Fen spread his hands out in front of him, fingers wide. “People like me are called Sange Rau, literally bad blood in the Lycan world. We are hated and hunted the instant it is known we exist.” He shrugged. “I could live with that from the Lycans. I understand their reasoning. The only mixed bloods they have known have been vampire-Lycan. To them, that is what I am should I be discovered. The idea of my own people condemning what I’ve become did not sit with me so easily.”
Gregori turned his head, those pale silver eyes moving over Fen in a careful study. “You are not so easily killed, even by one of us.”
Fen gave him a slight nod in response to the compliment. Gregori only stated the truth, he wasn’t out to flatter Fen. Clearly Gregori had made a show of Jacques and Falcon’s presence because he knew they would need more than one hunter to try to kill him. And then whose side would Tatijana come down on? She had sworn her allegiance to the prince, and no Dragonseeker would ever break their word after giving it.
He took another slow look around the room. There were others. There had to be more than just these three warriors protecting the prince. He had allowed the house to confuse his senses while they distracted him with talk. He was happier to be in his homeland, surrounded by his own people, than he’d let himself believe. That had also thrown his guard off a bit. And then there was Tatijana . . .
He sighed. “You may as well tell the insect in the rafters to come on down. The mouse in that tiny hole over there”—he indicated his left—“and the knot directly behind me is concealing a beetle of some sort. If there are others, they certainly are adept at hiding, but being in the body of something so small for so long, makes for slow fighters.”
The flying insect in the rafters responded first, shimmering into the form of a tall, broad-shouldered male with strange-colored, nearly aquamarine eyes. His hair was very long, nearly to his waist, thick and tethered with a single long leather cord winding all the way down to secure even the ends, a typical way to bind hair for battle. Fen recognized him immediately and to his shock, relief spread through him. Mataias had been a childhood friend.
Fen had known Falcon, but he’d grown up close to Mataias and his brothers. They’d run wild together in the mountains, learned battle skills and shifting on the run. They’d been like family, and he’d lost track of them. He came to his feet and clasped Mataias’s forearms in the age-old traditional welcome between two warriors.
“Arwa-arvo olen isäntä, ekäm—honor keep you, my brother,” Fen greeted.
Mataias’s answering grip was strong. “Arwa-arvo pile sívadet—may honor light your heart.”
“It’s good to see you,” Fen said, meaning it. He truly felt as if he had come home, seeing Mataias, knowing he hadn’t succumbed to the ever-present darkness.
The fact that Mataias was there meant the other two guarding the prince had to be his brothers. The siblings were never far from one another. Coming from a long line of respected warriors, they had traveled together to see each other through darker times. They were lethal hunters, calm, experienced, and coordinated their attacks with expertise, much like the packs of Lycans. A master vampire had killed their parents when their mother was pregnant and they’d hunted the vampire across two continents, with a ruthless, implacable purpose, never stopping until they had found and destroyed him.
“Lojos and Tomas may as well show themselves,” Fen added.
“Did you smell them?” Gregori asked.
Fen glanced over at him. Clearly he’d been testing something new. He shook his head. “No, not even with my Lycan senses heightened.”
Gregori nodded. “Good. We’ve got a couple of brilliant researchers working for us, and this was one product I thought would be good to use if the Lycans are invading.”
Fen shook his head. “They aren’t like that. They’ve never been like that. They remain in the background, working quietly to keep their packs as strong as possible, but they’ve integrated into human society well. I can’t see them making a decision out of the blue to suddenly go to war with Carpathians.”
The small mouse grew and kept growing fast, until another Carpathian male, looking very much like a clone of the first one, came forward to greet Fen with the traditional forearm clasp. His eyes were as brilliant aquamarine as his brother’s. His hair was identical as well as body frame, but Lojos had a web of scarring running down his left shoulder and arm, all the way to his hand. It was very unusual for any Carpathian to scar. The wounds had to be near fatal, the suffering great.
