Dark Sentinel ('Dark' Carpathian Book 32)

by Christine Feehan

  He loosened his grip on the lash of lightning as the demon vampire ripped at it with a powerful summoning spell. The fork snapped back at the vampire, whipping and flogging the sky, whirling in a circle to surround the undead. Dragomir dropped the coils of white-hot energy right over the vampire’s head, making certain that each spiral laid perfectly around his body, one loop right over his heart. He pulled it tight, so the sizzling energy cut right through the vampire, incinerating him and his heart as well.

  Dragomir turned to face the lesser vampire. Overhead, lightning crackled ominously. The vampire glanced uneasily at the sky, and Dragomir was on him, smashing through muscle to reach the heart. He straightened, the heart in his hand, when Sandu materialized beside him, preventing a third, lesser vampire from striking him. The vampire waited a few seconds too long, wholly concentrated on Dragomir. He never saw Sandu.

  Both men tossed the hearts to the ground and called down the lightning.

  Dragomir shook his head. “This is too easy. These vampires are newly made. They have little skills. I don’t understand it.”

  “I agree.” Sandu glanced toward the trees where the crows watched silently. “There is more here. Something we are not seeing. How could these men have no battle skills? All Carpathians are taught from birth to fight. Battles are often given from father to son. Lorraine has more skills than these vampires.”

  Dragomir stared out into the meadow where the humans had been camping. “These could not have been Carpathian before they became vampire, Sandu. That is the only answer.”

  Jannik stared at Andor, shock on his face. “What did you dare to say to me? What did you call me?”

  “Te kalma, te jama ńiŋ3kval, te apitäsz arwa-arvo—You are nothing but a walking maggot-infected corpse, without honor. I have come to free you,” Andor repeated. “I interpreted for you, just in case you are no longer able to speak Carpathian. I have no idea how long it has been since you chose to give up your honor. Since you betrayed your people and your lifemate.”

  Jannik sputtered, spit, clenched his fists and then began to sway. “A lifemate only makes you less, not more. I can have a woman and children without a lifemate forcing me to do things I would not normally do. You keep your lifemate, but she will die with you.”

  Andor pointed to the vampire. He could see the undead had some skills just in the way he moved, but he didn’t have the skills Andor had. He beckoned. Jannik’s shock showed on his face when he took a step toward Andor and then another. Each subsequent step was jerky as the vampire fought to stop himself from obeying Andor’s summons.

  He called out, lifting his hands into the air to muster aid. Andor’s other hand came up and he made a small circle with his fingers only and then twisted his wrist. The crows flying toward the meadow from the forest in answer to Jannik’s call flew into one another.

  “You are sapar bin jalkak—coward, refusing to go to your death with honor.” He forced the vampire to continue toward him, one step at a time.

  Lorraine hissed out a small warning. The lesser vampire appeared out of the sky, dropping down almost at her feet.

  “I’ve got this,” she assured.

  He had to trust her to keep his mind on his opponent. She had handled herself well, and he was right there if she got into trouble.

  Lorraine didn’t take her eyes off the new threat. She wasn’t fighting just for her own life, but those of the humans locked in their circles of safety as well as Andor. She wasn’t going to fail. Already, she made certain her mind was strong, the barricades there extremely strong in case the vampire tried to attack her that way.

  He planted his feet in the soil and glanced past her to Jannik and then the humans. A sneer twisted his face. He lifted his hand and pushed air toward her. She felt the assault in her mind first and realized the attacks often began there. Because she refused to flinch, keeping her shield strong, the push of air didn’t send her flying backward into Andor as the vampire intended. It did rock her, but not enough to throw her to the ground.

  She whipped out her gun, squeezed off three rounds, hitting him in the eye, the middle of his forehead and his throat. The force of the rapidly fired bullets took him a couple of steps back and tilted his head as well. Before he could recover, she yanked out the flamethrower Andor and the others had managed to conjure up for her.

