“Only the body. All of their clothes and personal items were left as we found them,” Byron assured him. “Rand did not go back in the house. You know they must have some sort of trap set for you. The body was left deliberately as bait.”

“Oh, I am certain of that. They will use all the modern technology they can come up with—cameras, videos.” Mikhail’s dark features were brooding. “They believe all the legends. Stakes, garlic, beheading. They are so predictable and primitive.” There was a snarl in his voice, contempt for the murderers. “They take so much trouble to learn about our kind before they condemn us to death.”

Byron and Jacques exchanged an uneasy glance. Mikhail in this mood could be lethal. His hooded eyes, burning with fury, slid over them. “You stay and observe. If I get into trouble, you get out. Do not show yourselves.” He hesitated. “If something goes wrong, I ask a favor.”

Mikhail had slipped into old-word formality. Byron and Jacques would lay down their lives for him. It was a rare privilege to be asked a favor by the prince of their people. “My woman is sleeping deeply. She rests in my home. The safeguards are many and perilous. You must be careful and take great care to unravel them meticulously. She is to be healed, taught how to shield herself, and if she chooses, to stay in your protection. Through our bloodline, Jacques, you will inherit the mantle of leadership. I believe it should be offered to Gregori at this time, to give you the time you will need to educate yourself to lead. If Gregori should refuse to accept—and most likely he will—my mantle mustpass to you, Jacques. You will find it not to your liking, as I suspect you are already aware. If such becomes the case, you will have to ensure Gregori’s loyalty to you and to our people. You will do these things for me. Byron, you will aid Jacques as Gregori has aided me. Both of you will give your sworn allegiance to Gregori should he accept.”

Both answered formally, speaking the words that bound them to their vow. Byron cleared his throat. “Have you... that is, is she one of us?” He ventured the question with great caution. They all knew vampires had attempted the conversion of human women. They had even discussed the possibility that they try, because they were in such a desperate situation. The risk far outweighed the advantages. The women that had been converted had gone mad, had murdered small children, and had been impossible to save. Carpathians were born with their abilities and taught rigid discipline. The few who broke their laws were dealt with instantly and harshly. The race respected all forms of life. Because of their tremendous power, it had to be that way.

Mikhail shook his head. “I know that she is my true mate. The ritual was hard on her. I had no choice but to replenish her.” His words were terse, surly, daring them to continue the inquisition, warning them that it would be at their peril. “I did not bind her to me. She is mortal and it would be wrong.”

“We will do as you wish,” Byron reiterated with an uneasy glance at Jacques, who looked more amused than worried.

Mikhail dissolved effortlessly, streamed down through the heavy branches of the fir tree. Once on the ground he took the form of a wolf. Mist couldn’t scent, and he needed the unique capabilities of his furred brethren. He would find spoor and follow it. After all, first and foremost, above all else, he was a predator. His shrewd intellect only served to enhance his hunting abilities.

The wolf circled the clearing warily, nose close to the ground, examining each tree in the vicinity near the house. The wolf smelled death. It filled his nostrils with its sour, pungent odor. He began to crisscross the ground, covering every inch in his search pattern, identifying Rand’s odor, Eric, and Jacques. He found where the assassins had approached the house. Four men. He lingered over each scent until they were imprinted deeply in his mind. He took his time unraveling the macabre, gruesome story.

The men had approached stealthily, even crawling from cover to cover at times. The wolf followed their path, straying here and there to cover ground, looking for hidden traps. At the door he paused, circled warily, backed off. Suddenly his hind legs dug into the dirt, and he launched himself straight through a window, shattering glass and landing a good six feet into the room. Deep within the wolf’s body, Mikhail’s laughter was grim and without humor. The four assassins had returned to the scene of their grisly murder to set up cameras to capture images of his kind. If the assassins had had guts, they would have stayed and waited for the body to be discovered. They had done their brutal business and had run like the cowards they were.

Bile rose in his throat. The wolf shook its head, growled low. Three of the scents were unknown to him, the fourth very familiar. A traitor.How much had he received to betray Noelle? The wolf leapt again, crashing through a second window. The camera would record a huge wolf, a blurred movement of shattered glass and mist and the wolf again. Only Mikhail, and a few other hunters, Jacques and Gregori, Aidan and Julian were capable of such speed in shape-shifting.

He began backtracking the assassins. One scent split off from the rest, wound into deep forest, came out near the timberline very close to Edgar Hummer’s cabin and Dr. Westhemer’s office. The wolf stayed in the trees, staring at the small house behind the office with cruel, red, unblinking eyes. Abruptly the wolf spun around, trotted back to where the assassins had split paths, and picked up the trail of the other three. It led straight to the inn where Raven was staying.

Mikhail joined Byron and Jacques in the treetop. “Three of them stay at the inn. I will recognize them when I am close to them. Tomorrow I will escort my woman back to collect her things. While I am there, I will be able to pick out their scents. There is no way of knowing if others are involved. Until we find out, we will have to be very careful. They have a video camera set up in the house; the trigger is on the door. Everyone needs to stay out of there.” Mikhail was silent for a long moment.

“Does Celeste go to Dr. Westhemer?” he finally asked softly.

“I think she sees Hans Romanov’s wife. She works with the doctor and delivers most of the babies,” Jacques replied.

“And Eleanor?” Mikhail asked.

Jacques stirred uncomfortably. “I believe so.”

“This woman assisted Noelle’s birth?”

Byron cleared his throat. “Noelle delivered the child at home with Heidi Romanov helping her. Rand was there; I came at his call. After the midwife left, Noelle hemorrhaged. Rand had to give her blood. I stayed with Noelle while Rand hunted. And no, Mrs. Romanov did not see any of it. There was no one close; I would have known.”

“It was Hans Romanov who led the others to Noelle. I do not know if his wife was involved, but someone informed the assassins that the Carpathians were reproducing.” Mikhail gave the information in a soft monotone. His eyes burned, glowed, his body trembled with fury; his hands opened and closed, but his voice was perfectly controlled. “It is necessary to know if the woman is involved.”

“She must be,” Byron snapped. “Why are we waiting?”

“Because we are not the barbaric animals these evil ones have named us. We have to know if the midwife is a traitor. And it is not your duty to dispense justice, Byron. It is not an easy thing to live with, the taking of life.” Mikhail had felt the weight of each of those lives down through the centuries, but as his power and responsibilities grew, so did the ease with which he killed. As his emotions had faded, it was only his strong will and sense of right and wrong that prevented him from losing his soul to the insidious whispers of the darkness struggling for supremacy.

“What do you want us to do?” Jacques asked.