"You have more faith than I do."

"That's because I've known them longer. Give yourself some time, and for heaven's sake put that gun down. There's nothing out there," Raven admonished. "You're just nervous because Jacques isn't with you."

Lightning crashed close, and the cabin shuddered beneath a deafening roar of thunder. Raven swung around and paced to a chair. "Something's going on for sure. That's one of ours doing that."

Shea's hand went to her throat. She could not shake the feeling of impending doom. She turned to Raven. "What do you mean, one of ours?" Why had she agreed to stay and protect Raven?

Something evil was watching them, and she couldn't ferret it out. Jacques, where are you?

"The lightning and thunder," Raven replied easily. "One of our males is upset."

"Great. Tantrums, that's all we need," Shea said moodily. Jacques hadn't answered her. Where was he? Couldn't he feel her need?

Raven laughed. "They are great for that, aren't they?"

The door banged open, the wood, so recently repaired, splintering. Shea swung around, instinctively taking a stride to place herself between the entrance and Raven. Framed in the doorway was Don Wallace, a scattergun in his hand, an older man behind him. Shea heard the maniacal laughter of the two men and saw the malice and loathing in their eyes.

Jacques! She screamed his name even as the orange blossom burst from the muzzle of the gun.

The wicked stings hitting her arm and shoulder spun her around, and she reeled into Raven.

Raven took the main burst of the gun and was flung backward nearly into the wall. Shea landed in a pool of blood. It was everywhere, beneath her, on Raven's chest and stomach, leaking onto the wooden floor. Raven was still and lifeless, her face white, her pulse nonexistent when Shea tried to find it.

Don Wallace seized her by her hair and dragged her away from the body. He was laughing as he contemptuously kicked Raven's leg out of his way. "I knew I'd get you, Doc. Small world, isn't it?"

Jacques! My God, he's killed Raven! Gregori! I'm sorry, I couldn't save her. Shea was fighting, kicking and punching, and didn't even realize it until Wallace hit her repeatedly in the face.

"Shut up! Stop that screaming or I'll knock you out." He hit her twice more. "Damn vampires think they're so smart. It was so easy, wasn't it, Uncle Eugene?"

Shea was sobbing uncontrollably, almost immune to the pain of Wallace dragging her by her injured arm. Warmth stirred in her mind. Shea? We need you to look at the man holding you, look around the room slowly and picture everything exactly the way you see it. Jacques' voice was calm and unruffled, no hint of rage or anger, simply a cool wind of logic. We are all three linked and can aid you.

Raven is dead! They shot her! she cried hysterically in her mind, afraid to move or call further attention to herself, lest she endanger Jacques in some way.

Just do as I tell you, love. Look around the room. Study your enemy and picture every detail in your mind so that we can see him. Jacques was tranquil, breathing steadily and slowly to help her control her own breathing. Block out everything else. What they say does not matter. What they do does not matter. Give us the data we need.

Shea took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried to do as Jacques had instructed. It was difficult to overcome the horror of Raven's violent death, the loss of the all-important baby. She blocked out the sounds of the malicious laughter, the sexual threats and innuendoes. Wallace was standing over her, one hand twisted in her thick mane of hair, the other hand deliberately digging into the bloody wounds in her arm. She pushed aside the pain of her injuries, the throbbing in her face.

Shea opened her eyes and looked first at Raven's broken body. The blood lay like a thick red pool around her. Her blue-black hair lay across one cheek like a shawl. Shea made herself move on. Her gaze swept the room, settled on Eugene Slovensky. He was kneeling beside Raven, examining her to assure himself she was dead. He stood up, backed away two feet, cleared his throat, and spat at the body. He reached behind him for a canvas bag and yanked it open. Gleefully he seized a thick, pointed stake and held it out for her to see.

"Spawn of the devil," he whispered insanely. "Bride to the one who killed my brother. You die this day while he sleeps unaware. I am fortunate that the Vulture hates you and the one that created you as much as I hate you both. I don't know why he wants the other female alive, but again, our wishes coincide."

