Dark Lycan (Carpathian)

by Feehan, Christine

  Natalya. Vikirnoff reached for his lifemate. She was in the corridor ahead, closer to the prince, waiting just in case something got past her lifemate and endangered the prince. Do not attempt to fight this creature if he gets past me.

  If he gets past you that means you are no longer in this world, she answered. I will do my duty and defend my prince and join with you as soon as possible.

  Neither of you will sacrifice your lives uselessly, Mikhail decreed. If he should get past Fen, fall back and let us see if any of our defenses work against him. The sun is climbing in the sky. Surely even the Sange rau will be affected as we are. After all, he is vampire, Mikhail reasoned.

  The fight between Abel and Fen raged on. Neither seemed to get the upper hand and both bore terrible wounds, but that didn’t slow them down. Most vicious fights were over in a matter of minutes, but the two seemed to sustain the physical energy necessary to continue the battle indefinitely.

  “Join me, Fenris Dalka. You can see we are the superior race. We can command the wolves and the Carpathian people alike. The humans will be our cattle. You will die here defending a species that should be extinct,” Abel proposed as they broke apart.

  Blood ran in streams from both of them. Abel wiped at his chest and licked his fingers, smirking as he did so.

  “Stalling isn’t a good idea, Abel. If you’re waiting for Bardolf to join you, you’ll be waiting a long time,” Fen said.

  The smile faded from Abel’s face. His eyes turned wholly black. Fen didn’t wait for the attack, but launched himself fast, going low, sweeping the legs out from under the Sange rau. He stabbed down hard with a silver stake, missing the heart, but opening another hole in Abel’s chest. Blood poured out, hopefully weakening him more.

  Abel rolled, his legs locking around Fen as he lifted up and slammed him down on the hard ground, trying to drive the air from his lungs. As he forced Fen into the ground, the hard rock beneath them rose in sharpened spikes. Fen grunted as he landed on his back, the spikes driving deep. Just that fast, the spikes dissolved, although the damage had been done to Fen’s back. Fen rolled up, punching his fist through Abel’s ribs. The snapping sound was audible.

  As Fen regained his feet, Vikirnoff could see blood pouring from the deep punctures on his back. Just as he was certain he would lose so much blood that the vampire/wolf cross would have the advantage in spite of the broken ribs, the wounds in Fen’s back appeared to close and the blood stopped flowing.

  Abel and Fen crashed together again, this time, Fen spinning Abel around to slam him face first into the side of the tunnel. The walls of the tunnel had grown thick crystals, thousands bursting out of the rock. The mountain shivered. The force Fen used to drive Abel into the wall was so enormous the crystals shattered into thousands of razor-sharp pieces.

  Abel pushed back, slamming his head into Fen’s forehead. Fen staggered back, giving Abel room to turn. His face was a mask of hatred and blood. Fen looked cool and confident, no expression, not of anger or pain. They both moved with breathtaking speed, Fen firing several rapid punches into Abel’s face, driving the crystals deeper into the flesh so that Abel wore a mask of bloody gems.

  The two combatants moved so fast Vikirnoff found himself standing a few yards away, his bow lowered and his mouth opened. Not only were they blurred, but they were also changing the landscape around them into weapons so fast he could barely catch it all. As fast as one would create a weapon, the other would neutralize it.

  Vikirnoff, fall back. You and Natalya join me.

  Vikirnoff hesitated. He had one purpose in that moment—to protect his prince. He had been assigned a position by the prince’s primary guardian . . .

  Now. You can both serve me best from behind our safeguards.

  There was pure command in Mikhail’s tone. Vikirnoff abandoned his position and hurriedly made his way down the corridor to the prince. Natalya joined him. Both could still see the furious fighting taking place.

  Mikhail brought down the last and most intricate of their safeguards to allow Natalya and Vikirnoff through. Immediately he resurrected them again, all the while watching the two Sange raus’ furious battle.

  “Fen is slowly moving his opponent backward. It’s slow,” Mikhail pointed out, “but clearly he’s trying to get him out from under the mountain. There’s a disturbance outside as well. I can feel a second battle taking place.”

