" Look at this man, his hand on you, anything I can use, Jacques ordered gruffly. He could feel her horror, her reluctance.
I can’t, Jacques. I can’t think. It was true. Her mind was consumed with grotesque images of blood and death.
This time it was not Gregori who took charge. Jacques gripped her mind in a hold of steel, forcing her compliance. He was far stronger than she had ever imagined him to be, and supremely confident in his abilities, even in the morning hours. The Carpathians men were coming closer, too. Even with the burden of protecting Byron, they were moving rapidly as a group toward the cabin.
Mikhail reluctantly split off from the rest of them, Byron a dead weight in his arms, his path away from the forest and toward the cave of healing. But his concentration on his wife and child was total. He had no room for any other emotion. He kept their waning life force flickering in his mind, held them locked to him, giving them no chance to die before the healer was there to aid them. "

― Christine Feehan , Dark Desire (Dark, #2)