"Not quite, Uncle Eugene. We keep this one for ourselves. You promised we would kill the Vulture like the others this time," Don Wallace protested.

Slovensky lifted the stake higher, poised it over Raven's breast. "This gives me more pleasure than you will ever know."

"No!" Shea attempted to launch herself at Slovensky, unable to bear the thought of them defiling Raven's body with a crude wooden stake.

Focus! Gregori snapped, his voice so powerful, even over the distance, that it brought Shea up short, where all Don Wallace's slaps and punches had hardly fazed her.

Shea stared at Slovensky, the picture etched in her mind. She saw the glee in his face, the hatred, the sick, perverse pleasure he was deriving as he held the stake aloft above Raven's body. Then suddenly she saw his expression change from pleasure to alarm. His face grew crimson, then a dark shade of purple. He coughed, and blood trickled from his mouth, his nose. He coughed again, and his arm fell to his side, the stake dropping from nerveless fingers.

"Uncle Eugene?" The grin faded from Wallace's mouth. He took a step toward his uncle. "What is it?"

Slovensky tried to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a wheezing groan. More blood bubbled up around his mouth. Red foam dribbled onto his chin.

Shea looked away, her stomach lurching.

Look at him! Gregori made his order impossible to ignore. One of the most powerful ancients alive, he forced her compliance without a qualm, holding her mind focused exactly where he wanted it.

Jacques and Mikhail had thrown their strength and power squarely behind him.Shea's terrified gaze returned to the older man as bidden. He was gray, his body swaying unsteadily. Suddenly he fell to his knees.

"Damn it, old man!" Wallace sounded scared. "Don't do this to me. What the hell is wrong? Are you having a heart attack?" He didn't go near his uncle. In fact, he backed up, dragging Shea with him, looking wildly around as if afraid they weren't alone.

Slovensky was strangling, choking on the blood pouring from his mouth, literally drowning in it.

He clutched his throat, trying to pry imaginary fingers from around it. Then his hands went to his heart as his chest began to literally rip open.

Shea cried out but could not look away with Gregori forcing her to obey his command. Then suddenly, as Slovensky's heart exploded violently out of his chest and he slumped forward, face down onto the floor, she was released.

Wallace made strange sounds, little mewling noises interspersed with curses. He dragged Shea to her feet, forced her with him toward the door. Her back was to him, and for a moment Shea was curiously thankful. She had never killed or injured another human being in her life. She had taken an oath to save lives. Every instinct in her was to go to Raven, see if there was anything she could do. Even to go to the sick old man and try to aid him. Killing was utterly out of her realm.

You did not kill him, Jacques said soothingly.

I was the instrument you used, she protested. As Wallace dragged her outside, the light hit her eyes, and she cried out as a thousand knives seemed to pierce her skull.

Look at this man, his hand on you, anything I can use, Jacques ordered gruffly. He could feel her horror, her reluctance.

I can't, Jacques. I can't think. It was true. Her mind was consumed with grotesque images of blood and death.

This time it was not Gregori who took charge. Jacques gripped her mind in a hold of steel, forcing her compliance. He was far stronger than she had ever imagined him to be, and supremely confident in his abilities, even in the morning hours. The Carpathians men were coming closer, too. Even with the burden of protecting Byron, they were moving rapidly as a group toward the cabin.

Mikhail reluctantly split off from the rest of them, Byron a dead weight in his arms, his path away from the forest and toward the cave of healing. But his concentration on his wife and child was total. He had no room for any other emotion. He kept their waning life force flickering in his mind, held them locked to him, giving them no chance to die before the healer was there to aid them.

Jacques concentrated his venom on the man who had so cruelly tortured him, who now had Shea in his loathsome hands. His hatred was all-consuming, complete, and he focused it and aimed it through Shea. She could see the red haze of killing desire, the need and hunger for it, the pleasure he took in it. He aimed and focused on the only part of Wallace Shea could see.

