I have a friend who is Carpathian. We grew up together, so I am not completely ignorant of Carpathian culture.
You have heard of the Carpathian binding ritual.
Vasilisa had known all along that might be the only solution. Her mother had told her the story of how her lifemate might come to her to reclaim his half of their soul. When she had asked Sorina, she had explained the lifemate ritual in great detail. There was only one woman for each man, and he would bind her to him, tying them together when he wove their soul back together again by reciting the sacred binding words. Once said, his soul would be intact—whole once again. There would be no way for the demons or vampires to trap Afanasiv and take his soul.
I have. That would bind us together. You would have no choice but to accept me as your lifemate, Afanasiv Belan, once you said those words to me.
That is correct. And you would have to accept me. We could not stand to be apart from each other.
She moistened her lips. I wish for you to say the binding words to me for many reasons, not the least of which is to restore your soul to you and to save my brother, but I had thought we would have time to talk about other things first. She didn’t want to be honest. She wanted to save her brother. She wanted to do her duty and save her people. She really did want to restore his soul to him and relieve his terrible suffering, but she had been raised to be honorable. She sensed that he was an honorable man. She refused to be less. There are important things that you should know about me. Things you have a right to know about me before you take me for a lifemate.
There was no shame in her voice. She didn’t feel shame. She loved who she was and was very proud, but no one could ever know. She kept secrets from her people. From her brothers. From everyone she loved. They wouldn’t accept her. She would be banished—or worse. She knew her people needed her, but she would be asking this honorable man to live with her. Worse—eventually he would become like her, and others would hunt him relentlessly if they ever discovered his secrets.
My lady, you humble me. You believe whatever secrets you harbor are worse than what I have acquired in the centuries I have lived and hunted. Before you confess, I must go first. If you refuse to be bound to me, there will be no need for you to give up your secrets.
Right there was one extremely good reason to call him a noble man. He had interrupted her before she could blurt out something that might damn her in his mind. He was willing to tell her his worst sins and let her judge him first. Her heart gave a strange little flutter, the first of its kind. She’d never had such a reaction, and she found her dire situation a strange place for it to happen.
Carpathian hunters lose parts of their blackened souls with the countless kills they make. They end up with that half of their soul in tatters. A lifemate can repair this damage when he finds her and she restores his color and emotions. When the two halves of his soul are once more woven together. But when a Carpathian warrior has lived far past his time—and it can happen, when he has killed too many times—something else begins to take place. Another change happens.
A chill slid down her spine. He was going to confess something that would be really difficult to take—maybe. Perhaps not. She straightened her shoulders and laid her hands palm up on her knees. She was the daughter of the family of the royal wolves. She had special gifts. She’d been trained by her mother from the time she was a toddler and told that she was the lifemate of a Carpathian male, and she was to be prepared to defend him and their children from demons and vampires. She had a destiny. A legacy. There was the prophecy, and so far, the ugly thing was right on the money. Vasilisa was not a woman who would ever back away from a fight. She certainly wouldn’t run from her lifemate because he had a few unfortunate character flaws. Hers just might match his.
For centuries we endure the whisper of temptation to kill while we feed so we can once again feel the rush. Just feel. That temptation, at times, is difficult to resist, but honor keeps us from ever giving in. We live the code of our hunters, waiting for our lifemate. Then comes that moment when even the whisper of temptation goes silent, and there is absolutely nothing at all. Nothing. You believe the whisper is the worst, but it isn’t. That silence is.
She took air into her lungs—the fresh snow pack that had just fallen in the early morning hours. It was still so pristine in most of the gorge. She was impervious to the ice, not even feeling it against the bare soles of her feet. She breathed for both of them. Vasilisa and Afanasiv.
I realized that where before my soul had become tattered, torn into so many holes it seemed impossible to repair, now there were scars developing on it. Thick, dark scars that I couldn’t remove in spite of having knowledge of healing skills. I have good skills with magic and I could not overcome these scars. The more I hunted the vampire and went into battle, the more I seemed to feel something when I fought. Before I planned carefully and would barely have a scratch, but I needed the brutality of the battle. It gave me a strange kind of vicious rush. When I hadn’t felt anything in centuries, that euphoria became addicting.
She had seen one of those scars. A glimpse only, but she knew what he was talking about. Is it possible for me to remove the scars?
One of my brethren, Sandu, has a lifemate, and she was unable to do so. I try not to allow the weight of those scars to rule me in battle, but it is difficult to overcome that need. I can be more brute than human in those moments.
How is my brother doing?
They worry that they struck him too hard. Your brother and I agreed it would be best that they thought him unconscious, so I have kept him that way.
I can live with the fact that you struggle against becoming more of a brute during battle.
Liking it too much, my lady. Wanting to make the kill. This is against my code of honor.
It isn’t if whatever you are doing battle with is evil. I trust you never kill an innocent.
That would not be likely.
Then I can accept your secret, Afanasiv Belan. I hope that you can accept mine. I told you that I have a friend who is Carpathian. We grew up together and have spent time together over many years. We have other friends we occasionally have traveled a great distance to see. Spain, Italy, the border of Algeria.
He was horrified. She could tell he was. She felt his protest, but he didn’t voice it.
We often went alone to see our friends, and as two girls, teens and then young women, we got into a bit of trouble. We managed to get out of it, but not always unscathed. Sometimes that required giving her blood. Sometimes, if I was severely wounded, she would have to give me blood. We had no idea that, over the years, by saving each other’s life, we would make the other one into something beyond what they already were. Carpathians exist on blood. The only real difference for her is that now she has the ability to walk into sunlight during the day if she desires. She’s faster, stronger, and she can tolerate the sun if she needs to. It is uncomfortable for her, but she can do it if necessary to save her life. And she can tolerate drinking tea. There was the slightest amusement in her voice.