“Well met, brother,” Fen said, meaning it. “Veri olen piros, ekäm.” Literally the greeting translated to blood be red, my brother, but figuratively, it meant “find your lifemate.”
They stood eye to eye, staring into each other’s pasts. Fen knew what it was like to struggle against the darkness, to be alone in the midst of others—even those you could only cling to the memory of loving.
“This is your lifemate? A Dragonseeker?” Lojos shook his head. “You are a very lucky man, Fen. This Lycan hunter you call Zev, the one so badly wounded, with his belly ripped open. I have watched him, and he is healing at a remarkable rate for the extent of his injuries.”
Fen knew they all were listening for every detail. “Lycans regenerate very quickly, which is one of the reasons, when you take them on, you have to know how to properly kill them. They aren’t easy. Zev is an elite fighter, one of the best I’ve ever seen. He was willing to take on the rogue pack alone in order to allow me to get Tatijana out of harm’s way.”
The men looked at one another, secretly amused that a Lycan thought to protect a Carpathian, especially one who was Dragonseeker.
“Obviously he didn’t know what, or who she was,” Fen said.
“You admire this man.” Gregori made it a statement.
“Yes, very much. You don’t get to his position without seeing hundreds, if not thousands of battles with packs. The moment he and Dimitri realized the one leading the rogues was one of the Sange rau, they held off the pack in order to allow me the opportunity to destroy the demon. Zev didn’t hesitate to put himself in a very dangerous situation. He knew he could die, but he didn’t back down.”
The small beetle fit snugly in the knot landed on the floor and grew with alarming speed into the shape of the first two brothers. When he clasped Fen’s forearms in the warrior’s greeting, Fen could see the droplets of scars down the right side of his face, almost like tears, all the way to his jaw. The same strange scars ran up his temple and disappeared into his hairline.
“Bur tule ekämet kuntamak—well met, brother-kin,” the third brother greeted Fen. “It is good you found your lifemate. I have thought often of you over the last centuries, and hoped I would never have to meet you in battle.”
“I felt the same, Tomas,” Fen admitted honestly. “So many of us have been lost to the darkness.”
He took another careful look around. The prince had these three experienced warriors, Gregori, Falcon and Jacques to protect him against an unknown Lycan/Carpathian combination. In his house. Close quarters. Gregori had an inkling of what he could do. There was another somewhere. Someone extraordinary, their ace in the hole. There was one other from his childhood. A little older, only by a decade or so, which was nothing in the years of Carpathians. He’d always been a little odd, but he’d been a source of vast knowledge. Andre. Some called him the ghost. He often passed through, wiped out any vampires in an area and was never seen or heard from. But he left his mark, and Fen had tried to keep track of him. He’d heard that he often was near the triplets, banding to hold on in order to keep the darkness at bay.
The Carpathians had prepared for a war. They’d spent the last two years of peacetime getting ready for anything that might threaten them as a species. He was just seeing the tip of the iceberg.
“Fen.” Mikhail’s cool voice brought him back to the business at hand. “The Carpathian people know
the difference between a Carpathian and a vampire. You are no threat to us. In fact, your added speed and abilities as a Lycan only serve to aid our cause.”
Fen frowned and sank back into the comfortable chair. “The Lycans’ fear of the combination of blood is so deep that they would go to war should they find you are giving aid and harboring one of us. My presence here puts you all in jeopardy.”
He dropped the bombshell quietly, knowing he didn’t need to embellish. The stark truth was enough. Mikhail Dubrinsky was no one’s fool. He would grasp instantly the enormity of what Fen was telling him. He would hear the ring of truth and know Fen had brought a problem of an alarming magnitude to him.
“I see,” Mikhail said, steepling his fingers. “We’re going to need to know everything you know about the Lycans. Everything. The smallest detail.”