Don Wallace felt a sudden burning sensation, glanced down, and saw his arm smoking. It burst into flames, red and orange. The smoke whirled up, shaping itself into a malicious, laughing face.

Wallace knew that face, had created every tormented line in that face. He screamed and shoved Shea away from him, slapping at his arm with his other hand to try to stop the fire racing up his flesh. He could smell himself charring like so many of the victims he had enjoyed torturing.

Shea fell heavily, clutched at her arm, wanted to remain lying on the ground with her eyes closed tightly. The compulsion to turn and face Wallace was too strong. She sat and stared at him helplessly.

Don Wallace found himself floating in the air, his scattergun on the ground below. The flames died as suddenly as they had begun, but his arm was a mass of charred flesh. Still screaming, he struggled with his one good hand to pull his revolver out of his shoulder holster. He was horrified when it seemed to take on a life of its own and slowly pointed itself at him. His own finger found the trigger and compulsively settled over it.

Shea made a sound in her throat. This was a scene from a horror film, yet she couldn't look away.

A huge black wolf burst from the underbrush, running flat out. It leapt into the air, its gleaming jaws closing around Wallace's leg. Bones snapped like twigs as the wolf pulled the man to the ground and thrust its fangs at his exposed throat.

Shea was released from the mind hold and scrambled to her feet, rushing at the wolf tearing at the struggling man. "Jacques! No! You can't do this!" For one bizarre moment the wolf turned its head to look at her, and time stood still. She recognized Jacques' icy eyes and felt his triumph raging in her mind.

Gregori yanked her arm as he emerged from the woods running, still half wolf, half man, changing as he ran. "Come on, we have no time. Damn it, Shea, I need you. You are a doctor, a healer. Come with me." He did not release her arm, and she was forced to sprint with him up the steps into the cabin.

Gregori shoved Slovensky's body out of the way with a boot. "Listen to me, Shea. We will have to do this together. Raven has shut down her body as much as she dared. Mikhail is keeping her and the child alive, but she is very weak, and the child is in trouble. You have to repair the damage done to Raven, and I will save the child."

Shea was shocked. "She's still alive?" She attempted to back away from Gregori. "I only know human medicine. I have no knowledge of how you do what you do. I might kill her."

"It is in you. Healers are born, not taught. You can do this. I will instruct you as we go. We have no time to argue, Shea. I cannot do this alone. Mikhail says Raven will lose the child in another few minutes. She has to allow her heart and lungs to continue, but her blood will pump out. And life will cease for all of them. Raven, the child, and Mikhail-we will lose all of them," he reinforced. His eyes challenged her. "Do you do this with me?"

Shea was trembling, but her chin went up. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

Gregori nodded approvingly. "You have to block out everything you are. Everything. You are light and energy, nothing more. Once you see yourself as light, you can enter the body and find the worst wounds. Heal from the inside out. The most important thing will be to first stop all bleeding, then repair damage to vital organs. It is very difficult, and you are weak. You will need to feed at some point. Jacques will return to supply you when he is done with his work. You cannot fail us, Shea. I know you can do this. If you need my help, I will be in your mind."

There was no point in protesting that she could not do this thing he expected of her, somehow become light and energy. She had no choice but to try. Gregori believed she could do it, and she had to believe it also. She owed Raven and her child a chance at life. In any case, she was first and foremost a doctor. It was in her nature to heal.

"We do it together," Gregori instructed softly, his voice a cool, soothing balm in the chaos of her mind. She could feel herself respond to that beautiful pitch, the tinkle of silver, the purity of goodness. Shea sank to the floor beside Raven's still body, closed her eyes, and sought a calm place in her mind to center herself. At first everything seemed to intrude, but somehow Gregori was there with her, showing her how to adjust her thoughts and refocus. First the room seemed to drop away, then time and space. Her heart jumped wildly at the odd sensation, but Gregori's soft chanting allowed her to remain calm and float above the earthly chaos. Gradually her body diminished, becoming smaller and smaller until all that remained was her soul. Light and energy.

