Andor had explained that a mage had taught the ancients spells to guard their resting places and that all safeguards were based on those earlier spells. That meant vampires knew what Carpathians used, because at some point in their lives they had used them as well.
“Hurry,” she whispered aloud.
A rustle warned her. She glanced up and saw the migration of bats. Thousands of them coming out of the forest, heading straight toward her. Dartmus cackled like a witch in a horror film and then put his arms in the air, directing the bats. She realized immediately he was finding the weak spots of the barrier, places he couldn’t pass through; the bats might be able to make it through at his command.
Taking a deep breath, she ran toward him, holding up the bottle of whiskey. She lit it on the run and hurled it over his head, pulling the gun and firing, breaking the bottle right over his head. She’d gone over the procedure a hundred times in her head, praying she could do it. Her parents and brother loved trick shooting as much as she did, and they’d spent hours on end thinking up things to challenge each other with. She’d never tried this particular one, but she thought she would have enough time to get a shot off if she threw the bottle high enough into the air. Andor had assured her anything could go out of the campsite, just not come in.
The whiskey fell over the top of the vampire, soaking his clothes. The burning piece of flannel she’d used hit his shoulder. She caught up the wasp spray, hit the trigger and held her lighter to it, turning it into a flamethrower. She knew she had to get close, the range wasn’t very far, but the wasp spray lit beautifully. She lit Dartmus up, holding the steady stream of flames right against his chest, right over his heart. Instantly the whiskey there caught fire and flames spread over him.
Dartmus dropped his hands, screaming while he twisted and turned as if that would somehow put out the flames. The bat migration stuttered in the sky, all of the creatures suddenly disoriented and unsure where they were going or why. The vampire shrieked loudly, the sound carrying on the night. She sent up a silent prayer there were no more of his kind in the woods close by.
All the while she concentrated the spray on the place she knew the vampire’s heart to be. He was so engulfed in flames now, she was unable to see his head and face. She used spurts, to save fuel and keep the pressure on. This was all the defense she really had and if it was gone, she wouldn’t have anything to fight him with if he got through.
Dartmus stumbled back away from her and the barrier. She moved as close to it as she dared. She knew exactly where it was. If she stayed inside of it, she couldn’t ensure the vampire’s heart had incinerated. If she left the safety of it, she might not be able to get back inside. Dartmus kept moving backward as he stumbled and twisted, roaring his pain and then abruptly going silent.
Lorraine thought the silence was far worse than the high-pitched shrieking. She made the decision to let him go. She couldn’t take the chance of getting outside her circle of protection. Clutching the near-empty spray can, she sank onto the ground because her legs wouldn’t support her anymore. They just turned to rubber.
The wind picked up, fanning the flames so that they towered toward the sky in a fiery funnel. She gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth. She didn’t want to start a forest fire. She would have to go out of her safety zone if he approached the foliage.
He dropped to the ground, and suddenly there was another man there. He was tall, dressed in a tight tee and loose pants that didn’t hide the fact that he was ripped. She could see the muscles in his back rippling beneath the shirt. He waved his hand and the flames were gone. He slammed his fist deep into the charred chest and extracted the heart.
She wanted to look away, but it was impossible. Lightning forked across the sky, lighting up the night. It was early, so the dark veil hadn’t completely fallen, but the lightning was so bright it hurt her eyes. She could hear it sizzling and cracking. Her hair stood up on her head. On her body. She actually felt a vibration through her heart.
Even as she watched, peeking through her fingers to shield her eyes, a whip slashed across the sky and hit the heart where it lay on the ground a distance from the charred body of the vampire. The stench was so foul her stomach rebelled, but she held it together even when the lightning whip was directed at the vampire. Then the man stuck his arms and hands in the white-hot energy.
He turned his head toward her, and the breath left her lungs in a long rush. He was the most terrifying man she’d ever seen. Much scarier than Andor. Of course, Andor wasn’t scary to her, but still … She wasn’t letting this man near him. He had the widest shoulders, and he was tall. His hair was long, just like Andor’s. He came toward her, and she scrambled to her feet and backed away, holding up one hand so that he’d stop.
