Dark Demon by Christine Feehan Page B

moment to prepare the food. You must hurry."
    Vikirnoff stiffened, holding up his hand for silence as he glanced toward the kitchen door. Muted voices drifted toward them. He waved his hand and the voices faded, the workers moving away from the room.
    Natalya felt the shiver of pain rippling through his body as he expended energy to send the kitchen help away. She took a better grip on his waist and urged him toward the back of the room where Slavica pulled open a panel in the corner. The stairs led both to a door into the private residence and upward to the second story.
    "Just a few more minutes," Natalya whispered. She wished he'd complain just once. Her ankles and side throbbed and burned and her injuries weren't nearly as severe as his, yet Vikirnoff was silent, not even grunting when his battered body was jarred as they went up the narrow stairs. He barely leaned his weight on her, careful of her side, but every once in a while his palm settled over her injury. Each time he did she felt warmth and the pain lessened, but she noted he became weaker and much paler.
    "Stop it," she hissed. "I mean it. I've had a hundred wounds like this. I know when they're bad and mine isn't. The vampires were being careful not to inflict any grave injury on me. I can deal with it later." She pushed open the door to her room and halted, inhaling deeply. "Someone has been in here."
    Slavica shook her head. "The maids clean in the morning hours. You left in the evening. They would have been finished."
    "There is no one here now," Vikirnoff said, "but a man has been in this room recently. He smells of pipe tobacco and cologne."
    "The man from the bar last night," Natalya said. "What is his name, Slavica?" She helped Vikirnoff to the bed.
    "Barstow, Brent Barstow. He comes through our village several times a year. He says he's on business, but…" The innkeeper trailed off shaking her head.
    Vikirnoff glanced at her sharply. "But he makes you uneasy."
    "Very uneasy," Slavica conceded. "And he's asked questions of my daughter Angelina. I didn't like his questions."
    "Questions about…" Vikirnoff prompted.
    Natalya felt his pain as if it were her own as he stood there swaying, probing the innkeeper. She had the urge to just knock him unconscious, throw him on the bed and be done with it.
    "He wishes to know about the people residing in this area," Slavica answered.
    The moment Vikirnoff sank down onto the soft blankets he turned his face away, but not before Natalya caught another much sharper ripple of pain he couldn't quite hide. She couldn't prevent herself from brushing strands of black hair off his brow. "Slavica's a nurse, a healer. She can help you."
    "She must attend your injuries first," he decreed.
    Natalya snatched her hand away. "There you go again." She was angry with herself for the silly melting sensation touching him produced in the pit of her stomach. Could she be any more pathetic? "Don't be giving me orders." She winced at the harshness in her tone and turned away from him to fuss at pulling the heavy drapes over the windows and balcony door to block out the morning sun.
    Slavica sat on the edge of the bed. "He will need other things, Natalya. In the kitchen there is a wooden bowl in the cupboard. Take that and fill it with the richest soil you can find in the garden." She leaned forward and swept the strands of hair that had so bothered Natalya from Vikirnoff's forehead, her fingers lingering against his cool skin. "You've lost far too much blood. I must send for your prince. He'll want to know you require aid."
    Vikirnoff caught her wrist. "You know what I am." He could read that she did. Few humans knew of their existence, not only for the protection of the Carpathian people, but also for the humans. If Slavica had knowledge of their species, she was under the protection of his prince. "Who are you?"
    "I'm Slavica Ostojic. My mother's name was Kukic. And you are?"
    Before answering he took a long, careful probe of her mind