Jaxon lifted an eyebrow. “You seem very well versed in the history of Italy.”
“I was homeschooled. I am sadly lacking in some things other children are very well versed in. This I was drilled in over and over. Fortunately, I found it fascinating.”
“So that would make his father’s name Berdardo,” Jaxon said. “Maybe one of the Carpathians would recognize that name.”
“That’s definitely my hope,” Adalasia said.
“Lucian’s brother Gabriel traveled extensively, and he knows a lot of Carpathians. He’s in France. I have this very strong feeling you should go see him. He would welcome you. Francesca, his lifemate, has amazing quilts she weaves strong safeguards into. You might have need of one.” Once more, Jaxon’s fingers went to her throat. “You could use all the help and guidance you can get. Perhaps you might seek them out, Adalasia.”
France. The thought settled over her. She knew Sandu was with her. The destination felt right to him as well. Do you recognize the name Berdardo?
I am sorry, Sivamet, I do not recognize this name. I will return shortly, but I am about to go into battle and must break contact while I engage with the undead.
I would like to stay with you. She wanted to witness a vampire from a safe distance. More, she needed to know he was safe at all times.
Sandu groaned. I do not want any of them to know you exist.
Her heart nearly stopped at his admission. Then it began to pound. She could tell he didn’t want her with him. Any of them? As in more than one? Sandu. There are more than one of those evil creatures you told me about?
Breathe for me, ewal emninumam, there is more than one hunter chasing the master vampire. You cannot be with me. If you gave yourself away . . .
I wouldn’t.
I will be injured. When battling a vampire, a hunter is always injured. You must go. He withdrew from her mind.
Very carefully, Adalasia returned the book to its place behind the glass. Her lifemate wasn’t going to dismiss her quite so easily. She would obey his instructions to stay silent and not give herself away no matter what, and she would creep into his mind without his knowledge. She knew he was an ancient, and because he was going into battle, his senses would be heightened, but he wouldn’t be looking for his lifemate, with the lowest of energies to drift into his mind so silently and small, settling into the tiniest groove where no one would ever find her, least of all Sandu.
* * *
*
It was Abascus Baros who spotted the woman moving alone toward the large sprawling mansion nearly hidden in the shadows of the mountains. Not one of his pathetic, fawning pawns had seen her. Not his servants, the two vampires that were inching closer to becoming master vampires, or the ones serving just below them, four of them he could usually rely on for bringing exquisite gifts—men, women and children for him to feast on.
He was sated, having dined well on the inhabitants of a farmhouse several miles down from where she was. He would have kept going, flying over the forest, but there was something intriguing about the way the night hid her from him. He circled back around, soundless, dropping just a little lower, and then finally taking the shape of an owl to settle onto the branch of a tree in order to watch her. The tree shuddered beneath him, branches shivering, the needles withering. He hissed his impatience and waved one wing to stop the process. Nature had a way of finding him repugnant. He didn’t mind.
His servants called out to him, and he waved them to silence, annoyed that they would dare interrupt him. This woman had totally captured his attention, something very hard to do. He didn’t want to take his gaze from her, because even if he blinked, she seemed to disappear. He was aware, at times, of shadows slinking in the trees around her. She didn’t seem aware of them—or of any danger. She just walked at a steady pace toward that mansion, right up the drive.
He should swoop down and grab her. Call out. He could stop any human with his voice. He opened his mouth to demand she halt, but only the squawk of the owl came out. He hadn’t made such an amateur mistake in over eight hundred years. He used the owl’s capability to rotate 270 degrees to ensure none of his followers had observed his error.
A few owls sat in the other trees. None dared to share the one he had settled in. They knew to stop the shivering of the branches, but the lesser pawns, still unable to control their impulses and power, couldn’t prevent the sap from boiling out of the cracks like black blood. The sight was mesmerizing. He could barely pull his gaze away.
Wind softly shifted the branches, blowing through the needles, creating a strange tune that echoed through the mind of the owl. A clicking of branches. A rhythm. He used such a beat to hypnotize his enemies into inaction while he gained control of them, growing near much like a wolf as it locked in on its prey. The strange noise was very attractive to the owl, to all of them, and they turned their heads this way and that, looking for the source of the sound.