“There are very few like me,” Fen cautioned. He certainly didn’t want to be the cause of a war. “The Lycans are essentially good people,” he added. “I like them and respect them. As fighters there are few who could surpass them. They don’t look for power or glory as a rule. They live their lives within their small packs, happy with their families.”
“I am certain they are good people,” Mikhail agreed. “However, they have come to my lands without contacting me, a general courtesy, which I find unusual. A rogue pack with two of these creatures you refer to as Sange rau have also come when it simply has not happened before. We have several children who have survived into their second year. Are these coincidences? I am not such a fool as to believe that. I cannot afford to be that foolish.”
Fen had his own doubts that the timing was coincidental.
“What is your experience with becoming Lycan? What do you know of them?” Mikhail asked.
“I can tell you as the wolf gets older so does the integration between wolf and man. In the beginning the wolf is separate—a guardian so to speak, protecting the host body as soon as the other half feels its presence. The wolf brings with it history and facts it has known throughout its lifespan and that of its ancestors. He passes that information to the man half and he moves to protect that man when necessary.”
“As you grow older and more comfortable, the two, wolf and man, become one entity?” Mikhail reiterated to make certain they all understood.
Fen nodded. “Yes, that’s as close to an explanation as possible. All senses, even when in the form of a man, are heightened beyond all reason. A young wolf often cannot control the transformation—usually before the full moon. He’s clumsy and the pack watches him closely to make certain he or she doesn’t get into trouble. It’s an awkward stage.”
“One of our males has a lifemate who was Lycan but didn’t know it,” Falcon said. “How is that possible?”
“Sometimes members leave the pack, falling in love with an outsider. Their children can carry the Lycan gene, but often it doesn’t develop. Females in particular don’t always know because their wolf doesn’t come forward right away.” Fen shrugged again. “I didn’t stay with packs for long periods of time. It was too dangerous for me. They couldn’t detect the difference most of the time, but during the week of the full moon, any of them could have figured it out. I spent the full moons in the ground as often as possible. Over the last century I traveled outside of packs.”
“When do they begin training?” Gregori asked.
“In a pack, all children are trained almost from the moment they can talk. Education is all important, world affairs, the politics, cultures and running of every country. They are also taught fighting techniques and of course tracking and shifting. They’re fast. Really fast. And they’re taught battle strategy as well, training with all kinds of weapons.”
“Much like what we do with our youth,” Jacques said.
Fen nodded. “They work in the human world. They take jobs and actually serve in the militaries of whatever country they’re in. Always, always though, they answer to their pack leader, and the pack leader answers to the council.”
Mikhail got up and paced restlessly across the room. The stone fireplace was enormous and drew one’s eyes. Fen was still looking for the last warrior’s hiding place. The ghost. He was there somewhere in the room. The house was interesting in that no matter how many tall, broad-shouldered men were at the windows and close enough to guard their prince, the room felt spacious and open. Sometimes he almost felt as if the stone and wood were alive, and breathing, and watching them all.
He studied Mikhail out of the corner of his eye. The man moved with fluid grace and absolute control. Power radiated from him. He was definitely a man to lead and he took his duties very seriously. As did Gregori. Fen kept his eye on Mikhail’s second-in-command at all times.
“You have not sworn your allegiance to our prince,” Gregori said quietly.
Fen felt the familiar coiled readiness of the Lycan, but outwardly he remained stoic.
“Nor will he,” Mikhail said in that same low tone. “Did you ask him why he didn’t send for the greatest healer the Carpathian people have for his brother? He loves Dimitri, and he’s fought hard to save his life. You were close, yet he didn’t send for you, Gregori. What does that tell you?”
Gregori’s silver eyes slashed at Fen. “I do not know that answer, Mikhail.”
“Really?” One aristocratic eyebrow rose. “He tells himself he is protecting his brother, but more, he is protecting me. He believes no other will guard me as you will. He is just as concerned that we have not one, but two of these Sange rau suddenly close to me and our children. He did not want you to leave my side. Isn’t that the truth, Fenris Dalka?”
