Dark Blood (43 page)

She heard her own scream, a frightened, pain-filled cry, torn from her in spite of all resolution not to show Xaviero weakness. Of course he’d targeted the women. She’d been so wrapped up in her work, she hadn’t thought to keep one eye out for an attack.

The hellhound ripped a great chunk of flesh from her shoulder, and clamped down a second time on the bone. His teeth seemed to meet in the middle and he shook her like a rag doll. There was no way to shift, no way to reach into her belt and retrieve the knife there.

Skyler rolled on the ground beneath the hellhound, a knife in her fist, blade up. She cut the legs of the beast, slicing tendons and ligaments as she rolled to the other side. As she came up in a crouch, she slammed the blade into the eye of the hellhound and leapt away from the creature before it could release Branislava and attack her.

Razvan came out of nowhere, covered in blood, his face a mask of intent, eyes blazing fire as he leapt over one hellhound, slamming his arrow deep into its eye, knocked down a
Sange rau
and launched himself in the air at the last moment, to land squarely on the back of the hellhound attacking Branislava.

He wrapped one arm around the beast’s head, jerking it back hard as he plunged his knife into the animal’s remaining good eye. The hellhound shuddered. Took a step and collapsed over the top of Branislava. Razvan pulled her out from under the heavy creature, his fingers moving over her shoulder to determine how much damage had been done.

“Thanks. Both of you.” She included Skyler. “Thank you.”

Razvan nodded. “It’s not broken, but right now, drive out every bit of bacteria. You’ll need to cauterize it as fast as possible.”

It hurt, even when she did her best to push the pain away. Even pushing out the strands of bacteria was painful. Burning it clean hurt even more. She set her teeth and nodded to Razvan that she was good and could go back to work. A part of her was very grateful that he stood guard over the four of them. The thought of another hellhound getting ahold of her was terrifying. With a little shudder she turned back to begin peeling the layers back on the heavy strands of magic protecting the mage’s power grid.

The fire let out a roar, as if alive, and maybe it was with the aid of the mages. The flames turned blue in the middle of the conflagration, a storm of defiant color in the midst of the raging blaze. The flames leapt higher and higher, nearly climbing to the fog ceiling, the black smoke spreading like a cancer overhead. The tremendous heat drove everyone away from the site, not because the Carpathians couldn’t control their temperatures, but because the fire melted everything in its range.

The ground shifted, a jarring warning that stopped nearly everyone in their tracks. Even the few remaining hellhounds paused uneasily. Xaviero walked out of the protective circle, unbending, unafraid, a blue light glowing around him. His brother came from the other side, just as impressive, wrapped in that same mystique that set them apart from the rest of the world.

They kept to the shadows, making no sound at all, yet commanding the attention of every combatant. The hellhounds rushed to them, slinking low, like pets who had been beaten but were at the command of their masters. Both mages waved their hands and a candle on either side of the triangle they formed with the fire leapt to life, the flames flickering blue to match the center of the larger blaze.

The ground trembled a second time, a great crack zigzagging through the center of the triangle Xaviero, Xayvion and the fire formed, in the exact center of power between the trees the two had prepared in advance. Soil erupted into a geyser and then collapsed in on itself, forming a sinkhole several feet in diameter.

The candles on either side of the triangle leapt in glee, the flames turning blue to answer the blue crystals both mages scattered on the ground surrounding the sinkhole. A blast of heat rose from below, as if a great volcano lurked just beneath the surface. The fog above their heads reflected an orange-red hue cast from the melted rock deep in the sinkhole.

A hush fell over the battlefield. Both mages stepped out of the shadows, ringed by the hellhounds to guard them as they performed their ritual. Dressed in purple robes, they lifted their arms and opened them wide. In complete synchronization, the two chanted the foulest of dark magic, demanding the gates of hell be opened.

I call to the devil of black rock’s depth,

Let these souls travel the devil’s spine.

Let them be the offering to all that is dark,

So that none may undo this time.