  The vampire’s one good eye widened and he turned to run. Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she thought that was strange. In all the battles she’d encountered in the minds of the ancients, vampires shifted. They created illusions. They dissolved into mist. They didn’t turn and run.

  The steady stream of flames enveloped the vampire and he jerked to a halt, spun around in a strange, three-point turn, much like a marionette, and came straight at her with halting, lurching steps.

  Andor. She hated to distract him from Jannik. Something wasn’t right. She kept the flames pouring straight at the oncoming vampire’s heart. She backed up until she was nearly right on top of Andor.

  He’s possessed by another. We wondered where the fourth vampire was, and now we know.

  Lorraine didn’t know—she wanted to turn and run herself—but she was all that stood between Andor and this maniac coming to burn them both alive. She had to incinerate his heart, so she kept the flamethrower steady right over the place she knew it had to be. Heat brought beads of sweat out on her forehead and had them trickling down her chest. Fear made her heart pound, but she held steady. The vampire was close now, just feet from her, close enough she thought the flames would reach her, but then he began to topple.

  He fell to the ground, his arms blackened and charred but stretching out toward her. It was all she could do not to fling the flamethrower at him and run. He was like something out of a horror movie—he refused to die. He dragged his blackened body toward her. Now he was only two feet away. The fire burned hotly, the flames reaching for her along with hideous arms that were now falling apart. Chunks of ashes rolled away from his arms. Her stomach lurched, but she kept her eyes glued to his chest and the spot where his heart was.

  “Please, please, please,” she found herself chanting and then was horrified that she was all but praying that someone would die.

  Not someone, Lorraine. He is vampire. He chose to give up his soul. He survives by killing others.

  She closed her eyes briefly and then, embodied by Andor’s calmness, sucked in air again, this time standing over the creature so she couldn’t fail to hit her target.

  Andor wanted to help her, but he knew he couldn’t afford to break concentration. Jannik stood in front of him, commanding his attention, but he wasn’t alone. Another vampire was hidden and helping him. He had taken possession of the lesser vampire, sacrificing him in order to attack Lorraine.

  Keeping his eyes on Jannik, Andor raised his hands into the air. “Muonìak te avoisz te—I command you to reveal yourself.” Very few hunters could command a vampire to that level of obedience if the vampire had been around for more than a couple of centuries. He was ancient as were the other brethren. As years passed, power grew. That was what made them secret themselves from others. They knew they were dangerous and could turn should they continue to kill, even though each kill was honorable. “Reveal yourself and come to me.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground in front of him as if he might have been commanding an animal.

  He was safe because he had Lorraine. Dragomir was safe because he had Emeline. Sandu, Ferro, Isai, Petru and Benedek were all at risk, as was Gary. He hoped by binding themselves to Lorraine and him, at least Sandu, Ferro and Gary had bought themselves a little more time.

  To his right, a vampire emerged from the dark. He had been part of a small boulder, but now he was snarling like a wild beast and crawling toward Andor.

  I’m moving three steps to the left. Move with me. I cannot allow them to put us between them. In fact, now that the lesser vampire is dead, stay close to the two circles. I have closed the children’s minds so they cannot witness any of t
his and will remove it all from the parents as soon as we defeat those battling.

  Lorraine sent a small protest to him. I am not leaving you to be safe elsewhere. I’ll stay right here and guard your back.

  His woman. A pain in the ass. He launched himself at Jannik while the vampire was watching his companion crawling. There was contempt twisting his face. The moment Andor came at him, he took to the air. Immediately he ran into a barrier, slamming his head hard, the blow knocking him back to the ground. He fell, rolled and kicked at Andor, who was on him in seconds.

  The moment Andor had his fist inside Jannik’s chest, the other vampire got to his feet and started toward the hunter. Lorraine shot him with a gun, just as she had the lesser vampire. This one turned his attention toward her with a sickening smile. He waved his arm and the gun wiggled in her hand, trying to fly away. Then it began to turn toward her.

