TanitaC: переводы

→Syndil had been largely silent in the months since, often taking the shape of a panther and staying with the other cats, Sasha and Forest. Darius sighed. It was only now that he could feel the deep sorrow sweeping over him for Savon, the guilt and despair that he had been unable to see it coming and find a way to help his friend. After all, he was their leader; he was responsible. And Syndil was like a lost child, with such sadness, such wariness in her beautiful dark eyes. He had failed her most of all, failed to protect her from one of their own, thinking in his arrogance that his leadership, the unity among them, would prevent the ultimate depravity one of their species could experience. He
still could not look Syndil fully in the eyes.

→Darius had had no choice but to kill his friend and incinerate his body and heart, having had to learn the hard way how to destroy a vampire properly. For the undead could rise again and again from the most mortal of wounds unless certain techniques were used. Darius had had no one to instruct him in those techniques, only an eternity of instincts and mistakes to correct. After that terrible battle with Savon, Darius had lain for some time deep within the soil, healing himself.

→He stopped for a moment beside a huge oak tree and leaned against the trunk, remembering that horrible day a few months earlier when he had found Savon crouched over Syndil, her body a mass of bite marks and bruises. She was naked, blood and seed seeping from between her legs, her beautiful eyes glazed with shock. Savon had then attacked Darius, going for his throat, ripping and tearing nearly fatal wounds before Darius had time to realize that his best friend had become what all the males feared becoming most. The vampire. The undead. Savon had brutally raped and beaten Syndil and was now trying to destroy Darius.

→He harvested herbs, hunted animals, tried every nutritional source on himself first, often sickening himself in the process. But eventually he learned the ways of the wilds, became a stronger protector, and ultimately the group of children became much closer than most families, the only ones like themselves in their remote world. The few of their kind they had encountered had already turned, become the undead, vampires feeding on the lives of those around them. Always it was Darius who took the responsibility of hunting down and destroying the dreaded demons. His group was fiercely loyal to, fiercely protective of, one another. And all of them followed Darius without question.
His strength and will had carried them through centuries of learning, of adapting, of creating a new kind of life. It had been a shock to discover, a few short months ago, that others of their kind, Carpathian and not vampire, still existed. Darius had been secretly afraid that all males of his kind eventually turned, and he feared what would become of his wards if he did. He had lost all emotion centuries earlier, a sure sign a male was in danger of turning. He never spoke of it, always afraid the day would come when he would turn on his own loved ones, relying on his iron will and private code of honor to prevent such an outcome. Already, one of the males among them had turned, become the unthinkable. Darius glided away from his sister and her lifemate, thinking of Savon. Savon had been the second oldest boy, the closest of friends, and Darius had relied on him often to hunt or to watch over the others. Savon had always been his second in command, the one he trusted to watch his back.

→It had not been easy to keep the two girls alive. Female Carpathian children seldom survived the first year of life. At first Darius had hoped other Carpathians would come and rescue them, but in the meantime he had to provide for them as best he could. And as time passed, the memory of their native race and ways faded. He took the few rules imprinted on him from birth, what he could remember of his talks with his parents, and he devised his own ways and his own code of honor by which to live.

→Darius had been six years old, his sister barely six months. The other female child, Syndil, was one. With them were three boys, the oldest four years of age. Compared to the familiar comforts of their homeland, Africa seemed wild, untamed, a primitive, frightening place. Yet Darius felt responsible for the safety of the other children. He learned to fight, to hunt, to kill. He learned how to exert authority, to take care of his group. Carpathian children did not yet have the extraordinary talents of their elders-to know the unknowable, to see the unseeable, to command the creatures and natural forces of the Earth, to heal. They had to learn these techniques from their parents, study under those who would teach them. But Darius didn't allow those limitations to stop him. Though he was just a little boy himself, he would not lose the children. It was that simple to him.

