His body was leaden, but his mind raced, trying to figure out a way to overcome the curse of his species. Never in his life had he felt so completely helpless. So frustrated. He had always accepted the weakness that was the price for great strength and power. The night belonged to his kind and the day belonged to humans. That was the way of his world and it was as much a part of him as living on blood.

All those centuries and he had never once railed against that law, but he had been the only one at risk. Just him. His life had been one of duty and acceptance. Had they found him before, it would have mattered little. But this was not about him. This was different. Everything was different.

His woman—his lifemate—was in danger and he could do absolutely nothing. He had no control over the situation. No control over Marguarita. No ability to destroy the men who threatened her. He was forced to lie helpless while she suffered and that was much more difficult to bear than if someone had hammered a stake through his own heart.

DS had put his hands on her—a crime punishable by death—and yet he’d even done worse. He had struck her. Zacarias felt every blow landing on her soft body. He allowed himself to feel, to absorb the pain she experienced. The pounding seemed a lifetime, blows raining down on her face, her breasts, and then her ribs. The kicks struck her hips and legs and arms. The breath had left her lungs in an explosive burst, leaving a desperate burning for air.

Fury swept through him. A rage deeper than anything he’d ever known. He’d forbidden her to place herself in such danger and yet she had disobeyed him. She had deliberately led his enemies away from his resting place. They had been digging for a long while and he could tell by the slowing of the shovels that their belief was beginning to wane. They would turn their anger on Marguarita and he would be unable to stop them.

Summoning every ounce of strength he possessed, he sent his will rising through the earth.

She slowly got to her feet and scribbled on her notepad. I told you he never stays long. This is the only place I know that he goes.

DS slapped the paper from Marguarita’s hand, wrenched her around and dragged her toward the open grave.

Marguarita flung herself away from the yawning hole and pointed upstairs frantically.

“You’ll take me there this time, or else, do you understand?”

He was angry enough to bury her alive, she could see that. She nodded her head frantically. Deep inside her mind she could hear herself screaming against what she was about to do. Now or never. She had to end this, or die trying.

For the first time, she actually felt panic in Zacarias. He would never understand, but she felt she had no choice. I love you. I’m sorry, but I will never give you up. Never. Nothing will induce me to do it. Please don’t stay with me through this.

“Stop! Stop this right now.” Lea leaped to her feet and rushed DS. “You’re crazy. Absolutely out of your mind.” She flung herself at DS, pounding on his back.

Esteban giggled, turning away from the pit to lean on his shovel, giggling. “Looks like you’ve got woman trouble, DS. Did you ever consider there is no such thing as a vampire?”

DS shoved Marguarita hard and turned on Lea. “You fucking bitch. You could have had everything.” He gripped the front of her shirt and ripped it down the front, exposing her breasts.

Marguarita gasped and slipped her hand into her pocket, finding the reassuring presence of the knife. She had no choice now. As angry as DS was, he would rape Lea right in front of them.

DS threw Lea to the ground, stepping between her sprawled legs, his hands dropping to the zipper of his jeans. Esteban wiped his mouth and turned back to the pit, his gaze skittering away from the sight of his sister on the ground under a man who would surely rape her. He gripped his shovel and sank it deep. At once the grave erupted with small wiggling bodies, a thousand of them, pouring up from the bottom and out of the four sides. He screamed, jumped back and threw his shovel.

DS whirled around as Esteban stumbled back, screaming away from the empty grave. Esteban ran toward the stairs. DS hissed a low warning, his hold over Esteban strong enough to stop him, but not enough to bring him back to the edge of the deep hole.

Marguarita sank down beside Lea and gripped her hand. Both women edged back as far as they could, trying not to draw DS’s attention. Lea’s quiet weeping was in her ear, but with her acute hearing, she heard something else, a whisper of sound as thousands of legs brushed dirt.

She hadn’t made a mistake had she? Surely Zacarias would have told her if he’d changed his resting place. I need to know you’re safe.

For a moment there was silence, and she jammed her fist into her mouth to keep from sobbing. Her eyes burned. Lea put her head on Marguarita’s shoulder for comfort, trying to hold the edges of her ripped blouse together.

The bite to his voice made her wince, but at least she didn’t get the feeling of impending danger. Whatever was in that hole was not Zacarias.

