Dark Wolf (Dark #25)(99)
Author: Christine Feehan

Hemming didn’t go to one of the holes to peer through as Dimitri expected him to do. Instead, the sniper leapt up to one of the remaining larger pieces of the wall itself. He crouched low, his case with his equipment in his hand. The smooth jump onto such a precarious structure warned Dimitri not to underestimate the wolf.

The low murmur of voices chanting the Carpathian healing ritual reached him. He could hear even the warriors in the midst of battle, chanting with the women and children. They had banded together to try to save Zev, a warrior all of them respected. They considered him one of them, and losing a single Carpathian, whether mixed blood or no, was unacceptable.

Those inside were busy attempting to save a life, while the sniper outside was setting up to murder them. Hemming crouched low and leapt once again, landing nimbly on the roof. For a moment it looked as if the roof might collapse under his weight, but the rubble held together in spite of the damage.

Dimitri slipped up behind the sniper as he bent to open his case. When he materialized directly behind the Sange rau, he set one foot down for an anchor as he caught the wolf’s head in his hands, whirling around to pull the head over his shoulder in an impossible position.

The roof shifted out from under him, throwing him off balance just as a shot rang out. Dimitri’s heart jerked in his chest. This man was not Hemming. He should have known the newly made Sange rau was bait to draw him out. It had been far too easy to track him.

Dimitri leapt into the air, still holding the wolf in an unbreakable lock, deliberately hitting the roof hard as he landed, snapping the sniper’s neck and going straight through the flimsy roof. He landed on the floor in the middle of debris and rubble, the sniper cushioning his fall. Palming a silver stake, he slammed it through the chest of the assassin and leapt away from the body.

As he did so, a second bullet whined passed his ear and lodged in the far wall. “Stay down,” he cautioned.

The three women and Arno paid no attention to him, their entire concentration on the man lying in front of them.

Fen, he’s on me and the women are in here with Zev. I’m going to get out of here, show myself for a moment to make certain he targets me and not them. This has to be the real Hemming, the one Zev spoke of who was such a tremendous marksman. The other was bait.

And now you’re making yourself bait.

It’s a decent plan. Are you on him yet?

Not until he fires again.

Dimitri hissed a curse out between clenched teeth. He risked another run, streaking past the fallen sniper, slashing down with his silver sword to sever the head from the body as he ran. He made it to the hole in the wall, and instead of going through it, as the assassin would expect, he leapt back through the hole in the roof and sprinted for the other side.

A succession of bullets followed him, one smacking into the tree trunk on the other side of the meeting hall, head level. He zigzagged, and then dropped low, shifting as he did so. If Fen couldn’t find the bastard after that, he was going to do it himself.

Fighting had died down in the streets. He saw a few bodies as he sped away from the meeting hall, trying to trace back the last bullet that had been fired. He didn’t use vapor—the Sange rau would be expecting it.

He isn’t vampire, Dimitri informed Fen. How can he be Sange rau basically committing murder, if he isn’t rogue or vampire?

Whoever is behind this has built himself an army and they’re fanatical. Hemming is either a mercenary, or he believes what he’s doing is right. I’m coming around downwind of him. He’s packing up his rifle to make a run for it. I’m not close enough to stop him yet.

Deliberately, Dimitri shifted, moving stealthily through the buildings, giving the sniper just a glimpse or two of him, enough to make him hesitate leaving. If he had a mission to fulfill and he had been trained in the military, he wouldn’t stop until he’d managed to kill his target.

He’s buying into it, Dimitri, be careful. He’s intelligent. If you overplay your hand, he’ll know we’re on to him.

I’m going to give him a shadow to fixate on and then I’ll swing around and come in from the other side.

Dimitri projected his shadow on the shop closest to where he had revealed himself to the sniper. The shadow crouched low, keeping within darker shadows as much as possible as it wove in and out of the buildings, moving toward the church. Once he knew his shadow clone appeared realistic, but stayed where the sniper could only catch glimpses of it, he began to circle around to close in on Hemming from the side opposite Fen.

He’s settled back on the roof and is hunting you, Fen reported. I’m in position and staying still. I don’t want to spook him.

Pack hunting was new to most Carpathians, but Dimitri and Fen had used the tactics of the Lycans often over the last few centuries. They worked well together. There was little difference between hunting the vampire and hunting the Sange rau—not now when they were evenly matched in speed, intelligence and skill.

Dimitri closed in from the other side and signaled that he was ready. They had to be fast, stripping Hemming of his rifle and any other gun quickly. He, no doubt, was deadly with them.

Fen struck from the left, streaking fast, keeping his energy contained, slamming into Hemming, rolling him out of the tree and riding his body down, so that when they hit the ground he could slam the stake into the assassin’s heart.

Hemming was struck so hard he dropped the rifle, but as they fell and Fen’s legs clamped around him, he drew his own dagger and stabbed Fen’s thigh. He was fast, piercing flesh and muscle three times before they hit the ground. Fen didn’t flinch, ignoring the wounds, waiting his moment. He slammed the stake into Hemming’s chest as they landed in the dirt, using the momentum from the fall and the unforgiving ground to ensure he struck deep enough. Hemming had been thrashing so much, the stake cut through the edge of his heart, but failed to pierce the center.

The breath was driven from their lungs, but Hemming retained possession of his dagger. He rolled, slicing at Fen’s chest and throat in desperation, trying to pull the silver stake from his body as he did so. Before he could rise, Dimitri was there, silver sword flashing. He severed the head and Fen jerked the stake free and slammed it home again, this time penetrating the heart all the way through.

The two of them sat in the dirt beside the body, trying to get their breathing under control. “We’re getting better at this,” Fen said.

Dimitri surveyed the damage to his brother. “I can see that.” He pushed his hand through his hair before kneeling up to stop the flow of blood leaking from the wounds on Fen’s thigh. “He had military training, Fen, but wasn’t like us. He didn’t have centuries of growing as a mixed blood. Where are they coming from?”