is more wild animal than man, and there is no reaching him. He will kill us if he can find the strength."

Gregori inhaled the wild night air. "Who is this woman?"

"She is Carpathian, but she does not know our ways or respond in any way to our normal means of communication. She seems trained in the human practice of healing."

"A doctor?"

"Perhaps. He protects her, yet he is abusive, as if he cannot separate right from wrong. I think he is trapped in a world of madness."

The silver eyes flickered. There was a latent cruelty in Gregori's dark, sensual features, the clear stamp of a dangerous predator. "You have no knowledge of what happened to him?"

Mikhail shook his head slowly. "I have no idea, no explanation. I did not ask the woman. I attacked her, would have killed her, thinking her my brother's assailant." Mikhail confessed it without changing tone, a simple, quiet admission. "He was in bad shape, in obvious agony, sweating blood, and she stood over him, digging in his wound. There was so much blood, I thought her a vampiress, deranged, tormenting him, trying to eviscerate him."

There was a small silence, only the wind and rain daring to comment. Gregori simply waited, his body as still as the mountains.

Mikhail shrugged. "Perhaps there was no thought, just reaction. I could not touch his mind with mine. The suffering on his face was more than I could bear."

"The storm is not yours," Gregori stated. "Jacques has grown far more powerful than I realized. There is a darkness in him unlike any I have ever observed. He is not vampire, but he is truly dangerous. Let us go in and see if I can repair the damage."

"Go carefully, Gregori," Mikhail cautioned.

The silver eyes glittered, reflected the driving sheets of rain. "I am known for my careful ways, am I not?" Gregori glided through the broken door; Mikhail, shaking his head over the outrageous lie, followed one step behind.

Jacques' head snapped up, a black fury smoldering in his eyes as he tracked them. A long, slow hiss of warning escaped from deep in his throat. Gregori stopped, held his hands away from his sides in the age-old gesture of a peacemaker. Mikhail leaned against the doorjamb, so completely still, he seemed to become part of the wall itself. He was well aware that he had made a major mistake in his attack upon the woman.

"I am Gregori, Jacques." Gregori's voice was power itself, yet soft and soothing. "A healer for our people."

Shea was lying across Jacques, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed. She groaned - a low, husky sound that added fuel to Jacques' rage. His fingers brushed the dark smudges along her swollen throat, and he turned a murderous gaze on Mikhail.

"Leave us alone." Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and raw. She did not open her eyes or try to move "I can help him," Gregori persisted, using his same compelling tone. The woman was so obviously the key to reaching Jacques. It was in the way he held her, the protective posture of his body, the way his eyes moved possessively, even tenderly, over her face. His hands were continually caressing her, stroking her hair, her skin.

At the underlying command in Gregori's beautiful voice, her long eyelashes lifted, and she studied his face. He was savagely beautiful, a blend of elegance and untamed beast. He looked more dangerous than the other two strangers did. Shea made an effort to swallow, but it hurt. "You look like an ax murderer to me."

This one has brains.

Mikhail's soft laughter echoed in Gregori's head.

She sees beyond that handsome face of yours. You are so funny, ancient one.

Gregori deliberately reminded him of the quarter of a century difference in their ages.

Jacques is gathering himself for the attack. Hear the wind pick up outside.

He was silent for a moment, searching every path known to him.

I cannot find a single fragment to reach him, and she is very resistant to mental compulsion. I can use her, but he will know what I am doing. He will fight me, fearing I am taking her from him. She is too weak to survive such a struggle. Can you immobilize him? Send him to sleep? Not in his present state of agitation. He is more animal than man and more dangerous than you can know.

Gregori gave a slight bow toward Shea, continuing his conversation aloud with her. "Nevertheless, I am a healer for our people. I can help Jacques, but I will need information."

Jacques' palm slid from Shea's throat, down her shoulder, to tighten around her arm.

Do not listen to him. They speak to one another without our knowledge. They are not to be trusted.

The words were hissed, low and commanding. Already his brief moment of sanity was beginning to slip away with the intrusion of other males so near to Shea.

If he is a healer for your people, he can make you well faster than I ever could. Let's at least listen to him.

Shea kept her voice as soothing and as unafraid as she was able. She was tired and wanted to drift away, but she would not desert Jacques.