DS approached cautiously and peered down. Where the dirt had appeared brownish in color before, it was now speckled with black dots. Spiders crawled from the sides of the hole, from the bottom, and began filling the grave as he watched in horror. The bodies moved in a mesmerizing way, little legs crawling over one another to get to the top of the writhing pile, building higher as more spiders joined in.

“He’s here,” DS shouted gleefully. “We’re getting close to him. He’s got to be using the insects to protect himself.”

“I’m not getting near them,” Esteban declared. He sank down on the bottom stair, shoving his trembling hands through his hair. “They look hungry and, if they climb out of that hole, I’m getting out of here.”

“You’ll do what I say.” DS studied the mass of bodies. The spiders emerged from tiny holes in the sides of the grave, and began crawling up as though seeking him.

He shuddered and swung around to look at Marguarita and Lea. Marguarita knew her face was pale. She could see the horrible crypt of insects and her entire body recoiled. She pressed her lips together tightly, trying not to show that any second she might get up and run. She was more terrified of the spiders than she was of DS.

She tried to be grateful that Zacarias had sent them. DS believed this was his resting place. As a stalling tactic, it was brilliant. But she was terrified of spiders. She closed her eyes and willed them all to go away.

DS caught her wrist and yanked her up. “Now that we know where he is, we don’t really need you, do we?” He began to drag her to the edge of the open grave.

She fought like a wild cat, kicking and punching, ignoring his fists as they rained down on her. He managed to get her to side of the yawning hole but she broke away, hysterical now, unable to get her mind to function. She could not go down into that pit of spiders. She wouldn’t survive it. Her heart beat out of control until she feared she’d have a heart attack.

DS wrenched her around and slapped her face hard enough to stun her. “You’re going in. We need to find out if they’re poisonous, and I have plans for little Lea.” He picked her up bodily and threw her into the pit even as Lea launched herself, tackling him at the legs, driving him over the edge into the deep hole along with Marguarita. All three landed heavily, squishing spiders, DS and Lea pushing Marguarita into the very center of the swarm of moving spiders under the weight of the two human bodies.

Marguarita felt the horrible spider legs, thousands of them, crawling over her skin, in her hair, in her mouth. She’d opened it to emit a soundless scream and the spiders swarmed over her as if she were fresh meat. She couldn’t breathe, was afraid to swallow. She shut her eyes as tight as possible, willing herself to faint. The ringing in her ears was loud, the scream in her mind loud and long, a wail of sheer terror.

Frantic, she gave herself up to him, following the path to his mind, her spirit leaving her body to the spiders and chaos, giving herself into Zacarias’s keeping. Instantly she felt calm, centered. Warm even. She hadn’t even known she had been ice cold. He surrounded her with his being, holding her close, sheltering her against the horrendous nightmare she found herself trapped in.

It was Lea’s scream that brought her back. Her eyes snapped open as her spirit flowed back into her own body. Esteban frantically shoved dirt into the pit on top of them all, intent on burying the spiders, uncaring that his sister, Marguarita and DS were trapped in the pit. He pushed large piles of soil from the edge of the hole as fast as he could.

Lea screamed and began knocking the dirt from her hair. DS swore at Esteban and made a leap, trying to catch the edges of the pit. Esteban smashed his fingers with the shovel and continued to hysterically push the dirt over all of them. DS, in a rage, caught Lea around her throat and began to strangle her, cutting off her cries, shaking her as he tightened his grip.

Marguarita got her feet under her, plunging her hand in the deep pocket of her skirt, withdrawing the knife. She flung the sheath away, trying not to see the spiders crawling everywhere, running down her arm and clinging to her hair. She stumbled toward DS, feeling the spiders crunching beneath her feet. Her stomach lurched. Dirt rained down on her head and shoulders. She had to wipe her eyes to get the grit out. She kept wholly focused on DS, tunneling her vision, knowing she had moments before he killed Lea.

She took the three steps, closing the distance, unsure where to plunge the blade. His back was to her and she’d never considered having to kill another human being.

The voice was dead calm. Dripped icicles. She stepped closer. Lea’s eyes bulged. Her face was scarlet red. The fingers sank deep, cutting off air. Another rain of dirt poured in on them, right over their heads and shoulders. DS didn’t loosen his grip for an instant.