One couldn’t very well lie to the prince, but he sure didn’t want to admit he was protecting the man. He said nothing.
“That doesn’t explain why he will not swear his allegiance to you,” Gregori pointed out.
“Doesn’t it?” Mikhail turned cool dark eyes on Fen. “He believes if he swears his allegiance to me, that if the Lycans insist on destroying all like him, he’ll put me in a position of having to go to war with them.”
Fen felt the brush of Tatijana’s hand down his jaw in a small caress. He didn’t glance at her, knowing she hadn’t moved. She saw too much inside of him and that was bad enough. He could share his innermost thoughts with a lifemate but . . . He would have preferred Mikhail didn’t know anything at all about the way he thought. It only made him believe Mikhail Dubrinsky was a worthy leader. He could look into the eyes of a man and know his truth.
You’re just embarrassed because he recognizes you’re not nearly the bad wolf boy you present to the world.
Tatijana’s intimate whisper in his mind twisted his heart. She added so much to him, without even knowing it. After centuries of being utterly alone, continually holding the whisper of temptation at bay, keeping the shadows back, to have her light pouring into his heart and soul was nothing short of a miracle. In his darkest hour, her light would always be there for him.
“Fen, you are not the only Carpathian who is of mixed blood now,” Mikhail reminded in that same, low compelling voice. “I would never give up a single one of my people to make a treaty with any other species. Clearly we will have to address the council and make them understand the difference between a Carpathian/Lycan mix and a vampire/wolf mix. They are intelligent people and once it is made clear, they will see reason.”
“You are looking at centuries of prejudice, Mikhail,” Fen said. “I watched them condemn a great man, an elite hunter, one who had spent years battling and suffering to destroy the Sange rau preying on their packs. They condemned him to a slow torturous death they call Moarta de argint.”
“Death by silver,” Gregori translated.
Fen nodded. “It’s the most painful way a Lycan can possibly die. It takes days. They place hooks of silver through the body and hang them upright. Every move the victim makes trying to get away from the pain of the silver only embeds the h
ooks deeper. The silver spreads through the body, burning everything it touches until eventually the heart is pierced through. I’m whitewashing this for you, but it’s an ugly brutal way to go. Vakasin had given up his life to protect his pack, yet when they realized he was Sange rau, his own pack turned on him. They killed him knowing he had battled the Sange rau time and again for them.”
Sorrow welled up—the sorrow he’d never been able to truly feel for the man who had been his friend and partner for a full century as they battled the most difficult enemy they’d ever taken on. Vakasin had been a good man. One of the best hunters Fen had ever known. He had found it shocking and unbelievable that his own pack could turn on the elite hunter and condemn him to the Lycan’s most torturous, brutal death imaginable when they knew he was a good man.
Fen nodded toward Tatijana. “She saved Zev a few nights ago and extracted the information on weapons and how to make them properly. I would suggest arming every single warrior and, if possible, even the women just to be safe. Once you know how to kill the rogues, don’t be fooled into thinking you’re safe. They hunt in packs. This rogue pack is the biggest I’ve ever run across in all my centuries of hunting. However many silver stakes you think each person should carry on them, double the number.”
He was uncomfortable within the four walls and getting more uneasy by the moment. Healing and going out of one’s body took its toll. So, apparently, did emotions. “The wolf you see is not the one you’re in danger from. They have a pack mentality and they’ve been hunting all their lives with packs. They’ll go for the belly, rip you open and spill your insides out just to incapacitate you. No matter how high you think they can jump, double it and know it’s still probably higher. You’re never safe just because you take to the air.”
“I can see why the Lycans would worry about a blood mix between the two species if you gain the assets from either species.” Gregori’s voice was thoughtful. “That’s what happens, isn’t it? That’s why the vampire/wolf mixture is so deadly.”
Dark Lycan (Carpathian) Page 14