  “The man fighting with Fen is Abel, an ancient. I believe he’s connected to your family in some way,” Vikirnoff said. “It took a few minutes to place him.”

  The mountain shivered again as Fen and Abel crashed into the ceiling. Great spikes of spun silver burst from the walls, burning into Abel’s body from every direction. Abel screamed with pain. Fen was on him instantly, driving one of the stakes deep into the chest by using his fist. He grabbed Abel’s shoulders and hurled him out of the corridor, back into the early morning sunlight.

  “I can see why the Lycans have forbidden the cross of blood between Lycan and Carpathian,” Mikhail mused. “There seems to be no stopping them. Abel didn’t slow down, not even when he was pierced with silver stakes.”

  “I feel like we should be trying to help Fen,” Vikirnoff said. “But I’m not certain how we can go to his aid.”

  For the first time he knew what Mikhail, as the prince of their people, must feel like when he couldn’t go out and join in a fight. Carpathians were warriors. It wasn’t in their nature to sit back and watch another battle, especially if that person was one of their own. He had never considered how Mikhail must feel when he was relegated to the sidelines, always having his people standing between him and danger.

  Vikirnoff knew he was the prince’s last protection, but still, everything in his body, mind and very soul needed to be out there helping Fen. He felt cowardly, crouched behind a safeguard while another hunter was outside alone with a killing machine.

  “You’d just be in his way,” Mikhail pointed out, reading his mind. “He can’t look after you and fight this monster. Besides, it appears as if Fen is a killing machine as well.”

  Vikirnoff nodded. Natalya moved up beside him, close, not touching, but offering him comfort, fully aware of his frustration. He was grateful to her. He couldn’t help feeling better when she was near. “Still, there should be something we can do for him.”

  “He’ll need blood,” Mikhail pointed out. “The patches he applies when Abel tears him open appear to be temporary.”

  “Gregori needs to see this.”

  “He’s busy at the moment trying to make certain we don’t lose Gary, but I’m passing on to him everything about the Sange rau that we observe.”

  Fen was aware of the unease of his fellow Carpathians, but grateful that they used good sense not to join in the battle. He couldn’t watch out for them and anticipate Abel’s moves and react at the same time. As it was, part of him was engaged in the battle taking place outside.

  Overhead, the clear early morning rays were gone, replaced by a ferocious storm. Black clouds churned and roiled overhead, a giant cauldron of boiling nature. White lightning laced the edges of the clouds, flashing and sparking, great forks veining each of the dark clouds. Few were better than Dimitri at creating the ultimate storm.

  A whip of lightning lashed the mountainside, hitting directly into a thin crack. Sparks rose up, and Bardolf yelped. He sprang into the air, furious that Dimitri had struck him again with the whip of lightning. Once was bad enough, but the Carpathian hunter was playing a game of hit and run. Dimitri had planned for the anger. Fen had counseled him that Bardolf didn’t have the control Abel did.

  I can see why you serve a master, Dimitri taunted.

  He shifted into the form of a smaller hawk, streaking through the branches of the high canopy in the forest, making certain to stay close to the edge of the meadow, certain Bardolf had been ordered to stay close to the tunnel to keep any Carpathian
from interfering.

  I serve no master. Bardolf blasted into the sky after the small hawk. He chose the form of a great harpy eagle, talons as large as bear claws. He was fast, very fast and he caught up fairly quickly.

  Dimitri and Fen had played many war games over the last few centuries, and Dimitri used the same tactics that had been successful on his brother. He lengthened the branches, and this time changed the leaves and needles to spikes. The smaller hawk was able to maneuver through the dense foliage, but the larger eagle crashed into the lengthening branches, the spikes driving into the body and wings of the bird.

  A little slow for a Sange rau, aren’t you? Dimitri taunted.

  Vampires and werewolves definitely had egos. Getting Bardolf angry was a good tactic in that if he was mad, he might make mistakes. Dimitri had been trained for centuries in fighting the Sange rau. The practice sessions with Fen might have been games, but he’d learned what worked and what didn’t. He wasn’t as fast, but his tricks would work once, just enough to hurt his opponent and hopefully slow him down.