Let these souls serve as fodder,

As hunger feeds.

Let their blood seal the bond,

Let their blood seal this need.

Branislava winced at the demonic, vile incantation, the deal they were making. They ordered and cajoled. They commanded and yet supplicated. The arrogance of the two mages shocked her. What they would bring back from the dead would be far worse than what Xavier had been. She shuddered thinking of the reign of terror he would provide. The mage voices rose in volume as they continued with their bid to free their brother.

Each soul I send,

I exchange for life.

I sign with you now with blood and life,

From this day forward I am bound to serve.

Be ever to be immortal,

For what has been served.

From spirit and blood, flesh and bone,

I sign this pact now with immortality won.

Xaviero gestured toward the fire, crooking his little finger, summoning their offering. The prisoner was wrapped from head to toe in silver chain. A tall, broad-shouldered
Sange rau
dragged him from behind the fire and shoved him into the triangle so hard he fell facedown in the dirt. The
Sange rau
moved back quickly, clearly not wanting to get too close to the mage. With no hands to stop him, the prisoner’s face buried itself in the grime. He lay unmoving for a moment, no sound escaping. Very slowly he turned over and in spite of the chains, managed to get into a sitting position.

Zev’s heart stuttered. Went still.
Branka. That is my grandfather. That’s Hemming. I would know him anywhere, even though the silver has burned into his skin and he’s been tortured beyond endurance. That’s Hemming.

Don’t move. Don’t speak or draw attention to yourself in any way,
Branislava cautioned.
You are alpha. Above all matters. He cannot feel your emotion or he can draw more power from it. Your grandfather carries your grandmother’s blood. He is now mixed blood as you are, and he is a strong Dark Blood.

Zev hadn’t really considered that. He’d been told by the Carpathians that he was of the Dark Blood lineage many times, but he never really understood what it meant. He thought of himself as Lycan. If he considered himself Carpathian at all, it was as a brother to Fen and Dimitri. Now, with his grandfather chained and about to be slain so Xavier could have his body and his spirit could go to hell in exchange, he realized that all along, it was this the mages had been looking to do.

They wanted the body and blood of a Dark Blood, and his grandfather had probably walked right into their trap. He had gone looking for those who had murdered his mate. One by one he had hunted them down. Of course Xaviero would have heard the rumors. It would have taken little effort to lure Hemming to him.

They can’t have him,
Zev said, absolute determination in his mind and voice.

Of course they can’t. We’re close to tearing down his powerhouse, but it takes time to unravel what he’s wrought. Inch your way to the weakest side, the side of the fire. He won’t be expecting an attack from that side,
Branislava advised.

Because it’s impossible. The fire is so hot it’s melting anything within several feet of it. He’s burning blue flames inside of it. My body can’t withstand such a temperature, Branka. I’ve tried regulating it, but he has magic in that fire.

My love—
her voice overwhelmed him with tenderness—
trust me. Wrap yourself in me. My spirit is woven to yours. My body belongs to you. My soul is the other half of yours. I am fire. Cloak yourself with my dragon scales and in darkness make your way to your grandfather. It can be done.

You should have been a general, mon chaton féroce
. He had much to learn about being Carpathian. His woman was brilliant.

Fen. Dimitri,
he said
. Step slowly in front of me. Slowly, so you don’t draw the attention of either of the demon brothers.

Fen moved first, gliding without seeming to, his body coming in at an angle to allow Zev to slip behind him. Dimitri immediately shifted his weight from one leg to the other, effectively blocking Zev from sight. Instantly Zev shifted, going completely invisible. He moved through the crowd with stealth, careful to keep from alerting a hound or making one of the remaining
Sange rau
nervous.

He realized the packs had done a tremendous job in bringing down the mage’s army. There were very few of the
Sange rau
left alive. The mages had given the illusion that there were many more, but he counted no more than a dozen left, including the one who had shoved his grandfather into the dirt.

