Dark Lycan (13 page)

He’s shadowed. How would Bardolf know how to split himself and implant a shadow in another?
Tatijana asked.
Very few mages can do this. It’s extremely difficult and very frightening. Shadows are lethal, Fen, and they can enter anyone close to them. Be careful.

Fen didn’t need to be told Drummel was shadowed. He could see Bardolf staring back at him through the eyes of the man’s body he’d commandeered. He had found a way to possess a mage as skilled and as powerful as Drummel. What did that say about Bardolf?

Drummel’s mouth moved several times, his lips struggling to form words. “I will take my pack and move on, Fenris Dalka.”

There was power in speaking another’s name. Every instinct Fen had immediately put him on guard. He stretched his senses, scanning the area around him. It was nearly impossible to detect Lycans when they wanted to remain hidden. Werewolves had a more difficult time as they couldn’t contain their energy and their eagerness for the kill, but they were still adept at hiding from the average hunter.

Be on the alert, Tatijana. There is more going on here than meets the eye.

“Why do you say this to me, Bardolf? Why not just take your pack and go?” Fen demanded.

“I want your word you will no longer hunt us.” Drool and spittle ran in long strings from Drummel’s mouth to his chin

That made no sense. Fen was a hunter. A Carpathian. Bardolf had recognized that he was both Lycan and Carpathian, which meant he had to know Fen was Carpathian first, an ancient hunter of the vampire. It was his duty, a matter of honor to hunt the undead. Bardolf was definitely the undead. He might have werewolf mixed in, but he was vampire and had to be destroyed.

“It is my sworn duty to my people to bring justice to those who have given up their souls for the rush of adrenaline they get for the kill.” Fen’s hold on Drummel’s throat was relentless. He wasn’t about to allow Bardolf’s shadow to escape and try to slip inside him. “I think you already know that.”

I will watch for the shadow. If he tries to enter you, I can repel him,
Tatijana assured.
I didn’t spend centuries in Xavier’s lair without learning every spell he ever made. Bardolf had to learn from Drummel. Yes, he was very good, but I am better.

There was no bragging in her tone. Tatijana was afraid of what was happening. She knew just how dangerous the mage was and now doubly so with Bardolf’s shadow in him. She had confidence in herself, but she didn’t want Fen to be overly confident.

Have no worries, my lady,
he assured.
What he is saying to me is pure drivel. He knows I will hunt them. I am well aware this is a stalling tactic.

He inhaled, using Lycan-heightened senses, the acute hearing and smell, but he didn’t take his eyes from Drummel.

“I offer you a deal.”

“Justice does not make deals, Bardolf. I am the one appointed to bring that justice to you.”

Drummel spit and snarled, the red eyes spinning wildly with hatred and malice before Bardolf made a tremendous effort to recover. Just that alone put Fen further on edge. Vampires were not known for their control. Why would Bardolf make such an effort?

Fen, I am telling you, if Bardolf was Lycan before he became vampire, he could not possibly have placed a shadow of himself inside of a mage of Drummel’s importance. An ancient Carpathian might know. Even a vampire might have run across a mage willing to trade his soul for immortality, but how would a Lycan even know about such things?
Tatijana asked.

If Tatijana was right, and she was the daughter of the most powerful mage in history, then Bardolf couldn’t have placed his shadow in Drummel. Fen didn’t wait to find out what Bardolf had to say next. There was no reasoning with madmen, and he saw no reason to wait for the attack he knew was coming any moment. He struck hard and fast, breaking Drummel’s neck.

The mage’s eyes opened wide, Bardolf staring in shock and horror. The body seized, convulsed. Poisonous sweat burst from his pores, out his eyelids and mouth.

Look out. Get back,
Tatijana warned. She withdrew from her refuge, streaking to the battlefield to aid him.
The sliver of Bardolf will seek another host.

Fen spun around, more worried about what he couldn’t see or hear than that small piece of Bardolf.
Keep it off me,
he commanded, certain of her now, knowing she would guard his back.
And stay hidden. Do not reveal yourself no matter what happens,
he added, cautioning her. They were not alone and he knew it.