Marguarita took a deep breath. Strength poured into her. She slammed the knife as hard as she could, using every ounce of fear she had in her to drive through skin and muscle, deep into DS’s kidney.

Turn the blade. The order was delivered in a calm voice.

Pressing her lips together, she did as Zacarias instructed. It was much harder than she thought it would be, even with such power running through her body.

She knew blood would pour out with the removal of the blade. She was killing this man. Swallowing hard, she obeyed. The feel of the blade slicing through flesh was a horrendous sensation—one she knew she would never forget—but twisting and then removing it was far worse. She stepped back, choking with bile.

DS stiffened. His eyes went wide as he turned his head to stare at her. His hands fell away from Lea’s throat. Lea slid to the spider-covered floor of the hole, coughing, desperate for air. DS staggered backward, half turning toward Marguarita. He reached one hand toward her just as Esteban threw another shovelful of dirt over them.

Marguarita stepped around DS, and tugged at Lea’s arm. She had to get her up. She knew she had to get Lea on her feet or they’d never make it out of the grave. They couldn’t take the chance of the dirt imprisoning them.

Lea staggered to her feet at the exact moment DS sat abruptly. He looked up at both of them with shock on his face. Marguarita realized she still held the knife and nearly opened her hand to drop it.

She wanted out desperately. DS was dying in front of her. Spiders streamed up his body, covering every inch of him until she couldn’t see his face. It was like a scene from a horror movie. She couldn’t look at him—or the spiders. She looked up at Esteban. Maybe Lea could get through to him.

Esteban seemed intent on burying them alive, burying the spiders. Looking up at him, she didn’t think there was much hope. He had a strange slack-jawed expression and his movements had become mechanical. Lea opened her mouth to call out, coughed and grabbed her throat.

Marguarita shook her head, warning her to stay silent. Something was terribly wrong with Esteban. He didn’t look as if he even knew what he was doing any longer. As long as he pushed the dirt back into the pit, she found if they stood to one side and allowed the dirt to pile higher, he created a way out for them. She feared if Lea distracted him, he might try to find another way to kill them.

Eventually some of the spiders made their way to the surface. Instead of dispersing, they crawled to Esteban. He didn’t seem to notice even that. He filled his shovel and threw the dirt and returned for more like a robot. The spiders moved over his boots and up his legs, a steady stream of them, silent and stealthy, the numbers growing. Beside her, Lea held her breath and gripped Marguarita’s shoulder.

“I have to warn him,” she whispered, the words barely audible. She sounded hoarse and immediately went into another coughing fit.

Marguarita shook her head, fearing Esteban would try bashing them over the head with his shovel. She couldn’t imagine trying to stab him. DS’s body toppled over, a slow-motion action that drew her attention in spite of her resolve not to look. The spiders appeared to be a moving blanket with a second stream steadily climbing out of the pit to swarm up Esteban. Her stomach lurched and she turned away from the hideous sight.

Esteban suddenly frowned and looked down at himself. The spiders were already moving up his neck and face. Every part of his body was covered, weighed down with the sheer mass of small bodies. Hundreds turned to thousands. He dropped the shovel and screamed. The moment he opened his mouth, spiders poured in, rushing down his throat, cramming themselves inside, filling his eyes and nose. Esteban fell backward, his boot heels drumming in dirt.

Of course I am. Zacarias was still so calm. Did you think I would ever allow such a man to live?

He had already dismissed Esteban from his mind. She knew there was no use in arguing, but she tried anyway. We don’t have the right to take his life. It’s murder.

He was gone. She felt the loss instantly. After being filled with him, the isolation, the complete sense of being alone was overwhelming. Thankfully, Esteban rolled out of sight and the continuous drumming of his boots faded into silence. The spiders had abandoned both Lea and Marguarita for the two men, leaving the women a little dazed and confused and slightly ill.

“We have to get out of here,” Lea said in her hoarse voice. Tears streamed down her swollen face. “We have to help him.”

Marguarita wiped DS’s blood from the blade and slipped the knife back in the sheath, pushing it down into her pocket just in case. She spat to make certain no spiders were in her mouth and flipped her head upside down and shook it, running her hands through the thick mass to ensure they were gone from her hair, as well.

