Christine Feehan E-Book Bundle by Christine Feehan

Author:Christine Feehan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

CHAPTER SEVEN

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. Her name 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. Do not 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 thunder-cloud. 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.

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