Power.

"We go together. Keep your attention on Raven and her wounds. You cannot think of yourself or what could happen. Believe in yourself. If you begin to falter, reach out to me." Gregori's powerful light seemed to bathe her soul with trust and warmth.

She found only the healer in him. All else was pushed aside.

There was so much selflessness, so much purity of soul, Shea could only marvel. She followed his lead without reservation. He was the very epitome of what she had always striven to be. A true healer, with a gift so rare and precious, she felt humbled in his presence. Later she could remember that Gregori was a powerful ancient, that he could make anyone believe and see anything he wanted.

Chapter Fifteen

Shea seemed to float above Raven's body. Her world narrowed until it was only the woman lying so still on the floor. At first it seemed as if Raven was dead, as if her life force was completely gone.

Slowly, in her own stillness, with new awareness, Shea could feel the low energy seeping from Raven. Colors seemed to pulse around her, but they were pale and seemed to be fading.

"Now, Mikhail," Gregori ordered.

The words were spoken aloud, yet in her head. Shea realized she hadn't seen Mikhail. He was somewhere with Byron, holding Raven alive from a distance. She wanted to ask his forgiveness for allowing this to happen, but the light that was Shea was already positioning herself over Raven.

She felt mild surprise that she seemed to know what to do, but then she realized she wasn't alone.

The ball of pure white light beside her was guiding her movements. Her every thought focused on Raven's body; nothing else mattered. She felt Mikhail give Raven the command to awaken to mortal unconsciousness.

Blood spurted, poured from the wounds. Raven's heart was loud, echoing through Shea's light. She found herself streaming through the blood, white-hot heat cauterizing the worst of the wounds.

She worked quickly, in deep and complete concentration, to stem the flow of Raven's life force before she expired. Shea's brain assessed the internal damage to each organ even as she worked.

The repairs were done through thought. Every stitch was meticulous, every extraction of bullet fragments precise and careful. It was no different from operating physically, except it was more draining. Maintaining the level of concentration necessary for such a prolonged period was exhausting. Still, there was little sense of time passing. Just as she was in the operating room, Shea was caught up in the job at hand. She even felt as if she were sweating, as if a nurse should wipe her brow for her.

This was the world Shea knew. Her world. She had the patience to deal with extensive injuries. She had the knowledge and skills. More than that, she had the sheer determination. She would not lose her patient if there was any possibility of success.

The damage was horrific. Shea was shocked that Raven had survived as long as she had. Even a trauma center could not have saved her life; there were far too many mortal injuries. And the baby... How could the baby possibly survive?

Gregori approached the tiny being cautiously. The extent of the trauma was enormous. The baby was fading as blood gushed from its mother's body. He could feel its willingness to slide away from the pain and outrage of the assault. He could only hope Shea would stop the bleeding quickly, as he had to concentrate on the child. She was so tiny, almost nonexistent, yet he could feel her pain and her puzzlement. She knew fear before she was born, knew pain, and now held forever the knowledge that life was not safe, even here in her mother's womb.

Gregori murmured softly, reassuringly, to her. He had bathed her in his light once before, and she recognized him now, moved toward him, seeking comfort. Very carefully he attended to the wound in the artery that supplied her with nourishment. Very soon he would give her his own blood, sealing her fate, binding her ever closer to him. There were several tears in the placenta, which he meticulously sealed. She was afraid as his light floated closer, so he provided waves of reassurance and warmth.

There was a laceration in her right thigh. It hurt, and blood was seeping into the fluid surrounding her. With the lightest of touches he closed the wound, his touch lingering to calm her. His chant, the low pitch of his voice, echoed in her heart, in her mind, invading her soul. Gregori talked to her as he worked, the purity of his tone beguiling her, soothing her, so that she stayed with Raven rather than simply letting go, fading away with the steady trickle of blood.