"You speak with Jacques in the way of our people." Gregori said, "as a true lifemate." His eyes were on the strong fingers circling her arm. "You must not sleep. You are his sanity. Without you we cannot help him."

Shea's tongue darted out, touched her lower lip. Her small teeth bit nervously. "Tell us something about Jacques," she challenged. "Prove you have met him before and are friends to him."

"He is Mikhail's brother, lost to us these seven years. We sought him and, thinking him dead, sought his body. Mikhail, Byron, and I have all exchanged blood with Jacques. It strengthens out telepathic communication. We should have been able to reach him. When none of us could feel him, we all were certain he was dead."

Shea took a deep, calming breath for both her and Jacques. These men were powerful and dangerous. Although the healer looked as if he might be the prince of darkness, there was a sincerity about him. But his words were fanning the smoldering embers of Jacques' killing rage. She tried to keep him as calm as she could. "I found him buried in the cellar of a burned-down structure about six miles from here."

Jacques' grip on Shea tightened to the point of pain.

Do not tell them anything. Jacques.

She said his name gently.

You are hurting me.

Gregori nodded. "He lived there on and off before he disappeared. This cabin is Mikhail's. Years ago Jacques guarded Mikhail's wife in this place, fought a betrayer to save her. He nearly died here." He saw a flash of hope in the woman's eyes. Gregori knew her control of Jacques was but a slender thread. He had to reach her, get her on their side. She recognized the truth of something he had said. "After that incident, we left this area for a while. About eight years ago, Jacques returned to his home near here. There was much danger that year and the next. Humans and Carpathians alike were being murdered. Mikhail, Jacques, Aidan, and I were hunting the assassins. Jacques was supposed to rejoin us in three days several hundred miles south of here. When he did not meet us and did not answer our summons, we came to his home. It was completely destroyed. We could not detect his life force, nor did he answer our calls." Jacques venomous hiss called him a liar. Red flames leapt and burned in the depths of his eyes.

I called and called, Shea. Do not believe this betrayer.

The strength of his grip on her arm increased, threatening to crush her bones.

Perhaps I can learn from him, something to help us.

Shea swayed wearily, was forced to lean against Jacques' chest for support.

My arm hurts.

She was so tired. If she could just sleep... Everything seemed to be blurring together, the voices fading as if coming from a great distance.

Gregori's silver gaze met Mikhail's dark one.

The woman is weak, perhaps in more immediate need than Jacques. If we lose her, he is lost to us. There is no doubt in my mind that she is all that is keeping him with us. She is his only link to sanity.

"Now you tell me more," Gregori prompted Shea as Mikhail nodded his understanding. They were aware of Jacques' terrible grip on her arm. Gregori needed to keep her conscious and willing to aid them. "What of Jacques' wounds?"

"He was tortured, burned. A wooden stake the size of your fist was driven through his body. That is the worst wound. He remembers two humans and one he refers to as a betrayer." Her voice was very weak.

A single sound escaped Mikhail, a low, ominous growl that sent a shiver racing along Shea's spine.

A vampire, Mikhail hissed to Gregori.

Avampire turned him over to humans to be tortured and murdered. No doubt.

Gregori was matter-of-fact. He didn't even glance in Mikhail's direction, his entire focus on the woman. He had to keep her from slipping away, and she was very close to doing just that. It was only her determination to save Jacques that kept her from succumbing to the blood loss and fatigue and pain.

"He was chained and manacled at the wrists and ankles. Buried upright in a coffin in the cellar wall." She made a determined effort to speak clearly, but her throat was very sore, and she was so tired. "There were well over a hundred deep cuts on his body and as many shallow ones. He lived a prisoner of the earth, in terrible agony during his waking time for seven years. It has done something to his mind. Jacques remembers very little of his past. Bits and pieces only. Most of his memories are of pain and madness." Shea closed her eyes, exhausted. She just wanted them all to go away so she could sleep. Her heart was laboring, sweat beaded on her body, and her limbs were like lead. It was almost too difficult to keep her eyes open. "The one who betrayed him was someone he knew and trusted."

"Jacques." Gregori's voice dropped even lower so that it seemed to whisper - low, compelling, beautiful. "Your woman is in need of care. I offer my services as a healer to both of you. I give you my word that at no time will I attempt harm to your woman."

Let him, Jacques. No! It is a trick.

Shea stirred, tried to sit up on her own, but was too weak.

