He could feel two of his teeth growing sharp. Lengthening. He breathed deep and kept his head turned from hers. "I can help you through it if you let me. I'm telepathic as well. You know we have shields, barricades in our minds, so to speak. Trust me enough to let me make it easier for you. I don't have much more time."
There was a small silence. He lifted his lashes just enough to see her chewing at her full lower lip with small white teeth. She nodded. "Yes. But hurry. I'm already feeling dizzy. I'm trying not to look but it's nearly impossible. And my hands are covered in ..."
"I'll take care of it." He reached for her mind immediately. There was no sense in waiting. She was either going to let down her barriers and he was going to live, or she wouldn't and he wasn't going to make it.
He reached for her hand, and just that act sent pain crashing through him, driving the air from his lungs in a brutal rush of agony. Her skin was soft, like silk. His thumb brushed over her pulse, where it beat so frantically. She was afraid of him. Of giving her blood. Of fainting and making a fool of herself. Her phobia of blood made her feel foolish and weak. She detested it and tried very hard to overcome it.
He forced himself to stop reading her and took complete control, using the last of his strength to take over her mind. He was very lucky in that she had taken down her shields herself, giving her trust to him when he had yet to earn it. He didn't delve deeper into her mind to find out why. He sank his teeth into her wrist.
Her blood burst into his mouth like bubbles of the finest champagne. Nothing had ever tasted so exquisite. So perfect. He knew he would always be obsessed, would always crave her taste. He savored every drop, feeling his cells reach for the nourishment, soaking it up, desperate to replace what was lost.
For the first time that he could remember, Andor had to fight himself for discipline. For control. He didn't want to stop. He never wanted to stop. He was desperate for blood. Her blood. Very gently he swept his tongue over the two holes in her wrist and turned his head toward the three would-be assassins.
Shorty came to life, one slow inch at a time. His body jerked and he took a step toward the Carpathian. Terror was written on the man's face. Andor ignored it. He didn't want to waste his strength on calming the man; after all, he'd helped drive a stake through Andor's chest.
The moment Shorty got to him and knelt obediently, presenting his neck, Andor sank his teeth deep. The blood was good. Not tainted with alcohol or drugs. He took as much as he dared and then sent the man back to his campsite after wiping his memories. He planted an encounter with wild animals, something that would definitely spook him, and make him uneasy enough to want to break camp and go home.
He brought Barnaby close next, instructing him to kneel beside him and grasp the stake with both hands. Andor took the remainder of the soil, mixed it with his saliva, took a deep breath and told the human to remove the stake. Nothing in his long life had ever hurt as much as it did when that stake was driven into his chest. It hurt nearly as much when it was removed.
Blood welled up and he shoved the soil deep into the hole, gritting his teeth, grinding them together to keep from striking out at the helpless man. More blood spilled around the wound, soaking into the dirt. He couldn't breathe for a moment. Or think. He just lay there, gasping, staring at Lorraine's beautiful face, telling himself she was worth everything that he had endured, including this.
His vows to her were carved into his back--tattooed there in the old primitive method, the ink made by the monks in the monastery. They had to scar the skin deliberately with each poke from an array of needles. He had the vows in Carpathian going down his back. He'd meant every single word.
Olen wakeva kuntankert. Olen wakeva pita belso kulymet. Olen wakeva--felert ku vigyazak. Hangemert.
He had other tattoos, but none meant as much to him. The code he lived by was scarred forever into his back. He was Carpathian and it took a lot to leave a scar. He had suffered to put those words into his skin, but they needed to be there--for her. The code was simple.
Staying strong for our people. Staying strong to keep the demon inside. Staying strong for her. Only her.
Those last two words of his code--his vow--said everything. Every wound he had suffered in battle, every time he had to kill an old friend or relative, every night that he rose and endured the gray void, was for her. Now he knew her name. Lorraine. He loved the sound of it. He loved the look of her and her grit. She had courage, even if she needed to temper it a bit with wisdom.
While he took Barnaby's blood, he thought of the monastery and those long, endless years without hope. They spent nights practicing their battle skills and then working on their tattooing techniques. All of those residing in the monastery had become brothers--although they knew they might have to kill the other. The difference was--it would be an honorable way to die.
He sent Barnaby on his way with the same memory of wild animals getting too near their camp. He planted a memory of them all running in different directions and then one by one making their way back to camp with the idea of breaking it down and heading to their homes. They no longer sought to hunt and kill vampires, nor did they believe in them.
Now that he was a little stronger, he directed Carter, the one who had actually driven the stake into his chest, to start digging into the soil. Andor knew he couldn't move. He was too heavy for Lorraine to help him get out of the sun. He had to get into the ground, had to have Lorraine pitch her tent right over the top of him.
Carter couldn't dig very deep without tools. He used Lorraine's sauce pot. He dug right next to Andor so the Carpathian could shift his body enough to slide into the shallow depression. It was no more than a foot deep, but it was long enough and wide enough for his body, which was saying something. He wasn't a small man.
He forced Carter to help him and then took his blood before sending him on his way with the same memories as Barnaby and Shorty. It was the best that he could do. Just that small movement had him leaking blood. He needed time to let the soil rejuvenate him enough to gather the strength to begin healing himself. Carpathians as old as he was were incredibly strong. He could overcome this, he just needed a little luck on his side and Lorraine.
