Dark Storm (Dark #23)(16)
Author: Christine Feehan

Exasperated, he scowled. Just give me direction. Don’t try to control the movements of my body.

How was he going to fight Mitro when he could barely take a step without falling? The dragon hadn’t had a body in centuries and Dax’s body was far too small for him to comprehend how to move it around.

The dragon gave a snort of derision. It is no wonder this great evil has prevailed. You are a puny one, Carpathian.

Perhaps that is so, Dax soothed. After all, in relation to size, it was true. But I can maneuver this body much more easily than you. If we fight one another how will we succeed in our mission? If pandering to the dragon’s ego would result in destroying Mitro, Dax could manage it with no problem.

Power pulsed deep inside, pushing against the restraints of his physical frame. His entire body vibrated, his brain crashing hard against his skull. His body hit the side of the tube hard, this time flinging him to the floor. He couldn’t imagine how frustrating it had to be for a massive dragon to find himself confined in a human frame, but Dax was finished reasoning.

And I was told your kind was so intelligent.

Fiercely he pushed back, slamming a wave of massive force straight at the Old One’s soul. The internal explosion sent his body reeling. For a moment his head felt as if every bone in his body would shatter. He set his jaw and accepted the pain.

We can do this all night, or work together to destroy the vampire.

Amusement filled his mind. The dragon had a rusty sense of humor. For a puny lizard, you have a hard punch. How do we do this? I cannot work this strange body.

If you can find him, point me in the direction. I’m Carpathian. I know you are aware of the things we can do. I’ll shift into whatever we need to hunt him. If we need your form, you take over, otherwise we work as a unit, with you guiding me where we go and me getting us there. Is that acceptable?

There was a long moment of silence. So be it.

Dax didn’t give the Old One time to change his mind. He moved into the lava tube at the dragon’s urging. As Dax shifted into mist and sped away through the vents and fissures in the black volcanic rock, the dragon was there with him, part of him, a separate soul and consciousness sharing his body, his gifts. Together, yet still separate. More powerful together than either had been apart. Neither of them would ever be alone again. And both of them streaked through the volcano with one purpose foremost in their minds: to stop Mitro Daratrazanoff or die trying.

The tube was miles long, an old subterranean flow that had long since shifted, leaving a wide tunnel extending under the mountain. Dax had been in it often, following Mitro, knowing the vampire was up to something within the tube, but he’d never managed to catch him at anything. As mist, he could travel without giving away his presence if Mitro had set a trap for him, which he did habitually.

Wait. Here. He has not gone beyond this point.

Dax stopped moving instantly, the mist stretching out along with his senses, trying to reason out where Mitro could have gone. The stench of the undead permeated the tube, and he couldn’t feel or smell a difference, but he trusted the dragon’s instincts. The creature was a fierce hunter and well adapted to stalking in caves.

The tube didn’t have any tributaries, not any that Dax could see, or that he’d ever found, yet the dragon sensed that the vampire hadn’t continued along the tube, which meant he’d found another way through the mountain-or was disguised and lying in wait for his enemy.

Dax went still, reaching for his dragon senses. The undead was a repulsive, loathsome stench in the home of the Old One. The creature of myth and legend found the presence of a creature so against nature to be abhorrent. The fact that Mitro was in his home had the dragon outraged.

The stench was strongest to his right. Dax studied the rock outcropping. The wall was dark reds, yellow and deep brown. He could detect no hint of Mitro tampering with the wall itself. He experimented with moving slowly, inch by inch, his patience at odds with the dragon’s growing emotions of hostility toward the unwelcome abomination in his home.

The hunt took patience, something the dragon had never had to really develop. Dax skimmed along the rock wall, allowing the mist to touch the various colors and settle into the cracks, examining them to see if there was an opening too small to see. Nothing. He moved lower, taking in every inch of the wall. The tube sloped downward, coming to the floor in a relatively smooth overlap. Again there was no sign of Mitro, but he was beginning to feel a sense of urgency.

Dax knew from centuries of experience that when a hunter felt that sudden push, it meant his prey was close and up to no good. He waited a few heartbeats, going still again, getting a feel for the tube and anything that might be out of place. The overhead ceiling was mottled with grays, blues and deep rust colors. The floor was yellow and brown, chunks of rocks scattered everywhere. Small flecks of gray, blue and rust dusted the top of three of the rocks directly below him.

Dax turned his attention to the ceiling, the mist moving in close, pressing against the mottled rock. The surface was much smoother here, the tiny cracks and crevices harder to discern. As mist, he could seep into the little spaces, going as deep as possible before they dead-ended, and he could examine large portions of the ceiling at the same time.

Clever, clever Mitro. There was a pinhole, so small only a tiny bore worm would be able to insert itself into that dot, but the moment the mist touched it, Dax felt the familiar pull that told him he was not only on the trail, but was very close. He moved deeper inside that small opening and almost immediately it widened in circumference. The worm had grown to enormous proportions, burrowing through the rock and then pushing any flakes to the side. A few had escaped through that little pinhole and landed on the rocks below.

Many times over the centuries, Mitro had worked at finding his way out, burrowing close to the shield set in place by Arabejila so many years earlier. The vampire at times had managed to weaken the barrier when the women had become less powerful, but once the ritual was performed, that safeguard held. Clearly, now that the volcano was close to exploding, and the woman was late, Mitro was making another try.

With great stealth, Dax seeped through the ever-widening hole. The larger the bore worm, the more efficient and faster he could go through the rock. Mitro expanded his worm the moment he thought it safe to do so. It was a brilliant and cunning plan. Dax would never have found that tiny pinhole on his own. The stench of the vampire was too strong everywhere, especially in the lava tube. Mitro had made certain his presence was known in every corner and chamber underground. He knew it was his best defense.

Dax wasn’t in the least surprised that Mitro had managed to bore a great distance through, up to the barrier itself. He was finding it hard going once he hit the shield. It may have weakened without the necessary reinforcement Arabejila’s kin would bring, but the safeguards were still powerful.