Look at us, wild man. They could easily kill us. I'm so tired, I can't hang on anymore.

Jacques turned it over in his mind. He knew something was wrong with him, but he trusted none of them. He gave in only because he sensed Shea's health was even more precarious than his.

Stay close to me.

Shea's hand came up, fluttered weakly. She pushed the tangled mane of hair from her face wearily. "He says you may help him."

"We will have to get you to the bed, Jacques." Gregori's voice dispelled the thick tension in the room, pushed it aside to replace it with clean, fragrant air. "Mikhail, I will need herbs. You know which ones. Tell Byron to bring me plenty of rich soil from the steam chamber in the caves."

Gregori glided closer to the couple, his graceful elegance failing to conceal the rippling strength of his muscles and the power emanating from his body. He looked totally confident, relaxed, completely fearless.

The soft rumbling in Jacques' throat increased; his fingers tightened possessively, crushing bones and tendon in Shea's upper arm. Gregori stopped moving immediately. "I am sorry, woman, I know you are weak, but you will have to move to the other side of him or he will not allow me to help," Gregori instructed calmly.

What we need, Mikhail, is Raven's calming influence. You look about as reassuring as a Bengal tiger. Oh, and you look like a bunny rabbit,

Mikhail scoffed.

"You could have brought Raven along," Gregori chided softly, aloud. "You bring her along on every other dangerous thing she should not be involved in." That was a clear reprimand. "You might have brought her where she could actually do some good."

Through the open doorway suddenly stepped a small woman, long ebony hair braided intricately, huge blue eyes flashing at Mikhail. As Byron shouldered his way inside behind her, she gave him a friendly smile and stood on her toes to brush his chin with a kiss.

Mikhail stiffened, then immediately wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. "Carpathian women do not do that kind of thing," he reprimanded her.

She tilted her chin at him, in no way intimidated. "That's because Carpathian males have such a territorial mentality - you know, a beat-their-chest, swing-from-the-trees sort of thing." She turned her head to look at the couple lying on the floor. Her indrawn breath was audible.

"Jacques." She whispered his name, tears in her voice and in her blue eyes. "It really is you." Eluding Mikhail's outstretched, detaining hand, she ran to him.

Let her, Gregori persuaded softly.

Look at him.

Jacques' gaze was fastened on the woman's face, the red flames receding from his eyes as she approached.

"I'm Raven, Jacques. Don't you remember me? Mikhail, your brother, is my lifemate." Raven dropped to her knees beside the couple. "Thank God you're alive. I can't believe how lucky we are. Who did this to you? Who took you from us?"

Shea felt the ripple of awareness in her mind. Jacques' shock. His curiosity. He recognized those tear-filled blue eyes. Shea caught a glimpse, a fragment of memory, the woman bending over him, her hands clamped to his throat, pressing soil and saliva into a pumping wound. Shea held her breath, waiting. Jacques' silent cry of despair echoed in her head. She forced herself to move, found his hand with hers, silently supporting him as she regarded the woman kneeling beside her.

You didn't tell me she was so beautiful,

Shea reprimanded deliberately.

In the midst of Jacques' pain and agony, his possessive fury and maniacal madness, something seemed to melt the ice-cold core of murderous resolve. The urge to smile at that feminine, edgy tone came out of nowhere. Something snarling to be set free retreated, and the tension in him eased visibly.

Isshe?

Jacques asked innocently.

Shea's green eyes touched his face, and warmth spread further inside him. And the beast was temporarily leashed.

"Is this your lifemate, Jacques?" Raven asked softly.

Shea looked at her then, this woman who had been a part of Jacques' life. "I'm Shea O'Halloran." Her voice was husky and ragged. "Jacques has been unable to use his voice since I found him."

Raven touched Shea's bruised throat with gentle fingers. "Someone had better tell me what happened here." Her blue eyes were studying the dark smudges closely.

"Help her to the bed," Gregori interceded, distracting Raven from her study.

You owe me one, old friend, he sent to Mikhail.

Raven smiled very gently at Jacques. "Do you mind if I help her? Shea is quite weak." Not waiting for his approval, she slipped an arm around Shea's waist, supporting her as she tried to stand.

Instantly Shea felt the ripple of unease coursing through Jacques. The others felt it as the ground shifted and rolled. The flames in his eyes glowed a brilliant red, and a slow hiss escaped him.