  Bardolf’s echoing cry reverberated through the trees as the body of the eagle tumbled, bleeding from several wounds. Feathers floated to the ground, but Bardolf recovered midair, shifting to a smaller owl and streaking toward Dimitri once more.

  Dimitri waited until he was very close and blasted him with a sudden downdraft, driving the owl straight toward the earth. Bardolf went down fast. As he fell to earth, the ground rose to meet him. Bardolf hit hard.

  Dimitri deliberately snickered, digging at him again. I thought you were supposed to have been an alpha, a leader of the pack. You don’t fly so well, do you?

  Bardolf yelled, a ferocious sound making the trees shiver. He launched himself again, this time streaking straight at Dimitri, shifting as he did so, slamming into the Carpathian before Dimitri could move, claws ripping at his chest and belly, digging deep.

  Dimitri shifted out from under him the moment Bardolf drew back for another assault. Bardolf made his grab but his hands went through empty space. Dimitri couldn’t afford to allow the Sange rau to actually catch him. The idea was to hit and run, not get caught. He’d been a little slow and he paid the price. Bardolf was so fast, he’d sliced Dimitri’s body in a dozen places before Dimitri could actually shift.

  He became tiny molecules, and instead of doing what Bardolf anticipated, he attached himself to the Sange rau’s clothing, allowing the wolf/vampire to take him up to the storm where he was expected to be. Bardolf sniffed around, his acute sense of smell telling him Dimitri was near, but he couldn’t find him in the roiling, spinning clouds.

  Dimitri had practiced the move on his brother hundreds of times, but he hadn’t been wounded. Blood hadn’t been leaking from his body to give his position away. He didn’t have much time to control the bleeding and slip off Bardolf. Ahead of him, he wove four different strands and sent them out into the storm, forcing the wolf/vampire to make a choice of which would be Dimitri.

  Bardolf took the bait, hesitating for a moment, using his enhanced vision to try to choose the one element he believed was his Carpathian opponent. He made up his mind and flew after the strand leading back toward the opening to the mountain. Dimitri abandoned him, moving into a dark, spinning cloud, catching his breath and preparing his next move.

  The Sange rau suddenly changed direction as if he’d been summoned. Dimitri’s pulse jumped. Fen? You okay? Bardolf is headed your way fast.

  Can you stop him? Slow him down?

  His brother sounded the same way he always sounded. Matter-of-fact. But Dimitri touched his mind for a moment. There was pain. Exhaustion. Blood loss. No problem. I’m on it now.

  Dimitri studied the trajectory of the wolf/vampire hurtling recklessly toward his master. In his hurry to obey, Bardolf forgot the cat and mouse game they’d been playing, dismissing Dimitri as of little consequence. After all, Dimitri hadn’t actually engaged in a fight with him.

  Dimitri used the storm he’d built. Superheating a pocket of air was easy enough. Placing it exactly where Bardolf would choose to fly was the much more difficult part, but Dimitri had spent lifetimes running with the wolves. The real thing. He’d spent time with his brother, who had become Lycan.

  Bardolf thought as a wolf first. He was comfortable in that skin. He was familiar with it and seemed to hesitate before he used the gifts his vampire blood gave him. Dimitri thought like a wolf as well. He’d run with them for centuries and studied their behavior. Bardolf was comfortable with a pack. He fought in a pack. Fighting alone was completely foreign to him.

  His master had only perpetuated that weakness in order to keep the wolf from wanting to usurp his leader. Bardolf would go straight to his alpha, taking the fastest line of flight to obey. Dimitri chose a spot just ahead of the wolf/vampire and built the searing heat. Bardolf burst into the small section and screamed as the scalding heat burned his skin.

  Bardolf backpedaled, desperate to get away from the heat burning right through him. Dimitri blasted out of the sky behind him, driving straight for him. The force of the two coming together at such a speed helped drive the stake deep into Bardolf’s back. Dimitri knew immediately he’d missed the heart. Something must have warned the Sange rau because at the last moment, he turned slightly, just enough to throw off Dimitri’s aim.