He released her mind and she blinked at him, still kneeling, but now he was about a foot from her in the depression. He should have had Carter dig it deeper, but he couldn't take the time. He attempted a smile at her, going for reassurance, but just looking at her hurt nearly as much as the hole in his chest.
On her, the colors appeared even more vivid. Her hair, with the moon shining down on it, was a beautiful mix of hues. Her skin was nearly translucent she was so pale. He knew that was from him taking her blood.
"Are you feeling all right?"
She blinked several times, calling his attention to the sweep of thick, long lashes. "Where's the stake? How did you get it out?" On her knees, she shuffled closer to him and let out a little feminine gasp that caught him somewhere deep when she saw the hole in his chest packed with soil. It wasn't a small hole. It hadn't been a small stake.
"I didn't want you to have to deal with it. I do need your help. I'm weak. Really weak."
She looked beyond him and then turned around fast, clearly looking for the three men.
"They left. Ran."
"Cowards, but I'm glad they're gone. Still, having them where I could see them made me happier because now I have to worry they might come back to try to kill us."
"They ran out of here and I planted a suggestion, one that, if it takes, means they won't even remember us."
"You're an extremely strong telepath," she said. "And I can't believe you're still alive, but we need to call for help. Get a helicopter to get you out of here. I'm going to have to hike up to the top of the mountain and see if I can get cell service."
He shook his head. "Are you camping with a tent?"
"Of course." Her fingers brushed at the stubble on his face. She had a little frown as she rubbed at something along his jaw, determined to r
emove it. He was certain it was a bloodstain. Her gaze studiously avoided any other part of his body where the wounds had bled, leaving wet, red stains behind.
"How long will it take you to break down your camp and bring everything here?"
She frowned at him. "Not long at all. I camp a lot, but seriously, Andor, I'm not good at taking care of injured people and you don't seem to realize how bad off you are. We need a helicopter."
"My body doesn't respond to regular medicine."
"Does it respond to a surgeon repairing holes in your body? That gash in your stomach was horrendous. And that stake ..." She trailed off, going even paler if that was possible.
"No, I told you, although you're trying hard to make me human. I hunt vampires. My body makeup is different. I know you thought I was going to die and you humored me by allowing me to put soil in my wounds, but the earth really has healing properties." Sun scorch him, he was exhausted. "Please. I'm asking for your help. Get your things and come back. Wild animals will find me and I'm helpless."
She regarded him with a small frown. "I didn't think about the animals, but you're right. I have no idea what to do." She sank back onto her heels. "If I leave you to hike up the mountain, you could really be in danger. If I stay, seriously, Andor, you could die. You should already be dead."
He was beginning to really fall for that frown, or maybe he was just light-headed from the pain. Keeping it at bay was becoming difficult in spite of the infusion of blood. He was still leaking far too much, and right now, blood was at a premium. He had been careful not to leave the three vampire assassins too weak. He wanted them out of the area.
"Just hurry and get your camping things."
"The scent of blood will draw wildlife. There are bears and coyotes in these mountains. For all I know, there could be wolves, but I don't think so. I can't leave you alone."
"You have to. We need your tent. I can't be out in the sun. Not even for a few minutes. You have to cover me with your tent and the soil through the daytime. I'll sleep and hope the soil starts the healing process." It was going to be a long process at the rate he was going.
He knew the moment he'd won. Her face changed from worry and indecision to determination. "It's going to take about twenty minutes. I'm not that far from here, but it is a little bit of a hike." She was already on her feet, anxious to go now that they had a plan.
"Lorraine, thank you for not asking questions and arguing."
"What would be the use? I can't leave you, and I can't raise anyone from down here in this valley. You're either going to live or die, and you're the strongest person I've ever met, so I'm betting you're going to live."
He hoped she was right. He didn't feel very strong. In fact, he just wanted to close his eyes and let the night take him for a little while. Just to give himself a few minutes where he didn't have to block the pain. It was taking so much strength. He was trying to slow the steady leaking of blood. Once she was back with the tent and had set everything up, he could take more of her blood, but he needed her fit, not weak.
"I'll need water," he reminded as she started to turn away.
"I have plenty and there's a stream not too far from here. I have a filtration system." She was backing away, her eyes moving over his torn body for the first time since he'd been in her mind. She swallowed hard and shook her head again. "I'll be back in a few, hang on."
Andor watched her go. She seemed to take his strength with her. His lungs continued to burn for air, telling him he needed to shut down soon. There was too much damage to his body. He had destroyed seven vampires. Two were very close to being master vampires. They'd lived long enough that he should have run across them, but he seldom remembered names or even faces of the undead.
He closed his eyes. She would come back, although she really detested the sight of blood. He read the revulsion and the way it made her ill. Her stomach churned and she'd fought not to be sick. She really had to work not to faint. It was a testimony to her courage and tenacity that she'd stuck around to help him.
She was his lifemate. He knew she was, yet he was so wounded he couldn't bind them together, he didn't dare. That meant she could still walk away from him and he'd be more dangerous than ever. He could only hope that he had read her correctly and she was everything he believed her to be. She was coming back. She had to, if he had any chance at all of surviving.