The dead body jerked. Coughed. Fen didn’t spare it a glance. That was Tatijana’s territory and he could already hear her murmuring an ancient spell directed at the sliver of a shadow, so small but deadly. His was to find the unseen threat. He moved away from the dead body where Bardolf’s shadow sought a new host.

On the ground, small insects swarmed over rotting vegetation and Fen leapt into the air, just as creatures in the form of half man, half wolf, poured out of the trees in all directions. Directly beneath where he’d been standing, the ground erupted into a dark geyser of contaminated soil, spraying high, and with it, another large figure burst into the air after Fen, his long wolflike arms extended, claws tipped with glistening poison.

Fen reversed direction, hurtling toward the newcomer with blurring speed, slamming into him with such force they both tumbled back toward the ground. In his fist, he had a silver stake. This was the vampire/wolf Bardolf had tangled with and supposedly killed. Bardolf had exchanged life for servitude under a master killer.

Fen plunged the silver stake through the chest wall, deep into the heart of the vampire. He barely recognized him, a Carpathian male only a few years younger than him, one he’d played with as a boy. Abel, his parents called him. He’d been a boy with a sunny personality. Always smiling. Fen would never have thought Abel would choose to become vampire. He actually felt a pang of sorrow when he drove that silver stake into his chest and twisted the spiral in deeper.

Black blood poured over his fist, wrist and arm, burning like acid down to his bone. Abel’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away as expected. He was not only vampire, he was also werewolf. The long snout rushed at Fen, the razor-sharp teeth sinking into his neck and shoulder, slicing down to the bone as Abel ripped chunks of flesh away. Blood streamed down Fen’s body, and the vampire lapped at the ancient treat, gulping to get as much as possible.

Fen shoved him away as they both hit the ground hard. The scent of his rich, Carpathian blood set up a frenzied mass hysteria. The werewolves howled and rushed at him. Fen dissolved as they all leapt on him. As he streaked away, one arm emerged, fist holding a silver stake, which he plunged into the nearest werewolf’s heart. He moved quickly to get out of that crush of werewolves, a trail of ruby red blood giving his path away.

He pushed the pain to another dimension as he worked furiously to stop the blood flow. Tatijana was immediately beside him, a mere translucent image. Her hands became flesh and moved over his open lacerations. The sound of her soft healing chant filled his mind. For a moment the ice cold of his injuries burned hot. She’d stopped the blood by cauterizing the area.

You cannot be here. It’s too dangerous. If he spots you, he’ll go after you in order to get to me.

I can scatter the werewolves, and hunt them from the sky.

There was no time to argue with her.
Watch for tricks and stay high. Lycans can leap enormous distances.

The tree limbs shook. Trunks split with a terrible boom, a heralding of great danger. Tatijana streaked for the sky, shifting into her blue dragon, answering the echoing blast with a roaring challenge of her own.

Abel followed the trail of red blood, and was on Fen just as Tatijana took to the air. The undead leapt after her, but Fen blocked his path with his body, so that the vampire slammed into him and they both landed on their feet in the middle of the werewolf pack.

“Take him, my hungry wolves,” Abel commanded, his voice filled with compulsion. “Do not let him escape. He is my gift to you with his hot, rich blood, fresh and flowing in his veins.”

Howling, the wolves surrounded Fen. He moved in a circle, keeping his gaze on the
Sange rau
, but his senses waiting for the attack from the werewolves. The rumbling growls grew louder, indicating the pack was working itself up to attack mode. Abel smirked, his black-stained, serrated teeth were stuck deep into his receding gums as he pulled the silver stake from his heart and tossed it to the ground at Fen’s feet.

“I have come to join this party,” a voice announced.

A Carpathian hunter strode out of the trees into the midst of the frenzied werewolves, drawing them away from Fen. Silver eyes slashed as he moved fast through their ranks, breaking necks and backs and then tossing the bodies aside.

I’m sorry. That’s Gregori Daratrazanoff, second to the prince and prime protector of the Carpathian people. He must have followed me here. I can’t flame the werewolves from the sky without burning Gregori alive.

As fast as Gregori was, the werewolves were faster, seeking new blood, hot and alive. They swarmed him, sheer numbers taking him down until he was buried beneath the frenzied bodies.