“Don’t come any closer.” Her heart pounded very hard, and this time she couldn’t stop it. He scared her more than the vampire had. Maybe it was because there was death in his eyes and she’d seen the lightning bolt he’d handled. She knew Andor had done the same thing, but watching the images like a movie was far different than having to witness it. She knew she was still reeling from having to fight off the vampire attack as well.
“I do not have time for your fear. Andor is dying and he must be helped.” He lifted his hands, much like the vampire had done, and began to speak ancient words as he unwound the intricately woven barrier.
She found herself gripping the gun and the wasp spray. He had to be Andor’s friend. He’d killed the vampire. He knew Andor was in trouble, and the vampire hadn’t mentioned that. Why was she so afraid of this man? His eyes were the strangest color, like iron, but with rust running through them. They didn’t look in the least bloodshot. His features were hard. Intense. She wanted to run into the tent and beg Andor to wake up so she could ask him what to do.
The moment the man’s hands dropped, he strode toward her, his face a mask of determination. Before she could speak, he moved past her straight to the tent. The next thing she knew, her tent was no longer there. Andor’s body lay in the shallow depression, covered with the dark, rich soil. He was still unmoving. Lorraine wanted to throw herself over top of him to prevent the stranger from getting anywhere near him.
It was too late. He waved his hand and the soil opened, revealing Andor’s naked body. He lay as if dead. She heard the stranger’s swift intake of breath.
“Can you save him?”
He glanced at her. “I do not know. He is far from us. His thread to you is all that has kept him alive.”
“There were supposed to be two of you.” She still was a little worried that she was doing something wrong. She should have asked Andor to show her images of the two men he expected.
“Sandu is in a fight just south of here with two of the undead. They were answering the call of that one.” He jerked his head toward where the fight had taken place. The wind had scattered the ashes of the vampire throughout the forest. “I am Ferro.”
“Lorraine. Tell me what I can do to help him.”
“I must go now into his body and try to heal him from the inside. You will have to keep any enemy off us. If something comes, you call out to me, touch my body, otherwise, do not get near me. Be ready to give me your blood.”
“Not Andor? Shouldn’t I be giving Andor my blood?”
“I will be weak when I return, and there is no way the first time will heal much. I must be at strength.” His eyes swept over her, dismissing her. “Your blood will not be sufficient, but it is all we have.”
She didn’t even care that he was a jerk. “Hurry.” There was a sense of anxiety she couldn’t get rid of. She felt that with every second that passed Andor drifted further from her.
Ferro sank to the ground beside Andor, his touch shockingly gentle as he brushed dirt from Andor’s face. He plunged both hands deep into the soil. Then he was gone. Just that fast. She hadn’t even blinked. She was looking right at him and yet he was gone. She could tell his body was an empty shell. He looked every bit as dead as Andor did.
Lorraine closed her eyes and put both hands on Andor’s chest. If you can hear me, Andor, know that you have given me more than I’ve had since my family died. I laughed when I didn’t think I ever would again. I was excited and happy and surprised. So many emotions. You gave them all to me. I don’t want you to die. I want you here, because I believe the world needs you. There’s a part of me that knows I do as well.
She was grateful he couldn’t hear her, because she didn’t want him to think she was one of those women who saw a man for the first time and decided he was the one and she had to be with him. She wasn’t needy as a rule. She liked her independence. She’d always liked her time alone and had never been lonely—until the death of her family. After that, she’d felt lonely all the time—until Andor.
They’d only been together a short time, hours really, but those hours had been very intense, and she’d learned a lot about him. More than she knew about any other person, because he’d allowed her into his mind.
She forced herself to leave the two men, hoping Ferro was good at his job. He wasn’t the healer Andor had mentioned just before she’d buried him completely. Ferro was worried. Well, concerned, not worried. Like Andor, he seemed matter-of-fact. Either his brethren would live or he would die. She walked slowly along the outside circle where she imagined the barrier had been placed before Ferro had taken it down. She kept the wasp spray in her jacket and the gun in her hand.