Zev conveyed the information to Fen and Dimitri. They would spread the word and the Carpathians would make certain they were in a good position to take down the remaining
Sange rau
if need be. He hoped if they managed to kill the mages and destroy their plan, the mixed bloods would understand what and who they had worked for. Perhaps they were under some kind of spell. They certainly weren’t members of the Sacred Circle, although one or two of those he’d killed, he recognized from meeting them in their packs. They’d definitely started out as Lycan.

He inched his way through the crowd, staying as low to the ground as possible, winding his way without form toward the fire. Even without his body he felt the terrible melting power of the blue flame. He knew as he approached it that that flame was part of the power grid Branislava and the others were trying to take down.

Zev wrapped his body in his lifemate, feeling her dragon scales close over his skin, those fiery protective scales that warded off even the heat of a magical blue flame. He sent her the overwhelming love he felt for her, his faith in her, and most of all his gratitude for her. Even in the middle of her working at destroying Xaviero’s web of power, she enfolded him in love. He was not going alone through that fire.

He wore the red-gold scales like a long hooded coat of armor. He moved slowly even though he felt the fierce heat. The scales reflected the hot blue flames back away from him and he found he could actually breathe as he inched his way toward his grandfather.

For the first time he was truly grateful for his mixed blood. With those silver chains, Hemming would never be able to run. He would have to sling him over his shoulder and carry him away from that triangle and the fearsome opening in the ground. He couldn’t look into that hellhole.

As he neared his goal, Xaviero stood over Hemming, his ceremonial knife held high in his hand. The knife was much larger than he had ever seen in a ceremony, looking more as if it could kill a huge animal, much less a man. Runes danced across the silver blade, continually moving as if thirsty for the blood of the Dark Blood the mage intended to murder, yet not sever his head, preserving the body for Xavier.

Hemming didn’t try to move away, nor did he look away from Xaviero. The silver chains had to be agony, burned so deeply into his skin Zev could barely make out that there was actually skin left on his grandfather. The prisoner was fully aware of his surroundings and the intentions of the mage, but he didn’t blink, staring defiantly at Xaviero as he chanted, his voice rising with Xayvion’s.

The four women had cast their circle of protection right under the noses of the mages’ watchdogs. Each time a
Sange rau
or a hellhound got near them, Daciana’s pack, along with Tomas, Andre, Lojos, Mataias and Razvan, kept them back. Fen, Dimitri or Zev had come in to finish the job of taking down any threat to the women.

Branislava lifted her arms, uncaring that either of the mages or their sentinels might spot her. It was now or never. Tatijana, Skyler and Ivory followed her actions.

Alder, battle witch, heed to my call,

It is time for battle, evil must fall.

Cedar known as the tree of life,

I call to you now as the gates of hell come to life
.

The four women joined their power, merged minds and became one single entity, one heart and goal—to stop the mage from his dark deeds.

Blackthorn straif, Dark Crone of the woods,

I have need of your power, stand and slay that which must be undone,

Ancient oak Dagda,

Dominion of power I call to you now, feast on this blackest of powers.

Now,
Branislava whispered into his mind.
Hurry.

Zev didn’t hesitate, trusting her. The flames of the two candles flickered, leapt and then died. The four remaining trees that helped formed the inverted pentagram each began to change, starting in their root systems. A healthy mottled bark replaced the sickly white color from the ground up the tree to the reaching branches, and finally the leaves turned silvery green.

Zev burst into the triangle as the source of power faded, careful not to touch the mage, but literally snatching the chained body out from under the knife plunging downward toward the heart. He rolled with his grandfather, away from the mage and out of the triangle, coming to his feet and shifting Hemming’s body over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

The hellhounds reacted, snarling and charging him, their speed utterly incredible. Zev ran at them, closing the distance between them every bit as fast. When he was just feet from the massive beasts, he hurdled them, using the strength from his mixed blood, the Lycan’s ability to spring and the distance and speed of the combination of species.