Raven glared at Mikhail over her shoulder. He shrugged helplessly.

I am not doing it, little one. Jacques is unstable. He does not like the woman apart from him. Temper tantrums seem to run in your family.

Ravenwas careful to keep Shea close as Gregori lifted Jacques in his arms. With his tremendous strength, the healer carried Jacques as if he were a child and gently laid him on the bed.

Jacques didn't so much as look at him. His eyes were always on Shea. Raven made certain Shea was beside him every step of the way.

"Lie close to him, Shea," Gregori instructed. He stepped back so Raven could help her into the bed. The woman was very weak and could not survive another attack. All of them had to take great care not to set Jacques off.

Raven lit the candle Mikhail produced, then lit pungent herbs. Mikhail, Byron, and Raven all joined together, in low murmurs reciting the ancient healing chant in the language of their people. Gregori laid his hands on Jacques, closed his eyes, and sent himself seeking outside his own body and into Jacques'. The physical wounds had begun to heal, with the exception of the one Shea had just repaired. Gregori examined her work, found it flawless. She was a true healer, human or not. Few could have equaled her medical expertise. He began the painstaking project of healing Jacques from the inside out.

Jacques was uncomfortably aware of another's presence in his body, in his mind, of a new burning sensation inside him. The presence was vaguely familiar. The chant, the scent of herbs, and the flickering candlelight also seemed familiar. But he couldn't catch the memories and hold on to them. As fast as they shimmered in front of him, they swirled in a teasing eddy, crystallized, and dissolved.

Automatically, in his frustration and hopelessness, he reached for Shea, the one path his mind knew and could hold on to. She was drifting, floating, yet she watched Gregori intently, trying to follow his every move despite her physical weakness. As always, information was massing, computing in her brain at a speed that amazed Jacques. He concentrated on her, found she was terribly weak, her blood volume insufficient. Alarmed, Jacques jerked himself from the half-trance the healing ritual had induced and clamped his hand like a vise around the healer's forearm.

Gregori instantly withdrew from the wounds in Jacques' body. The room fell dead silent; the very air itself stilled, thickened. The flames vanished from the candles, plunging the room into the total darkness of night, yet it was no darkness to the group. Little beads of perspiration dotted Gregori's forehead, the only indication of how difficult the healing process was on the healer.

Silver eyes slashed to the hand gripping his forearm, jumped to Jacques' gaunt face. There was the glitter of death in those pale eyes. Jacques met the ice-cold gaze, stare for stare. His mind struggled to tune itself, find a path. When he could not, Jacques reached for his voice. The words formed in his brain but were lost before his vocal cords could find them. Black fury swirled at his own inadequacy, but he pushed it aside. Shea needed blood, needed help. He had caused her enough suffering. "Blood." The single word was more of a growl than anything else, but the healer heard.

Gregori regarded him dispassionately, silent for a long moment. His movements were unhurried as with his free hand he calmly punctured his own wrist just above Jacques' menacing fingers. His silver gaze remained locked with Jacques'. Gregori's blood was powerful, ancient like Mikhail's. It would speed the healing process as no other's could. Rich blood dripped and beckoned as he offered it silently to the Carpathian male lying so battered and torn, yet so willing to do battle.

Hunger rose so swiftly and sharply in Jacques that it was a compulsion. He dragged the proffered wrist to his mouth and fed voraciously, at last finding the hot, rich blood he needed to survive, to heal and grow strong, to pass on to Shea. The liquid nourishment poured into his starved body, spreading to every withered cell. Tissues and muscles swelled with strength. Power surged through him, built and built until he felt alive, really alive. Until colors were vivid, brilliant even, until the sounds of the night beckoned and called to him as one of them.

Creature of the night.

"Enough." Gregori's voice was a whisper of beauty, of purity, so compelling it would have been nearly impossible to disobey him, Jacques closed the wound on Gregori's wrist and immediately reached for Shea. He pulled her into the circle of his arms, cradling her light, nearly insubstantial body to him. He focused his attention, blocked out his own pain and merged his mind firmly with Shea's.

You must feed.

He could feel the ripple of unease running through her body. She turned her face from him.

I can't, Jacques, not with them here. I'm so tired, just let me sleep. You must, little red hair.

Hestrengthened the command.

Feed.

As weak as she was, Shea resisted him, her hand going to her pounding head.

