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Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator

Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator

Titel: Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
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beside him and allowed herself a few minutes to have a panic attack.
    What had she done? The De La Cruz family made few demands on their people. Very few. Everyone who worked for them was wealthy by any standards. All owned their own lands adjacent to the De La Cruz lands, all because one of the family members had purchased it for them. Cousins, aunts, uncles—everyone related was taken care of. Fathers passed the legacy to their sons. Mothers to their daughters. All had obeyed until Marguarita. She’d disgraced her family name by her disobedience and she had no doubt that she would pay dearly.
    She lifted her chin and forced herself to stand. She was a Fernandez, her father’s daughter. She would not run from her crime but stay and face whatever Zacarias De La Cruz deemed fit for her punishment. A shudder went through her and icy fingers crept down her spine. He barely seemed human. Or Carpathian. He was terrifying.
    She couldn’t change what she’d done. She didn’t understand it and put it down to her compassion for all things hurt, but that didn’t explain why she’d defied him after he’d told her to allow his death. Why would he choose to burn in the sun? It was a horrible death, and how could he think that she could stand by and watch him burn?
    He’d saved her life. She touched her mangled throat, stroking dirt-smeared fingers over the scars. Sometimes, at night, when she woke in a sweat, trying to scream but nothing would come out, she thought she had called to him to save her. She could hear the echo of his name faintly in her head, as if she’d managed just his name. Now he was here and he wasn’t at all the fantasy figure she’d conjured up in her mind.
    Zacarias frightened her in an elemental way, deep down in her very blood and bones. In her soul. She pressed a clenched fist over her heart while it beat frantically out of control. He was handsome, had a rock-hard body, seemed everything a woman might dream of, but his eyes . . . his face. He was terrifying and every girlhood fantasy she’d secretly harbored vanished on encountering him.
    Marguarita climbed slowly out of the chamber, dusting every grain of dirt from her clothes and body. She couldn’t leave tracks. If a vampire’s puppet penetrated the ranch’s defenses, there could be no trail leading to Zacarias’s resting place. She lowered the trap door and again swept the floor and even washed it, afraid the scent of Zacarias’s blood would be detected. It was extremely difficult to push the bed back into place, but she managed, smoothing out the covers carefully.
    She refused to dwell on her behavior or the fear building insidiously in her mind. She had work to do and she would remove every single bit of evidence that Zacarias had been outside or inside. Because she desperately needed it, she made herself a cup of mate de coca , a tea made with coca leaves. She took her time, savoring the tea for the pick-me-up she needed to keep going.
    Marguarita cleaned the entire house, every room, mopping and dusting and permeating the house with a strong cinnamon scent. She armed herself and went outside, following the trail of the tarp back to the stables, carefully removing all signs that something heavy had been dragged through the wet grass. Close to the stable where Zacarias had sat and then laid in preparation for death, she found some of the grass scorched. She very carefully removed every blade.
    Exhausted, she had another cup of tea and then showered and changed her clothes again, meticulously washing and drying the outfit she’d been wearing, using perfumed soaps to remove and cover any lingering scent. When she was fully satisfied that she’d done all she could, she went out to help with the stock.
    Cesaro spotted her as she came out of the stable on her favorite mare, Sparkle. He waved to her, his face set in grim lines.
    “The oldest one has come, hasn’t he?” he greeted as he rode up beside her.
    Marguarita saw no reason to deny it. She’d signaled by closing the heavy drapes and one of the men had given him the word that a De La Cruz was in residence. It was the only time the drapes were pulled. She nodded her head.
    “I knew it. The cattle and horses are uneasy in his presence. Perhaps you should go visit your aunt in Brazil.”
    She frowned in question.
    Cesaro hesitated, clearly not wanting to appear disloyal. “He’s difficult, Marguarita. Very different from the others.”
    She signed a question mark between

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