Christine Feehan - Dark Demon 16

Throughout the midnight blue sky lightning forked repeatedly, flashing like a neon sign, drawing her attention. She realized she was being pulled in that direction, her spirit traveling along one of the zigzagging threads. She pulled back. At once the draw fought with her, tugging and tugging, beguiling her with glimpses of her future. She steadfastly refused to look, instinctively fearing once pulled into the realm of the future, she might not find her way back. And what she sought could not possibly lie in that direction.

Ropes of various colored pearls whirled around her, carried by the power of the winds. One in particular caught her attention because of the unusual color, the same cloudy hues that glittered in her eyes when the tigress in her was rising toward the surface. She watched them even as she fought the strength of the wind. Her father had often compared her eyes to sea pearls.

Natalya reached for the strand that resembled the color of her tiger eyes. A turbulent vortex gripped her, sucked her into the whirling mass. Clutching the rope of pearls tightly, Natalya clung to the merge she held with Vikirnoff. He was her anchor and wherever her spirit traveled, he traveled with her holding guard over her physical body.

Scenes of battles rushed past her. Dark, ugly visions of blood and death. She wept, overcome with the useless deaths as men fought for religion or power or land. Natalya fought to keep from sliding farther into the vacuum of the past. Small, black shadows tugged at the edges of her spirit in an attempt to consume her. The voices of mages whose souls had been trapped in the endless cycle of the past wailed at her in warning, in sorrow.

She might have lost herself in the terrible pain of reliving so many deaths, seeing the mistakes made over and over throughout history, but Vikirnoff was always there, murmuring encouragement, holding her tightly without physical form.

Soren. She'd nearly missed him in all the history swirling around her, but there he was. Her father, tall and handsome with his black hair and vivid green eyes. Her heart turned

over and she reached for him. She couldn't touch him. Natalya realized she was looking at him through a reflection. He turned and her heart nearly stopped. He was ravaged and worn with pain. Burned on one side, encased in ice on the other. He had been tortured, yet kept alive, his blood draining from his body in a long tube.

Father! She screamed it-tried frantically to reach him, but he shook his head and looked straight at her. His eyes clouded and she could see a knife reflected there. It was obviously ancient, ceremonial, the handle studded with gems, the blade slightly curved. The knife spun, pointed at her, turned again so that she could see it from every angle. You want me to find the knife. For a moment the vision held and then the knife wavered and was gone. His gaze dropped to his hands. She saw that he was holding a huge tome. An ancient spell book. It was closed, the cover etched in dark reddish brown stains. The book is important.

A shadowy figure, the man she recognized from her childhood nightmares loomed over Soren. Instinctively Natalya pulled back. Movement must have caught the eye of her father's tormenter, because she saw the dark shape turn toward her and heard a slow hiss of rage. She felt the icy breath of death on her and her spirit trembled.

Graphic images of her father being tortured overwhelmed her. Vivid details of her mother being devoured by vampires followed. Of her father finding her mother, his grief so deep he was nearly insane. Each explicit vignette was in horrifying detail, each worse than the one before until she was paralyzed with grief and horror. She felt the darker shadows tugging and pulling and drawing her to them, but she couldn't move, couldn't break away. Evil laughter echoed. Something clawed at her mind, raked at her.

Natalya! Come to me now! Vikirnoff issued the command with every bit of power he possessed. Her body had begun to fade. It started on her arms, as if something was taking bites of flesh from her, replacing her skin with a thin opaque shell. She was becoming translucent, a ghostly image rather than a flesh-and-blood body.

Fear nearly consuming him, Vikirnoff plunged his mind into hers. Ainaak enyem, I will not let you go. They cannot have you. You are ainaak'sivamet jutta, forever to my heart connected. Come to me now, Natalya, your lifemate commands this.

Guilt and fear warred with self-preservation, but the power of her lifemate was incredible, even there in the realm of past and present. In the midst of a living storm, with the fury of the wind tearing at her, Natalya turned to Vikirnoff. The reassuring warmth of his presence enveloped her, his memories, his character, the way he thought and acted. His integrity and strength of purpose. She focused on his steadfastness. For the first time she was happy that they were connected, that his strength of will could be added to her own.

I can't make myself leave my father.

She couldn't find her way back. She was too exhausted, too tired of being alone. Her father and mother and Razvan were all here, in this place. She could stay with them, be with

them. So many years had gone by with her moving from country to country with no one to talk to, no one to share with. What awaited her but endless loneliness if she returned?

It is another lure, Natalya, an attempt to cloud your thinking. You belong with me. Your father would not want you trapped here with him. You cannot save him. What was done cannot be undone. Come with me, ainaak enyem, merge and become one with me. Vikirnoff used every art he possessed. Beguiling her. Compulsion. Seduction. Commanding-all wrapped together in his softly spoken words, dragging her back up the strands of time through the sheer strength of character and will he had come to possess over so many centuries.

She heard a roar of fury as she moved away from her father and his tormenter, from the tearing claws of the smaller dark shadows, climbing ever higher. The shadows streaked after her, reaching with hands and claws in an attempt to stop her and as she approached her own time, dazzling white orbs spun and beckoned, attempting to lure her with glimpses of the future.

Natalya clung tighter to Vikirnoff, crawling deeper into his mind where she knew she would be safe. Vikirnoff would never abandon her. She closed her mind to the all too-vivid memory of her father's tortured death and embraced life in her own time, whatever that might be. She didn't need to stay in the past. She chose the here and now.

Natalya found herself back in her own body, so weak she would have collapsed onto the floor of the ice cave if Vikirnoff hadn't caught her to him. They clung to one another, Natalya shuddering violently and Vikirnoff trembling with the knowledge he'd nearly lost her.

Tears poured down her face. «My father.» She could barely get the words out, her throat was so raw with grief. «He was tortured.»

«I know, ainaak enyem.'» His voice was tender as he stroked her hair, seeking a way to comfort her. «I am so sorry.» She hadn't just seen her father's torture; she had experienced it. «I would give anything to prevent you having to go through that.» He framed her face with his hands and kissed her tears away.

Natalya looked up at his face, the smears of blood on his forehead, the tracks of blood-red tears on his face. He'd shared the same experience and he'd also shared her wild grief and outrage. She wiped his brow with gentle fingers, touched the tear tracks and leaned into him. «Thank you for being with me.»

«Always, Natalya.» All the while he was comforting her, he was aware that the boom of the water had grown frantic, so loud the ice chamber shook. He eyed the rusty pool that was growing with each drop, not deeper, but spreading out like a giant stain. «We have to leave this place now, Natalya.» Attacking the pool without knowing what he faced in a cavern full of magick could be suicide.