Two men came striding out of the darkness straight at her. She took a two-handed grip on the gun and brought it up, aiming right at the taller man’s heart. “Stop right there and tell me who you are.”
The taller man kept walking. He had the same long hair as Andor and Ferro. His shirt was off and his chest was a wall of muscle. Tattoos drifted down his arms and over his shoulders just as Andor’s did. His eyes were blacker than night but burned with red flames. There was blood on his belly, as if a razor-sharp claw had tried to rip him open. She recognized that wound. It was like Andor’s, except this man’s wound was shallow and Andor’s belly had been ripped open. She lowered the gun.
“I am Gary Daratrazanoff,” the other man greeted. “That is Sandu.” He continued walking as well.
“I’m Lorraine. Which of you is the healer?”
“All of us are capable of healing,” Gary replied.
“Andor said one of you was a healer. Ferro said the same.”
“They were referring to me.” Gary’s gaze was already moving over Andor.
There was no expression on his face, but she saw the look that passed between Sandu and him. Her stomach dropped. “He’s a really good man. He fought and killed seven of those hideous things.” She felt like she was pleading for Andor’s life. “You can’t just give up on him. He stayed alive this entire time waiting for you.”
“No one will give up on him,” Gary assured. “You keep watch. Sandu will be needed for blood.”
Like Ferro, Gary dropped down beside Andor and pushed his hands into the soil. She didn’t take her gaze from the healer because she wanted to make absolutely certain she saw him as his spirit left his body. For one brief half second, she thought she saw a brilliant flash of light move from Gary’s body to Andor’s but then it was gone and the night closed in around them.
“Are you his friend?” Lorraine asked in a low voice.
“I am his brother.”
She studied the expressionless face. These men wore masks. They were dangerous, and if everything Andor had told her was true—and at this point she wasn’t about to quibble over details—then his brethren didn’t see in color or feel emotions.
“I don’t want him to die.” She didn’t know if she said it as a test or she needed to admit it to herself. She had no idea when she’d become so dependent on the man.
“I do not want him to die, either. You are thirsty. And hungry. You have to take care of yourself in order to help supply blood. We will need quite a bit in order to save Andor. Ferro and the healer will need it as well as your lifemate.”
She didn’t argue. The last thing she wanted to do was eat, but Sandu was right. She was thirsty, and she had to be ready to give blood. She sat beside her backpack, gun in her lap, the spray can beside her knee, facing out toward the forest, and drank from her water bottle.
“You managed to defeat a vampire,” Sandu said. “Ingeniously.”
She shrugged. “I’m not certain he would have stayed down. I didn’t want to risk leaving the safety of the guards Andor set up to check to see if his heart had actually been incinerated. I think Ferro is the one who actually killed him.”
“I am not sure many people would have thought of making their own flamethrower. And it was smart not to have left the safeguards. Vampires can be very tricky. They often will make replicas of themselves so you cannot choose the correct one. Then they attack. Until the heart is destroyed, you have to always know they are deadly.”
She nodded, taking in every word carefully, just as she had with Andor. “I see one of them tried to eviscerate you.”
“A common practice. He did not succeed.”
“I could clean it the old-fashioned human way.”
“It is unnecessary. I do not feel it. When this is done, we will worry about the small things.”
She didn’t think being nearly eviscerated by a vampire was a small thing, but then she was going to have nightmares about the lightning and Ferro. She supposed that wounds were nothing to Carpathians unless they were like Andor’s, massive and many.
“Can you start healing him from the outside while they’re healing him from the inside?”
“The best use of me is for my blood and my strength to protect both of their bodies while they work to save our brother.”
She wanted to argue with him. She just wanted Andor healed, and the anxiety in her wouldn’t go away. Jumping up, she shoved her gun in her waistband, grabbed the water bottle and left the group to walk around the campsite again.
