Dark Lycan (Dark #24)(48)
Author: Christine Feehan

He dropped another kiss on the top of Tatijana’s silky head and then glanced at the sun. It was barely making its appearance. "Perhaps you can give us cloud cover. Bring it in slowly, make it natural," he suggested.

Tatijana swallowed hard, but nodded. "No problem."

"Abel is the key here. I need to remember everything I can about him. His friends and allies. I think he was a first or second cousin to the prince," Fen mused aloud. "Abel always seemed a decent sort. I was surprised that he had turned."

"What are you going to do?" she demanded.

This time there was no denying her. In any case she had to know, because in the end, she was his only real chance at succeeding.

"There is a reason why we sever the head from the shoulders, Tatijana," he said. "The silver stake through the heart takes time for the werewolf’s body to recognize and the brain continues to function. That brain contains all information the wolf has acquired over his lifetime and sometimes, others as well. It also contains the hatred and bloodlust the werewolf feels in a lethal, concentrated amount. Enough to kill any who has harmed it and dares to try to acquire its knowledge."

"Are you crazy? No. Absolutely no. We don’t even know for certain that Mikhail is in danger."

"We do know that there are two Sange rau close and everyone, human, Lycan and Carpathian alike are in danger. This has to be done."

She heard the absolute implacable determination in his voice and took a deep breath. "Alright then. Tell me what to do."

"That’s my lady. I can do this, Tatijana, because I have you." He glanced up at the sky. The cloud cover she’d promised had drifted in slowly, pushed by a gentle wind. She had such a skill, her touch light. He doubted if even an elite Lycan would have detected the clouds were not natural. He was lucky to have her and he would treasure this memory of her straight spine, straighter shoulders and clear eyes.

"Tatijana, you cannot show yourself by word or deed. No emotion. You will be tempted time and again to step in, but you cannot. If you do, all will be lost. But"-he took both her hands-"you are Dragonseeker and there are none greater or with more honor. That moment when I call to you, come for me, pull me back. Do you understand?"

She turned to face him completely, grasping his forearms as a warrior would. Her green eyes stared directly into his. "I will not lose you, lifemate. I will come for you."

He believed her.

Chapter 10

Fen had learned at a very early age just how fast fights began and ended. The battle at the farm might be ferocious, but it wouldn’t last long. He didn’t have a lot of time to find out the information he needed. He took to the sky, rocketing through the air, using his Sange rau speed, leaving Tatijana behind. He couldn’t afford to take the chance that Abel’s captain would see and identify her, not with what Fen intended to do.

The rogue paced along the edge of the boulder, his gaze intent on the scene below him. He wasn’t happy with the losses of his pack members. Unlike the vampire, the werewolf still retained some emotion for his pack. Unfortunately the lust for blood overcame every civil behavior learned over hundreds of years.

Fen recognized him. He’d been a young member of Bardolf’s pack. He’d been smart even as a young pup. The pup had been called Marrock. Fen could well believe that he was a great strategist when it came to running a battle.

He blocked out everything good he knew about the werewolf. Marrock had long ago succumbed to the need to kill for fresh blood, believing he was superior to all other species and his wants came first. In essence, he was the Lycan vampire-a murderer.

Fen came out of the clouds with blurring speed and was on Marrock almost before the wolf knew he was under attack. The body recognized it before the brain. Eyes narrowed and went bloodred. The muzzle began to take shape, teeth exploding in the mouth in a desperate attempt at self-preservation. Fen drove the silver stake deep into the heart, taking the werewolf to the ground, watching the hatred and need for retaliation concentrate in those red, glaring eyes.

Fen could feel regret now, thanks to his lifemate, and once again he had to acknowledge bringing justice to murderers one knew was easier without emotion. He shook his head, pushing all emotion aside so he could do his job. He couldn’t hesitate, or feel fear. He had to be absolute in his quest. In control. He was Sange rau, both Carpathian and Lycan and there was little in the world stronger than him-or his will.

He thrust his mind into the mind of the dying rogue. Hatred. Rage. Bloodlust. For a moment those things threatened to consume him as they had consumed the mind of Marrock. His entire world went red, the intensity of the bitter emotions pouring into his mind, infecting him, as if the wolf had a disease that transferred from one brain to the other. Feelings of superiority crept in. He was more intelligent. He could think faster than others, size up situations and figure out before the others what they were going to do. Physically he was faster, stronger, his body rejuvenated faster.

Fen hung on and breathed away the worst of the intense emotions, knowing Marrock was trying to trap him. The danger of being infected with the bloodlust was the worst and that pushed at him harder than anything else. He craved blood. Was addicted to it. Why shouldn’t he have the right to take what he was designed to take? He was born to be a predator. There was no taming what or who he was.

That much was true. Every Carpathian male he knew was a predator. Every Lycan. And he was a combination of both. The drive was already in him. Why should he pretend to be someone else? He could take what he wanted or needed and no one would be able to stop him. Their leaders had all become victims, afraid of who they were, ashamed even.

The whispers began, another voice promising riches, promising to live the way they were meant. He could have anything at all he wanted, money, power, women, and blood, as much fresh, rich blood as he desired.

Fen latched onto the memory in Marrock’s mind, striking hard and fast, pushing open the door so that a flood of memories assailed him at once. Marrock’s induction into the pack of rogues. That first taste of a kill, so unforgettable and never to be repeated, no matter how many times one killed or how. Marrock’s rise to captain.

Fen pushed down the rising fear when he saw the enormity of the pack. He couldn’t get exact numbers because they were broken down into smaller groups, but they all answered to Bardolf and Abel. Few actually met them, but all were sworn to be loyal to them.

He had to get past the older remembrances Marrock had offered up as a wall to conceal the information Fen was after. Marrock snarled and fought, trying to ensnare him in a muddle of recollections, pushing the need for fresh, adrenaline-laced blood on him, sharing the taste of hot blood, anything to keep Fen out of his most recent memories.