  “You aren’t in my head, you lousy excuse for a Carpathian!” She shouted it at him, hurling the insult but knowing he wouldn’t even understand it. Still, it helped shore up her defenses. She flicked the flamethrower on and shot a steady stream at him, still clinging to her gun, just in case.

  The vampire shrieked, leaping into the air, hitting the same ceiling Jannik had. He fell to the ground, enveloped in flames. Rolling to put the fire out, he took to the air again, this time staying low. He tried to dissolve, but ashes fell and were scattered by the wind. Little embers showed up in the few flames still burning on the ground. The moment Andor spotted them, he waved his hand toward them, still extracting Jannik’s heart with the other hand. The vampire fell a second time, this time landing about twenty feet from Andor.

  Lorraine glanced over her shoulder and saw Andor covered in blood. Jannik fought back, determined to keep the hunter from taking his heart. He tore at the ancient’s face and chest, licked at the blood in an effort to get stronger and tried for the heart. She couldn’t let the other vampire come back, and he was already rolling over. She took off running toward him, the flamethrower in her hand, finger on the trigger.

  No, Lorraine, get back here where you’re safe.

  She skidded to a halt, and then, keeping her eyes on the vampire who was slowly climbing to his feet, she began to walk backward. A crow squawked. The others took up the macabre chorus, all of them shrieking obscenely. She didn’t dare take her eyes from the vampire to look, but she heard the birds leave the shelter of the trees.

  Heavy wings beat around her. Everywhere she looked there were large crows. They flew in circles around her. It was disorienting. Several times one flew right into her, knocking her sideways. Then one struck the back of her head with its sharp, wicked beak. She felt the stab as the curved mandible cut a wicked slice into the back of her skull. It felt like fire. The pain was ferocious. She hit at it with the butt of her gun, knocking into the heavy body. It beat at her with its wings, tore strips from her skin with its talons as it dug for a purchase and then it was off her, rising into the air.

  She triggered the flamethrower, shooting the stream into the air in a circle around her. It took a minute to get her bearings. Lightning lit the sky, the forks sizzling brightly as one slammed to earth, signaling Andor had killed Jannik and was incinerating his heart and body. She kept backpedaling, trying to find the vampire who had gotten lost in the attack by the crows.

  She knew if she’d stayed close to Andor, the ceiling he had raised to prevent Jannik Astor from escaping via air would have protected her. It was a hard lesson. Her head hurt so bad she wanted to vomit. Instead, she tried to find the vampire in the dark. The crows returned to the trees so she turned off the flamethrower and ran back to the safety of her lifemate.

  “O jelä peje terád, emni,” Andor said aloud. “Sun scorch you, woman,” he repeated in English. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking I wanted to keep that thing off you until you killed the other one.”

  He was silent a moment, moving first one way and then the other. “Thank you, Lorraine. We will work on our teamwork at a later date. You have done very well. Are you injured?”

  She realized he hadn’t seen the back of her head. “One of those birds pecked me, but otherwise, I’m okay.” She was going to have to sit down very soon. The pain made her dizzy. “Do you still want me to sit between the parents and the children out of your way?” She kept her voice very meek, hoping he would attribute her sudden cooperation to her making a mistake and not weakness.

  “Get down,” Andor called and dove past her.

  Lorraine obeyed, not looking to see the danger. She’d discovered that by the time she looked to see what was wrong, it was already too late. Reacting was far better. Vampires and Carpathians moved far too quickly. She squeezed her eyes closed briefly, trying to breathe through the pain from the laceration in her scalp. When she opened her eyes, she was looking at her lifemate.

  She’d watched countless tournaments, men and woman who fought, their bodies fluid and well-trained. Athletes, every one of them. Andor moved in a completely different realm of athleticism. Every muscle in his body performed to its greatest potential. There was no fear when the monster came at him, all teeth and raking claws, nails the size of a grizzly’s. There was no hesitation in him.

