Dark Storm (Dark #23)(17)
Author: Christine Feehan

Dax crept up behind the great worm. The creature spun fast, turning over and over, a living drill, its head equipped with a diamond-hard bite while the tail acted like a rudder. Dax timed his moment, a hand reaching out of the mist, grasping the spinning tail, shackling it in a grip impossible to break. Immediately he reversed direction, backing up and dragging the worm with him.

Mitro thrashed and fought, but the hole was tight, preventing him from turning and sinking his teeth into Dax. He tried shifting, but Dax refused to relinquish his hold. Mitro couldn’t go forward or shift into insubstantial mist. As the hole began to narrow, he shifted just enough to use his diamond-hard nails on his feet like the claws of a dragon, cutting through the rock as if it didn’t exist. He widened the hole, maintaining his grip on the worm’s tail as he moved backward toward the lava tube.

The moment he felt the air sliding over him, he shifted again, back into his human form, dropping to the floor of the lava tube, dragging Mitro with him. The worm swung his head around, the massive drill bit driving at Dax’s body. Without letting go of the tail, Dax pulled his chest out of the way of that whirling diamond point.

The ground lurched, sending him sprawling against the tube. The worm went wild, slamming itself into the wall, trying to bank off the rocks to get at Dax. Deep inside the dragon roused, a blast of warning reverberating through Dax’s skull. Temperatures soared in the lava tube, and steam vented through several places in the floor. The ground shook a second time and molten rock burst through the openings. The floor crumbled and melted, dropping down into the lava flowing beneath the tube.

Dax gripped the struggling worm’s tail with both hands, determined they would both be destroyed in the magma rocketing into the tube. More and more geysers slung the melted rock high into the air so that it hit the ceiling and splattered in all directions. Desperate, Mitro reversed direction and slashed at Dax’s wrist, driving through flesh. The ground gave another lurch, and Dax sprawled onto the floor.

Beneath him the floor opened and magma shot through. He heard his own scream as the flesh of his legs burned away. He lost his grip on Mitro. For a moment it looked as if the molten rock had engulfed the vampire, but with the orange and red stream of magma rose a suspicious steam. Shrieks of pain and rage filled the tube.

Dax had no choice but to survive. Cutting off the excruciating pain was impossible, but he shifted, knowing it was the dragon’s scales that saved him. His flesh was burned away and he needed the healing earth immediately. Once again, fate had favored Mitro. The timing of the blast through the tube’s floor hadn’t been the vampire, but the volcano preparing for a major eruption. The body of the worm had saved Mitro, but he, too, would have to seek the healing soil. Neither had much time; the volcano wasn’t going to wait for them.

Chapter 4

"Damn, I missed the entire thing," Don Weston whispered overly loud to Dr. Henry Patton. "All those bats going up in flames and Raul losing his mind and wanting to machete someone. I slept right through it. Next time, wake me up!"

Deliberately, he glanced over his shoulder at Annabel and Riley, pretending to be covert, as if his booming voice was so low in his pretend whisper that they couldn’t possibly overhear him or know he was talking about them as they trekked in single file through the narrow opening of brush on the small game trail.

Ahead of her, Annabel stiffened, but she didn’t turn around.

Riley pressed her lips together tightly. Weston was only making things worse. He wanted to stir up trouble because neither Riley nor her mother would give him the time of day and his ego was bruised. She sighed and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She couldn’t wait to make it to the base of the mountain and part company with the engineers, although Ben Charger had stayed true to his word and kept a close watch, along with Jubal Sanders and Gary Jansen.

Annabel reached her hand back and brushed Riley’s arm. The touch was featherlight, but Riley could feel her trembling. Her mother had gone very quiet, rarely speaking, her face pale and for the first time, lined a little with age. Riley tried not to feel panic, but she honestly felt as if her mother was retreating from her, slowing slipping away. Everyone had talked nonstop of the incidents in the middle of the night.

Half the camp regarded Raul as if he suddenly had become a serial killer. He didn’t seem to remember much, just kept repeating it was a nightmare he’d been caught up in and how sorry he was. To be strictly honest, Riley felt terrible for him. She was still afraid of him, but she couldn’t help but see the misery in his eyes-and he had tried to resist that continual pressure and command in his mind. She’d seen him two or three times trying to go back to the fire, to stop moving forward toward her mother’s hammock.

Annabel hadn’t made a single comment, not even when Riley had explained she’d been the intended target. She’d just looked at Riley with hopeless eyes-almost with that same defeated look Raul had-and shook her head. She’d hardly eaten anything before they’d started out again. The guides were hoping to get to the base of the mountain by nightfall. From there, each group would go their own way. Riley had to admit, she wasn’t as eager to part company with Gary and Jubal as much as she’d thought she’d be. There was something very reassuring about both of them.

"I wish he’d stop talking," Annabel said suddenly. She rubbed her temples as if she had a headache.

Riley realized Weston was still going on about the snake attack days earlier in the boat and how he wanted to barbecue vampire bats. His voice droned on and on, almost as endless as the drone of insects.

"He’s a moron, Mom," Riley said, trying to keep humor in her voice. "He likes to hear himself talk."

"He’s afraid," Annabel replied, her voice low. "And he should be."

Her voice was low and ominous, sending a shiver down Riley’s spine. Walking through the jungle wasn’t easy. They weren’t in the area where the trees grew so high that light couldn’t filter through, negating ground cover. This was hard going-miles of thick, dense foliage that covered every possible trail almost as fast as it was hacked out. This was the type of terrain that was extremely dangerous. One wrong turn, one loss of sight of the person in front of you and a person could be lost completely.

Riley knew to watch her hands and feet, to try not to brush up against plants and trees. Most were benign, but the hostile ones were extremely hazardous. She found it difficult to identify a tree that was safe to touch versus one that was poisonous and would cause an instant skin reaction. Most appeared the same to her, and yet her mother knew almost instinctively.

Plants, for Riley, were equally difficult to distinguish no matter how many times the guide pointed them out to her. She knew by looking at the bright colors of the frogs and lizards which were hazardous to her health, and tarantulas the size of dinner plates could be obvious, along with every snake she encountered, but insects were too plentiful for her to remember which were extremely venomous.