She climbed onto the pile of dirt Esteban had made. There was a small root looped just above her head and she tugged experimentally. It seemed to hold. She gripped it and pulled hard. Lea moved over and laced her fingers to give Marguarita a foothold. Marguarita raised her head over the edge cautiously. Esteban’s body, much like DS’s, had a moving blanket swarming over him.

She swallowed rising bile and found a place at the edge of the hole to grab. It took effort to pull up. She hadn’t realized how weak she was after the adrenaline had drained away. She felt exhausted, her body almost too heavy to move. She flopped onto her stomach and crawled away from the edge, fighting not to cry. She and Lea had a long day ahead of them and a lot of questions to answer. She’d killed a man. All she wanted to do was weep.

Crawling back to the edge, she leaned down to help Lea out. Again, it was a struggle. Lea was as weak as she was. The moment Lea reached the surface she crawled to her brother, trying to get the spiders off his face. It was obvious he wasn’t breathing, but Marguarita didn’t stop her. She sat on the bottom stair and allowed the tears to stream down her dirty face.

Lea finally sank back on her heels, lifted her face to the ceiling and screamed, a helpless, hopeless sound. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Marguarita joined her, but there was no sound and deep inside, she added her own helpless scream.

Neither had any idea of how long they sat in the dimly lit room crying, but eventually, it was Lea who forced herself up and went to Marguarita. They stood, holding one another in an attempt to comfort each other before Lea pulled back and wiped her dirt-streaked face.

“We have to call the authorities.”

Marguarita pulled her notepad out. Zacarias is the authority here. He will return soon. Another hour or so. We have to get Cesaro.

Lea nodded. Both women went up the stairs, neither looking back, both still with tears streaming down their faces. Marguarita hit the alarm to call the men in and opened the door wide. Fresh air streamed in along with the sunlight. Although it hurt her eyes and seemed to sear her skin, she lifted her face toward the sky and held out her arms. She wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to go inside again. She’d killed a man.

Horses swept into the yard on a dead run. Julio beat Cesaro by a few inches, leaping from his horse, rifle in hand, taking in both women. Tears and dirt streaked both faces. They were covered in bruises, eyes swelling, lips split and bruises marring skin. Lea’s blouse was ripped right down the front. There was a bruise over her left breast. Julio peeled off his jacket as he took the stairs two at a time to gain the porch, his body blocking hers from the other men sweeping into the yard.

“Marguarita, you all right?” he demanded as he wrapped Lea in his jacket.

She shook her head and stepped into his arms, weeping. Lea took the other shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist, sobbing in unison with Marguarita all over again. Cesaro pushed past him, signaling his men into the house. He touched Marguarita’s shoulder. It was Lea who answered.

“Down in the root cellar.” She choked on the words. “They’re dead.”

Julio pulled back to examine her swollen, bruised throat. “Who did this?”

Marguarita was very glad she couldn’t speak, leaving Lea to tell the story. Regaining her composure she seated herself in the shade on the porch, grateful for the dark glasses Cesaro brought to her. She drew up her legs and rocked herself as Lea told the men everything that had happened. Lea, of course, thought Zacarias was away from the ranch and both Cesaro and Julio nodded approvingly at the way they had saved themselves—and Zacarias—even though Lea didn’t know they had done so.

“We will have to bring the authorities out here to speak with Señor De La Cruz. He will take care of everything,” Cesaro reassured Lea. “He will make all the arrangements necessary.”

Marguarita shivered. She couldn’t imagine Zacarias talking to the authorities. More than likely he would speak and they would be mesmerized by his voice into doing exactly what he wished. He would have no compunction about manipulating minds to believe what he wished them to believe. Right then, it didn’t matter to her. She waited there until the sun set, the men milling around and the commander himself had come to the De La Cruz hacienda at the urgent call.

She knew the exact moment that Zacarias rose. He didn’t touch her mind, didn’t come into her to relieve the terrible isolation and fear. When she touched him, because she couldn’t help herself, couldn’t stop the need, he had placed a glacier between them. Her warmth didn’t seem enough to penetrate that blue ice, thick and hard and impenetrable.