  He went straight at the creature and then, at the very last possible second, whirled to one side and sliced through the chest with a casual sweep of his hand. She closed her eyes again as black blood dripped to the ground, smoking where it hit, the little drops of acid containing several wiggling worms.

  Lorraine opened her eyes again and there was more of the black blood on the ground, this time from a stroke around the throat. She knew what he was doing, weakening his opponent. All fighters knew the technique. The difference was, he was so casual about it, as if he was merely dancing, rather than in a life-or-death fight. His feet glided smoothly, his body appeared at ease. There was no tension. No strain.

  Andor suddenly struck with one hand and whirled around, slamming his fist deep into the vampire’s chest. She would never get over that sight—a hunter’s arm buried deep in a chest, black blood pouring over his skin, burning it, dripping to the ground. She would never forget the sound, a terrible sucking noise as he extracted the blackened, wizened organ, clutching it in his fist, fingers closed tightly around it while that black blood dripped. Then there was the sound of the vampire screaming, the shriek hurting her ears as Andor tossed the heart onto the ground and a blazing lash of lightning incinerated it and then jumped to the still writhing vampire.

  Andor turned back toward her. We have to wipe the memories from the minds of these humans and heal any wounds on them before we leave.

  Last child secure. The phrase to remove him from the safety circle is “Curious George likes his bike.”

  Ferro had waited for what seemed forever to hear those words. He had already found the place the master vampire had hidden. The forest was cool and should have felt fresh. Instead, the air was heavy and unnaturally silent. There were no cicadas making their music. No lizards or mice scurrying in the leaves. Animals had fled the area. He hadn’t found one within the three-mile circumference he’d scanned. An abomination was close.

  He stayed very still, waiting for one mistake. Eventually, the master vampire, depending on his age, would make one. Right now, Ferro had narrowed his search to a small group of trees. Leaves seemed wilted. An abundance of needles had dropped. Black sap ran down three of the trees, and one trunk was split. All of those things indicated an abomination of nature was close, or had been there.

  He studied the split trunk carefully. It was very possible the master vampire had hidden himself in the tree, but his presence had cracked the trunk before he wanted to emerge so he’d left that one open and dying. There was an abundance of insects crawling on the tree closest to it and also along the roots that were bare along the ground. Several of the tree roots looped naturally up into the air. Even in the dark, Ferro could see without hindrance, and there was movement in those roots.

&
nbsp; The hunter shifted the wind minutely, just enough so that the turn wouldn’t be noticed as anything but natural. He shifted into mere molecules floating on the breeze, allowing it to carry him close to the suspect tree. As he neared his destination, he could see the dark hole at the base of the tree. A wild boar had dug, exposing the roots and feasting on some of them. Inside the hole was a mound of black, stinging insects that were no more natural than the sap running along two of cracked limbs overhead.

  He moved into position. For centuries, the inside of trees was often a favorite spot for a master vampire to hide while he sacrificed his pawns to a hunter. Ferro had seen it too many times. He had also seen traps the master vampire set up, one such as this, cleverly done, where the hunter would believe the undead was in one tree, when in fact, he was in another.

  Ferro waited, seeing with more than his eyes. He was a dangerous fighter, much more so than any other hunter he had encountered, and his brethren were the best among them. He wanted the fight over as soon as possible. If he lingered, the nothingness inside him always yawned wide, threatening to engulf him.

  “Muonìak te avoisz te—I command you to reveal yourself.” He spoke in the ancient language, words of great power. Those words rarely worked on a master unless the hunter uttering them was far more powerful. All those who had locked themselves away in the monastery held such power.

  The master vampire emerged slowly from the split tree, right where Ferro had positioned himself, guessing correctly that the other trees had been set as a trap. Suddenly he rushed Ferro. The vampire would have done much better had he simply kept to his slow pace when he emerged from the tree. Coming so fast allowed Ferro to slam his fist home using the momentum from the undead’s attack. His fingers settled around the heart while the master vampire hissed and roared, fighting like a madman, tearing at Ferro’s face and chest.