Now that the gruesome battle was over, one would never know any such thing had taken place. The cicadas were singing, and she could hear frogs calling one another. Bats dipped and wheeled overhead, going after a multitude of flying insects. She could hear the sound of the stream rushing over rocks. A cool breeze touched her face and ruffled her hair. She kept walking, restless energy preventing her from sitting.
It was obvious to her that Sandu didn’t want to talk. She understood that. Maybe these men didn’t feel anything, but somewhere, they had to care about a man who had spent several human lifetimes with them. They felt it somewhere deep, somewhere lost to them. She paced back and forth, watching the sky and the surrounding forest. She didn’t forget the ground. Dartmus’s lesson had taught her that.
“Lorraine,” Sandu called to her. “We need your blood.”
She turned and hurried back. Ferro was swaying with weariness. His body was pale. There were tiny beads of blood on his forehead, and her stomach lurched. He was feeding from Sandu’s wrist. She didn’t look—she couldn’t. She kept her gaze on Andor.
“Can you save him?”
She felt the impact as Ferro’s eyes jumped to her face. She still didn’t look at him because she knew he continued to take blood from Sandu’s wrist.
“Ferro says he is very bad. Three of the wounds should have killed him outright. Two more are borderline. One he would have been able to heal.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.”
“It tells you it’s going to be a very long night. I’m going to take your blood so I can provide for the healer. Then I will go hunting to find another source.”
None of it sounded good, but at least she wasn’t alone with Andor, trying to save him when it would have been impossible.
5
Andor was cold. He had never been so cold in his life and he couldn’t seem to regulate his temperature. He tried opening his eyes. Everything was dark, bleak, bitterly cold. He was blind. His heart should have reacted with a jump. Something. He couldn’t hear his heartbeat.
He wasn’t deaf. He knew that. He could hear voices. Musical. Chanting. They had chanted often in the monastery. Perhaps he was there. He opened his mouth to call out. No sound emerged.
Andor stayed very still, analyzing what was happening to his body. He was blind and couldn’t speak, but he could hear. There was no heartbeat that he could detect, yet he was aware. He felt the cold. The voices were soft but persistent and he listened, trying to discern what they said. Which chant they were using. He could join in. Silently, maybe, but the words would ground him. He was Carpathian. He belonged to the Earth. Chanting aided his people in many things. He could be of some use in spite of his strange situation.
Ot ekäm ainajanak hany, jama. My brother’s body is a lump of earth, close to death. Me, ot ekäm kuntajanak, pirädak ekäm, gond és irgalom türe. We, the clan of my brother, encircle him with our care and compassion. O pus wäkenkek, ot oma śarnank, és ot pus fünk, álnak ekäm ainajanak, pitänak ekäm ainajanak elävä. Our healing energies, ancient words of magic and healing herbs bless my brother’s body, keep it alive. Ot ekäm sielanak pälä. Ot omboće päläja juta alatt o jüti, kinta, és szelemek lamtijaknak. But my brother’s soul is only half. His other half wanders in the nether world. Ot en mekem ŋamaŋ: kulkedak otti ot ekäm omboće päläjanak. My great deed is this: I travel to find my brother’s other half.
Andor heard the words of the chant and recognized the Great Healing Chant of his people. A soul was lost to them. A warrior of great importance and a healer risked his life to follow his brethren down the great tree of life into the other world to bring him back. He knew that others would be gathered in a circle around the fallen warrior chanting to help aid the healer.
It was a great risk to follow the fallen into the other world. Both souls could be lost. It was only when that individual was needed, or when his lifemate …
He shivered, something important moving in his mind. He needed to get warm. His body felt like a block of ice. He couldn’t quite catch the thought that pushed at the back of his mind so persistently, so he concentrated on the words of the healing chant. His native language was only spoken among Carpathians, and it was rare for the words to be interpreted into another language, yet English was added so someone non-Carpathian could understand what was said.
Dark Sentinel ('Dark' Carpathian Book 32) Page 8