  Bardolf spun, claws whipping across Dimitri’s face, knocking him back so that he tumbled. Before he could shift, Bardolf was on him, ripping at his belly, pushing the silver stake from his body and catching it in his palm, reversing and throwing it hard at Dimitri.

  Dimitri twisted hard, trying to present the smallest target possible. The stake entered his shoulder high. The force of Bardolf’s throw drove it straight through so that the shaft left a large hole behind. Bardolf immediately pursued the injured Carpathian, following up on his advantage. Dimitri had suspected all along that he was close to becoming the Sange rau, and the terrible, relentless burn of the silver confirmed it for him.

  Get out of there! Fen called out urgently, seeing his brother falling out of the sky, a spray of blood surrounding him and the Sange rau streaking toward him.

  Fen had thrown Abel out of the tunnel and into the meadow where he knew the traps Gregori had prepared for a vampire were waiting. He was counting on the sun, but the storm overhead kept the harmful rays from reaching Abel. He had a choice—follow up on his advantage—or to go the aid of his brother. He was protecting the prince and that had to be his first priority . . .

  He drove both feet hard into Abel’s face, smashing the crystals deeper into the skin. Abel fell back into a fine net of silver. Fen launched himself skyward, intercepting Bardolf before the Sange rau could get to his brother.

  Fen was faster and much more skilled. He’d been Sange rau for centuries, long before Bardolf had been, and he’d been an ancient Carpathian hunter. The wolf wasn’t comfortable in the sky, in the midst of a violent storm, but Fen was right at home. And he was protecting his brother. More, he felt aggressive toward Bardolf, enraged even that he’d dared to try to kill Dimitri. That emotion had never once been with him in battle.

  He hit Bardolf hard, slamming him down with air pressure as well as physical force. Bardolf hit the ground and rolled, trying to get to his feet as Fen dropped on top of him.

  Dimitri, get out of here now. You need blood fast. His tone brooked no argument. In any case, Dimitri had a lifemate. He wouldn’t throw his life away, and anyway, he was too wounded to help.

  Fen drove a stake deep into Bardolf’s body as he landed on him, straddling him, pinning him down. Still, Bardolf’s immense strength as both wolf and vampire came into play, allowing him to once again avoid the stake to the heart. He was bleeding in dozens of places, but he still squirmed away from the deadly silver stake.

  He shifted, falling back on his wolf, tearing at Fen’s body, biting hard on his thigh, nearly going to bone, refusing to let go, pulling at
the flesh and sinew, determined to get to the artery. Cursing, Fen had no choice but to let him go. Bardolf immediately shifted again, taking to the air, streaking like a comet away from the battleground, self-preservation uppermost in his mind. He abandoned his master, running for his life, leaving behind a trail of blood in the sky.

  Fen had to choose to follow him or go back to stop Abel. Every cell in his body wanted to follow Bardolf for daring to put a hand on his brother, but honor and duty demanded he protect the prince. With another snarl and curse, he streaked back to the tunnel. He could see the blood where Dimitri had chosen to go inside. He could get blood from Vikirnoff and Mikhail and yet still help to defend the prince. That was his brother. Always choosing the right path in spite of the danger to himself.

  Dimitri paused as he swept past Abel. If he had been one hundred percent he would have tried to engage with the Sange rau, but he had lost too much blood and the silver netting clearly wasn’t going to hold Abel for much longer. Fen would have to take care of him. The best Dimitri could do to aid his brother was to clear the storm so the sun could break through and help to guard the prince.

  He sent word ahead that he was coming in fast and would need blood. He didn’t want to get caught in any of the traps set for vampires as he rushed down the tunnel to the back of the cavern. Mikhail had the safeguards down and immediately he offered his wrist. Dimitri didn’t hesitate. Mikhail’s blood was powerful and would aid in healing him.

  Both Vikirnoff and Natalya began attending his wounds, trying to stop the flow of precious blood. He hadn’t realized just how many deep lacerations Bardolf had managed to inflict in the few brief encounters when they came together.

  “You’re a little crazy,” Vikirnoff told him. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “He’s coming,” Mikhail announced.

  Dimitri nearly stopped taking blood, but Mikhail indicated to continue. “We need you as strong as possible.”