Gregori could feel the strength in her, the determination. Without a doubt, she was Mikhail and Raven's daughter. If she chose to go, she would do so, but if she chose to stay, she would fight with every breath left in her body. Gregori made certain she wanted to fight. He whispered to her in his most beguiling voice, promised a fascinating future, lured her with the secrets and beauty of the universe awaiting her. He promised her she would never be left alone; he would be there to guide her, to protect her, to see to her happiness.

Before he could complete his work, he felt Shea tremble, felt her suddenly become aware of the pain of her own wounds. Reassuring the child that he would return, he worked his way out of Raven's body, taking Shea with him. She was swaying on her knees, so pale and drained she was gray. Although the injuries to her shoulder and arm were not critical, she had lost more blood than she could afford.

Jacques was supporting her, holding her against his chest, his arms keeping her from toppling over. She didn't really seem to notice, only pushed ineffectually at him. "I'm not finished. Why did you bring me out, Gregori?" she protested, annoyed. Her one thought was to get back to her patient.

"You must feed or you will not be able to continue," he counseled softly. "And Raven needs blood."

The healer's silver eyes went to Jacques', and he nodded.

Jacques thrust his mind into Shea's without hesitation, commanding that she feed. She was so tired and drawn, she could barely turn up her face to the hollow of his neck. At once his body clenched with her breath so warm against his skin. He drew her closer, felt the scrape of her teeth, a slight nip on his neck. Jacques nearly groaned aloud, cursed the depth of Carpathian sexuality that could send his body into hard, painful need when there was blood and death all around them.

Shea whispered something against his pulse, something soft and sighing that invaded his body and left him hungry for her intimate touch. He covered his moan of urgent need as her teeth sank into his neck. Hot flames danced through his bloodstream, darted along his muscles and nerves.

His hands found her waist, her back, cradled her head to him. His body needed to sate itself with hers. Never had the heat been so burning and the need so great.

Gregori's teeth tore at his own wrist. His mind merged with Mikhail's, and together they forced Raven's reluctant compliance. She was still a fledging, a mere quarter of a century old, yet she was already strong. It took both of them to force her to feed from other than Mikhail. She resisted for a moment.

For our child, little one, Mikhail whispered softly, lovingly, bending her will to his. You must do this for our child.

Gregori added his own reinforcement. I have never asked anything of you, Raven, of our friendship.

This I ask.

Raven pushed down her revulsion and allowed Mikhail and Gregori to put her into a trance so that she was able to accept the life-giving fluid that both she and her daughter needed so desperately.

Gregori concentrated on connecting with the child. It was so helpless, so tiny, so afraid. A living, thinking being already. He could feel the confusion and its sudden awareness of being alone. He sent waves of reassurance. His blood, flowing into the small body, would strengthen their bond, ensure that her chemistry would match his.

He had spent a lifetime preparing for this moment, the time when he would have the opportunity to choose his mate. He had always known it would be a child of Mikhail's. When Raven had been attacked and mortally wounded years before, Gregori had made certain he had supplied the blood to heal her: His ancient blood was powerful and strong, and he had sent with it the rudiments of the first bonding in the hopes that Raven, a human woman, would conceive a female child. Now he was able to reinforce that bond, seal the child to him for all time. She was bound to him, body and soul, as he was to her. For the first time in centuries he felt hope. And to a male Carpathian on the verge of turning vampire, hope was the only thing left.Shea closed the wound on Jacques' neck with a sensuous stroke of her tongue, then blinked up at him with eyes slightly glazed and cloudy. Almost at once her expression changed, and she shoved Jacques away. It wasn't that he had taken her free will; she would have fed to save Raven and the child. It was the way he had forced her to help him kill their enemy. Calmly, without emotion, he had commanded it.

You have always known I had demons in me, red hair.

Shea brushed a hand over her face, then shoved her wild hair aside as if to push him along with it.

I always thought you would behave like a man, not a wild animal wanting to kill.

It is in our nature to kill. We are predators.

Even if you were trying to save my life and felt you needed to kill Wallace, you did not have to use me to do it so viciously. Go away. I have work to do, and I'm very tired.