Total pages in book: 182
Estimated words: 165649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 828(@200wpm)___ 663(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 165649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 828(@200wpm)___ 663(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
The touch was tentative at first, so light he barely felt it. She brushed against his mind and retreated, running, almost like a child might. He didn’t go after her or reprimand her. He simply waited, sliding his arm around her back when he felt her sway. Standing was becoming difficult for her. He sank to the ground, taking her with him, sitting her on his lap in the midst of Tariq’s wild garden.
All around them, plants rose up toward the sky, leaves looking various shades of dark green and silver. The moon slipped in and out of the gray clouds as the wind pushed them across the sky. Elisabeta shivered and curled into the warmth of his body, as if she couldn’t control her own body heat—something every Carpathian learned to do as a child. Had that fundamental ability been taken from her as well? It would be like Sergey, giving him one more thing to hold over her head. If she didn’t cooperate with him, he could make her freezing cold, or so hot she would be burning.
“I’ve got you, piŋe sarnanak.” He began to hum softly.
He didn’t like to sing in front of others, but he could soothe with his voice. When things in the monastery became too difficult for one of the brothers, he would sometimes use his voice to calm them, although he never acted as if that was what he was doing. He simply would pace away and sing softly as if to himself, just as he did now. He hummed at first, and then imitated the rain. He was good at pouring various sounds into music. He heard music in all things nature and re-created that for her, waiting for her to relax in his arms.
It took a few minutes for Elisabeta to settle. She was really afraid. He let himself slip into her mind, not far. He never went too far, which went against everything he was. His personality demanded he take what was his. He was dominant by nature. His word was never questioned. He was a law unto himself. He hadn’t sworn allegiance to the present prince of the Carpathian people, nor had he sworn allegiance to Tariq Asenguard. He went his own way and he expected his woman, his lifemate, to go his way with him. He would need that.
He sighed as he rocked Elisabeta gently to the tune of the rain in his mind. There was sorrow in his song. He couldn’t help that. He felt emotions now, when for so long he hadn’t. This woman had become the center of his world so fast. Lifemate. For so long she held the other half of his soul. She had guarded it from Sergey at a great cost to herself. The vampire had tried every way possible to take it from her. Ferro didn’t have to get into her mind to see; he knew from the scars on her body and more in her mind. The utter terror carved so deep in her that he knew it would always be ingrained in her.
Had Sergey managed to wrest his soul from Elisabeta, the vampire would have controlled Ferro, made him a servant, used him ruthlessly to prey upon the Carpathian people. Ferro was a skilled hunter; a legendary, feared hunter. Sergey hadn’t known who Elisabeta’s lifemate was, but had he managed to take his soul from her and control Ferro, he would have had a weapon even the ancient hunters would have had difficulty destroying.
Elisabeta touched his mind again, and this time he felt that light feminine touch as much more than a tentative, fearful brush. Elisabeta felt his sorrow and she reached for him the way a lifemate instinctively would. The way a woman would. Gentle. Caring. Soothing. Questioning. He felt her filling the emptiness of those lonely spaces he’d revealed to her inadvertently when he’d started his song for her.
He had his shields up so there was no way for her to see into his past, all those kills, the battles with master vampires, the mortal wounds that should have taken his life so many times. He gave her none of that, or the way humans and Carpathians alike shrank from him in fear. He didn’t give her the battle he fought with the whispers of temptation to feel something after so many centuries of not feeling, or when those whispers stopped and he had nothing at all—the terrible emptiness that followed and the need to sequester himself in the monastery to protect everyone from him. Instead, he gave her the instructions on how to walk and how much he loved being with her, that his intent was to protect her from any harm.
Elisabeta absorbed the information the way a Carpathian did, telepathically, almost automatically, her brain tuning itself to his, but her hands came up to his head so gently, it felt like her palms were the lightest of butterflies sliding up from his jaw to frame his face. His breath caught in his throat.