Marguarita shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. He was coming and he was in an ice-cold rage. She felt the slightest tremble in the ground. In the stable, the horses grew restless. Above them, the sky grew a shade darker and clouds rolled in from the south. A wind blew leaves and debris across the yard. The men exchanged quick, uneasy glances.

Dread built in the pit of her stomach. She felt his anger charge the air until the clouds became dark towering giants looming above their heads. The slight wind cooled, picked up in velocity, chilling the air. Thunder rolled. Lightning forked inside the churning shadowy clouds, great streaks that shot in all directions, yet never came to earth. Still, they all felt that ominous charge and the biting cold of the wind.

His breath. His mind. All ice. Turbulent and stormy, but held it in tight check. Just as the storm was controlled, so was Zacarias, striding up to the house, tall and dangerous, wide shoulders and thick, muscular chest. Ice blue flames glowed in his midnight black eyes. He was the most intimidating male she’d ever seen, and the police and ranch workers must have felt the same. They went silent as he approached, looking at one another uneasily.

He carried danger with him in the set of his shoulders, the fluid way he moved, the set of his jaw and ice in his eyes. He looked what he was—a dangerous predator—and just as he made the animals uneasy, so did he make humans. He moved in complete silence blending in to his surroundings, and yet he commanded the space around him, filling it completely with his power.

He looked only at her. Focused. Locked on. Those glacial blue flames leaped higher, glittering like dark sapphires of pure ice. The men gathered in the front of the house parted without a word, leaving him a clear path to the front porch—to Marguarita. Her mouth went dry and her stomach somersaulted. Her fingers found the material of her skirt and bunched it in her fist. If she could have screamed, she might have.

He blocked out everything and everybody extending his hand toward her. It seemed a solicitous gesture, but she knew better. Her hand trembled in his as she stood up, facing him. She wanted him to pull her into his arms and hold her. To comfort her. But his expression was as remote as his eyes. Ice flowed in his veins and formed a glacier in his mind far too thick to penetrate.

He was wholly focused on her; she felt his concentrated attention like a spear going through her heart. For Zacarias, no one else existed. He cared nothing for the men standing like statues in his yard. There was only Marguarita—and her disobedience.

His hand moved over her face, fingertips brushing every bruise, her swollen eye and cracked lip. His breath hissed out, a long, slow menace that sent another shiver creeping down her spine. Her heart accelerated and he heard it, but he didn’t soothe her. The pain in her face and head lessened with his touch—but that featherlight brush of fingers had been remote, not at all personal.

His disapproval of her actions hit like a hard blow to her heart. She had known he had forbidden her actions and he would be angry, but this was more than anger. His remoteness cut her to the bone. Even her soul and heart. He was taking care of her, but there was no comfort in his actions.

She swallowed hard and tried to reach him. I couldn’t stay inside with the bodies and the spiders. It was too much.

The blue flames leaped, and for a moment his eyes seemed to glow with a strange, frightening fire. The bodies have been removed and the spiders are gone. Go inside now. I will see to the commander.

Marguarita refused to cry. She had known all along what she was getting into and Zacarias separated himself from emotions. He had all the long centuries of his existence. She’d put him in touch with feelings, allowing him to tap into them. He had suffered, lying there trapped beneath the earth while she was in danger. She had chosen her own path, disobeyed his direct orders, something probably no one did. She had told him she gave herself into his keeping, and pride and honor refused to allow her to weep.

She nodded her head and swept past him, head up, moving away from the crowd, knowing they thought Zacarias so solicitous of her.

Zacarias went next to Lea, giving her that same featherlight brush of his fingers, and softly whispering, his voice hypnotic, easing her grief a little, as well as the pain of the beating at DS’s hands. Marguarita could hear him assuring the girl that he would see to all arrangements and that Julio would take her home and stay just in case to watch over her.

Next came his low voice convincing the commander of everything he wanted the man to believe. Of course the commander went along with it all, half bowing to Zacarias, the elusive billionaire one heard so much about. He would have bragging rights; he met him in person and the De La Cruz legend would only grow.

Eventually everyone was gone and the house was dark and quiet. Marguarita was left to face Zacarias alone. She wanted him there, and yet she was very scared of what he would do. He had warned her numerous times she would face consequences. She couldn’t imagine him beating a woman. It simply wasn’t his style. He had taken the pain from her face, so he didn’t want her to suffer physically, right? She had to be right.