Cursing under his breath, Fen had no choice but to share his knowledge of all things rogue and the vampire/wolf combination with the hunter through the common Carpathian telepathic link. He knew he was putting himself at risk—the Carpathian could glean a tremendous amount of information about him as well in seconds. He had used the common pathway so rarely, he couldn’t be certain he had conveyed the speed and strength of the rogues, or the immense power of the
Sange rau
. As he passed on the information, Fen leapt into the fray, hurtling bodies off the prince’s guardian.

As Gregori struggled to stand, Abel struck hard and fast, rushing Fen, hitting him from behind and knocking him off his feet. Fen called on his Lycan blood, twisting in midair as he went down, shifting with lightning speed so that it was Lycan claws grasping Abel’s neck and yanking him down with him. His claws dug deep into the vampire’s neck, anchoring himself, his own muzzle growing to accommodate the expanse of teeth.

They rolled on the ground, Fen taking them away from the writhing mass of werewolves, his teeth tearing at Abel’s throat.

Gregori, get out of there!
he warned as he tore into the
Sange rau
with the strong bite of the Lycan. Black blood poured over him, his muzzle, and down his neck and chest, burning like acid. The scent of burnt flesh permeated the air.

Abel screamed in horror and fear as Fen relentlessly held him, uncaring that the undead ripped at his flesh and tore at his chest to get to his heart. He had to hold out until the undead became so terrified that he called to his pack. It was the only way to save Gregori from the vicious, voracious pack.

Fen drove one fist deep into Abel’s chest, claws searching for the withered, blackened heart, even as he continued to bite chunks of rotted flesh from the vampire/wolf.

“Kill this one. Leave the other. All of you, kill this one,” Abel screamed.

His voice was high-pitched and hurt the sensitive ears of the werewolves. They set up a terrible din, howling and screaming, as they reluctantly obeyed their leader. Out of the corner of his eye, Fen could see Gregori on the ground, still fighting off a particularly large werewolf who didn’t want to give up the rich blood of the Carpathian.

Above him, the blue dragon soared across the sky, circling around above the canopy to suddenly drop down with a steady stream of fire that engulfed several of the werewolves. She took great care to stay clear of Gregori. The tall werewolf ripping and tearing at him leapt without warning, without so much as turning his head, claws catching the underside of the blue dragon’s belly where he hung by his curved long nails alone.

The blue dragon retaliated with a curling of her long, spiked tail. It swept beneath her to hit the werewolf with a tremendous slap, the spikes driving in deep even as her great wings drove hard to lift her high above the canopy. The force of the blow knocked the rogue’s claws loose. For a moment he teetered, desperately raking at her belly for a better grip. The tail slapped him a second time, and with a sharp cry, he fell back to earth.

Blood dripped steadily from the wounded dragon, but she dove after the werewolf as he hurtled toward the ground, righting himself in order to better land on his feet. The werewolf looked up just as the wedge-shaped head shot toward him, bellowing fire as she trumpeted her pain and rage. Flames engulfed the wolf as he fell to the ground, landing hard. He leapt to his feet, legs clearly broken, but still, he ran screaming through the remaining pack, fanning the fire as he did so that the orange-red flames roared and grew larger.

The moment the werewolf had leapt to claw at the blue dragon, Gregori staggered to his feet, bleeding in dozens of places. He thrust his hand toward the rest of the rogue pack, setting a barrier between Fen and the werewolves, preventing them from rushing the hunter as he fought the powerful vampire/wolf cross. Some of the rogues turned back toward Gregori while others tore at the shield in an effort to go to the aid of their master.

The dead body of the drunken human jerked and moved, inching across the ground toward Gregori, the shadowy sliver of Bardolf working to find a live host to help his master.

Behind you!
Tatijana warned.

The blue dragon circled back, large globs of blood falling from the sky as she banked and came in low. Gregori swung his head around, seeing the abomination of dead flesh digging fingernails into the earth to pull the body toward him.

I’ll burn it, but you have to get out of there,
Tatijana warned.

Gregori made a valiant effort to get out of the line of fire, stumbling toward the pack trying to tear down the barrier between them and Fen. Fen and the
Sange rau
rolled across the shivering ground, neither letting go of their hold on the other. As Tatijana made her approach, the ground shifted and rocked, throwing Gregori down.