→The children had huddled together in the precarious craft, all terrified, all shocked at the hideous deaths of their parents. Even Desari, a mere infant, was aware of what had happened. Darius had kept them going, insisting they could make it if they stuck together. A terrible storm had come up, washing the crew overboard, the sea rising up to claim the sailors and the woman as efficiently as the Turks had massacred the villagers. Darius had refused to yield his charges up to such a fate. Although still very young, he already had an iron will. Holding the image of a bird in their minds, he forced the children, as young as they were, to shape-shift with him before the ship went down. Then he had flown, clutching tiny Desari in his talons, leading them to the nearest body of land, the shores of Africa.

→The woman took them down the mountain to her lover, a man who owned a boat. Though sailing the open seas was rarely attempted in that century, since tales of sea serpents and falling off the earth abounded, the marauders' cruelty was a worse fate, so the small crew took their vessel far from their shores in an attempt to flee the steadily advancing army.

→The marauding armies had then herded the children, mortal and immortal alike, into a straw shack and set it on fire, burning the youngsters alive. Darius had managed to fabricate an illusion to cloak the presence of a few of the children from the soldiers, a feat unheard of at his age. And when he noticed a peasant woman who had escaped the bloodthirsty assailants, he had cloaked her presence as well and forced a compulsion upon her. He embedded within the woman a deep need to flee and take with her the Carpathian children he had saved.

→Some centuries ago in their almost-forgotten homeland, Darius and five other Carpathian children had seen their parents murdered by invaders who thought them vampires and carried out their ritual slayings: a stake through the heart, beheading, with garlic stuffed in the mouth. It had been a frightening, traumatic time as Ottoman Turks overran their village while the sun was high in the sky, just as their parents were at their most vulnerable. The Carpathians had tried to save the mortal villagers, standing with them to fight the invasion despite the fact that the attack had come when the Carpathian people were at their weakest. But there were far too many assailants, and the sun was too high. Nearly everyone had been massacred.

→Darius shook his head slightly. He was still unused to tolerating the presence of any male not of his own small group. Accepting his sister's new lifemate traveling with them was one thing; liking it was quite another. Julian had been raised in the Carpathian Mountains, their native land, and though he had been forced into a solitary existence, he had had the benefit of years of training in their ways, of adult Carpathian guidance during his fledgling years. Darius knew Julian was strong and one of their people's most skilled hunters of vampires. He knew Desari was safe with him, but he couldn't quite relinquish his own role as her protector. He had had far too many centuries of leadership, of learning the hard way, through experience.

→For just a moment the golden eyes flickered over him, cold with menace. Then Julian's white teeth gleamed in a semblance of a smile. "It is true, and I can do no other than be grateful to you."

→Darius made a sound of disgust, a rumbling growl deep in his throat. "Desari is my sister. I have always seen to her welfare."

→Instantly Julian leaned into her, his voice extraordinarily tender. "Is there a problem here?"

→Desari sighed softly at the two territorial males measuring each other. "You two promised."

→Julian bent to brush Desari's temple with the warmth and comfort of his mouth. He had caught her distress through their psychic link and instantly returned from hunting prey. When he turned his gaze on Darius, his eyes were cold. Darius met that gaze with one equally chilling.

→She turned as her lifemate abruptly shimmered into a solid state beside her. Julian Savage still took her breath away, the sight of his tall, muscled frame, the striking, molten-gold eyes that always reflected love back to her.

→Slowly, reluctantly, Desari nodded. "You are my brother, Darius. I am with you always, whatever you choose to do."

→Darius had always been the acknowledged leader of their small group, ever since they were all children and he had saved them from certain death. Even as a mere youth he had reared and protected them, given them his all. He was the strongest, the most cunning, and the most powerful. He had the gift of healing. They relied on him for his wisdom and expertise. He had steered them safely through the long centuries without thought for himself. Desari could do no other than support him in this one thing he asked. No, not asked. Demanded. She knew Darius was not exaggerating, not lying, not bluffing; he never did. Everything he said, he meant.

→"She is all that is standing between the destruction of mortals and immortals alike. The line is fragile. Do not interfere, Desari. It is all the warning I am capable of giving you," he said with a merciless, implacable resolve.