Don't make me do this in front of them.

The little catch in her words warmed his soul. Her words created an intimacy between them that belonged. He had been insane, a mad darkness taking hold of him, but she had been there, by his side, fighting for him, believing in him. He owed her more than his life, he owed her his sanity.

There is only you and me, my love. Feed now. You must do so to survive, so we both survive.

There was no way to deny him. Jacques' will was iron, his voice hypnotic, his mind locked with hers and reinforced the command. Shea was weak and tired and hurting. She sank into the compulsion, nuzzling his neck, his throat, her lips soft satin skimming across his chest.

Jacques bent over her to give her what privacy he could from the others in the room. His body clenched hotly, unexpectedly, as her tongue swirled over his pulse. His fingers tightened in her hair, and he glanced up, angry that the intruders were witnessing their intimacy.

Gregori was in a far corner, leaning against the wall, his dark head bent to Mikhail's wrist, clearly replenishing his own blood supply. Raven was on her knees, picking up the shattered glass of a lantern, soaking up the oil with a towel. Byron was working on the door. His eyes alone slid over the couple, dwelt on the curve of Shea's hip, her abundance of wine-red hair.

There was helpless envy in Byron's stare, and Jacques deliberately shielded Shea's face from his view, knowing she still had an aversion to the necessary and natural function of taking blood. Her tongue stroked across the steady pulse in his neck, and his heart jumped in response. His body stirred restlessly, need rising. Soft velvet caress, moist and erotic. His blood surged hotly.

Shea had far too much passion in her to simply yield to compulsion. This was Jacques, and her body craved his. Her natural inhibitions slipped away. Her small teeth barely scraped his skin, but it was enough to send darts of fire racing through his bloodstream. He had to bite back a groan as the white-hot heat pierced his skin and he flowed into her, his very life force, his very soul. Her hand curled around the back of his neck, another intimacy binding them together like the silken skeins of her hair. She didn't simply drink, she feasted. Her mouth moved seductively, her body restlessly, deliberately enticing his. Jacques wanted her with a hunger he had never known. He lowered his head to brush her temple with his lips.

So, Gregori.

Mikhail's voice was a mere thread of sound in the healer's mind.

Tell me what you found. The woman would have healed his wounds eventually. She is an excellent physician. It is a miracle he managed to keep himself alive until she found him. His mind is completely shattered, Mikhail. Very dark and violent. He has bound the woman to him, and the tie is strong.

Gregori's reply was thoughtful.

Why do I hear the inevitable but in there?

Mikhail, a little weak from donating blood, sat down to rest.

Gregori righted a chair and sat facing him.

I think he turned the woman, maybe accidentally, maybe on purpose. She is Carpathian, yet human. She is weak, as if her internal organs had very recently suffered a trauma. How could you know this? You have not touched her,

Mikhail pointed out.

His mind never quite releases hers completely. She anchors him. He is extremely dangerous, Mikhail. His rage seethes in him. A good part of him is pure animal instinct. His nature is predatory

you know that. What was done to him has shaped his life for all time. That I cannot change.

Mikhail rubbed his forehead, unconsciously sought to touch Raven's mind with his. Immediately she was there, flooding him with warmth, surrounding him with love. His lifemate could take away every sadness with one melting look from her blue eyes, one touch of her mind to his.

Mikhail mentally laced his fingers through Raven's, even as he turned to Gregori.

Do you think he will turn?

Gregori gave the mental equivalent of a shrug.

I think he is dangerous either way. Only the woman can control him. She is the answer to that. If I am correct and she knows nothing of our ways, it will be difficult. She is determined he survive, but I sense she has accepted that it is inevitable that she die. She has no clear idea of what she has been committed to here.

Mikhail glanced at his brother, saw him gently, even tenderly stroke back Shea's hair. The gesture touched his heart.

Gregori sighed.

It is obvious how he feels, but he does not always know what he is doing. He is quite capable of harming her if something triggers the beast in him.

Mikhail rubbed the heel of his hand over his forehead. The Jacques he knew and loved was so different. His laughter came readily, and compassion always tempered his predatory nature. Jacques was so intelligent, so easy to love. Long after Jacques had lost his ability to feel his emotions, he had retained the memory of them. He had often helped the older males to recall memories of their own laughter. Who had done this to him? To be forced to sentence another brother to death... Mikhail couldn't do it. It was time to step down, time to hand someone else the weight of responsibility for their dying race.