She wrung her hands together. Waiting. Where was he? It was worse waiting in the dark for him to appear and pass sentence on her than not knowing. She sat for a few minutes, her heart pounding and the taste of fear growing. Unable to sit still, she went to the open door and looked out. He was there, big as life, staring into the night.

He turned his head and looked straight at her. Of course he’d known she was there. His eyes burned through the screen, burned like a brand into her heart. She stepped back, her hand moving defensively to her throat. The lines in his face were etched deeper than usual and his jaw was set. There was no mercy in that dark expressionless face. His sensual mouth seemed a little cruel, and his eyes held nothing but all that blue, flaming ice.

He swung around in a swift fluid movement and was on her in a single beat of her heart. The screen never opened and closed. He stood a moment, holding her gaze, drinking in her terror, his mind closed to her, his heart and soul distant—so distant she couldn’t reach them. This was not her Zacarias. This was the predator.

Without preamble, he gripped her upper arms, dragging her to him, his teeth sinking into her neck. Pain sliced through her, pain that slowly gave way to pure erotic heat. She struggled for one moment, still afraid, knowing his control had slipped dangerously. She couldn’t connect, he refused to let her in, yet he was there in her mind, commanding—demanding—she give herself to him. This time, she feared what he was asking.

The growing dread didn’t cease, even as heat swept through her body and her breasts ached for him, her core heated and wept for him. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. She found herself sinking into that place, that sort of subspace of mind where Zacarias became her world. Where there was only his strong body and phenomenal strength, his need and hunger. It was a primal place, forged by his will, older than time, where laws of the jungle applied.

In the midst of all that sensual heat a shiver started somewhere and began to increase. She was cold. Growing colder, as if the ice in his veins had poured into her veins and slowly was spreading throughout her body. Her legs turned to rubber, very wobbly as if she could no longer support herself. She caught at Zacarias’s neck to anchor herself, but her arms were too weak to hold herself up.

Even as she fell, his arm locked her to him, lifting her from her feet, but he didn’t stop. She had the sensation of floating, but her eyes refused to open. Panicked, she tried to struggle.

Marguarita heard the soft hiss of menace, the need for domination and his iron will that was implacable. She had no chance to save herself. Life or death. Live or die. It was up to him. She gave herself up completely, no longer struggling, not even in her mind.

Choose, then. She had no more strength left to fight him. He was taking her life’s blood, as if it was impossible to slake his hunger. There was an edge to his feeding, both sexual and dangerous, as if he’d made a decision he would not back away from. The resolve in him ran so deep, so dark, she couldn’t find a way to reach him.

The words should have reassured her, but they sent another shiver through her body. It was the way he said them, the pure cold glacier that dripped like icicles from his voice. He carried her through to the master bedroom and laid her on the bed, his body covering hers, all the while draining her of her precious blood. She felt herself fading.

She was too tired, too weak, to do anything but obey. Her spirit reached for his and he surrounded her, held her to him when her body wanted to slip away into another world she didn’t recognize.

Only then did he swipe his tongue across the punctures and open his shirt to slash his chest.

It was an absolute command. He was in control, her spirit locked to his. His hand caught the back of her head, forcing her to that dark rich Carpathian blood. Her mouth moved against him. This time, he didn’t distance her from the act. The blood flowed into her, his very essence, rushing to do its work, to claim her for all time, to make her his irrevocably. She knew that was uppermost in his mind. This was the consequence of her actions. His claiming her. She struggled to understand. He had tied them together in the way of his people. Why such satisfaction? Why this particular show of dominance?

Strength was returning, but he held her spirit captive until she had taken enough of his blood that he deemed satisfactory. His body continued to blanket hers as he lifted his head and stared down into her eyes.

She was missing something. Something important. He looked very expectant. Still cold and distant, but alert and watchful. She touched her tongue to her lip. The split and swelling was gone. Her face didn’t hurt, but there was a new, strange pounding in her head. She could not only hear her heart beating, but feel it, every single movement, the swish of blood, ebbing and flowing. A ripple of pain moved through her body and her stomach lurched.