Dark Lycan (Dark #24)(56)
Author: Christine Feehan

"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.