Mikhail felt Raven slip her arms around his neck. "Jacques is strong, love. He will find his way back to us."

Mikhail turned her palm up, kissed the center gently.

Gregori thinks Jacques turned Shea O'Halloran without her knowledge or consent.

His black eyes met her blue ones, filled with guilt, tenderness.

He does not think the woman has any idea of our ways. Jacques will -  No, little one, Jacques remembers very little of anything. Hatred, rage, revenge, the woman -  that is all he thinks of. We are not certain he is capable of taking care of her. Look at him with her,

Raven instructed. She repeated it aloud. "Look at him with her."

Jacques wanted the strangers to be gone. So many males pressing close to Shea kept him on edge. He trusted none of these people, with the possible exception of the blue-eyed woman. Jacques could hardly bear to look at the one who claimed to be his brother, the one who had attacked and nearly killed Shea. Strangely enough, it hurt to look at the man. Jacques' head seemed to want to disintegrate every time their eyes met. Memories. Fragments. Pieces of nothing.

Enough, hewhispered to Shea, his words a soft command. Her tongue stroked across the wound to close it, a seduction of pure sensation.

Shea came out of the trance slowly, a sweet, coppery taste in her mouth. The terrible gnawing hunger was gone, but her body was on fire, soft and pliant, in such need. Suddenly aware of the others in the room, she burrowed closer to Jacques for protection. If they all were just gone, she could sleep, figure things out later. She could sort through all the data she had and determine just what these people were.

Fear slammed into her, her mouth went dry, and her heart began to pound in alarm. Shea could feel Jacques' hands tightening like bonds on her arms. A hypnotic trance. Jacques had induced it. Her green eyes slowly opened to move over his face in a slow, terrified study. So why wasn't she joyful, ecstatic, that they had found his people, his family? Why wasn't she thrilled at the arrival of a healer?

There was something wrong here. Her only hope was to get out of the situation, leave Jacques to his family. There were now plenty of people to care for Jacques without her. The healer obviously was far more skilled than she was. Shea was shaking, embarrassed that those surrounding them could see how badly she was trembling. She was always in control. She just needed distance to regain it.

No!

Jacques' voice was much stronger now and much more frightening.

You cannot leave me.

Shea knew he was capable of far more power than she could conceive of. And he was manipulating her, had been all along. For the first time she allowed the facts to come together in her mind. Vampire. Jacques was a vampire. All of these people were. Her hand went to her throat. She was probably one of them now.

"Let go of me!" Shea struggled in earnest now, shocked at how physically strong Jacques had become with the infusion of Gregori's blood.

Jacques snarled, black fury rising along with fear of losing her, fear that she could not survive without him, fear of once again being alone in utter darkness. He held her down easily, but the sound of her heart racing was alarming to him, dragging him back to a shred of sanity.

Into the swirl of violent emotions came the healer's voice. "She does not understand the ways of our people, Jacques. You must be gentle with her, guide her, as your brother guided Raven."

Shea fought the compelling voice, a weaver of spells. "I want to leave. You can't keep me here."

Jacques, please, don't do this. Don't make me stay when we know it's impossible for me. You know me, know me inside and out. Stop it, Shea,

Jacques pleaded with her, knowing he was holding on to his intellect and reason by a thread.

Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. These people are your family.

She tried to take a deep, calming breath.

Jacques, I was your doctor, nothing more. I don't belong here. I don't know how to live like this. You are my lifemate.

Thewords were firm in her head.

You are tired, my love, tired and afraid. You have every right to be. I know that. I know I frightened you, but you belong with me.

He did his best to keep his voice a soft whisper of sense, but it was difficult with the beast rising and the fragments in his brain confusing him.

She lay looking up at his strong, harsh, uncompromising features, the warning in his furious eyes.

I don't even know what it means to be your lifemate, Jacques. You know I want the best for you, I want you well and whole again, but I can't be with all these people. I need time to sort out what's happened here. What I am. I can hardly breathe right now, let alone think things through.

She was telling the truth. Merged as he was with her, Jacques could feel the familiar pattern in her brain, her intellect leaping forward to protect her from any overwhelming emotion. She was too tired and drained to succeed at her attempt. He struggled once again to reassure her.

You are my lifemate. It means we belong together, never apart.

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.