Dark Storm (Dark #23)(37)
Author: Christine Feehan

She had a message center willing to impart information to her, she just hadn’t learned how to use it yet, but each time she pushed her hands into the rich soil, she found she unlocked more of the mysteries surrounding her mother. Whatever gift exchanged from mother to daughter was locked here in the ground waiting for her to discover the legacy that had been left to her. She just needed to find the right words to draw the secrets to her. With others depending on her, she needed to figure it out.

She took another breath and let it out, pushing away the need for action or hurry. The men disappeared, taking with them the sounds of their presence. The walls of the cavern melted away. Fear and grief left her until there was only the sound of her lungs moving in and out rhythmically. For a few minutes she breathed, allowing the mechanics of that simple process to clear and open her mind completely.

She became aware of a pulse beating-an eternal thrum, coming from the very center of the earth’s core. Through the pads of her fingers she felt an expanding cloud of extremely hot gas, and felt an intimate connection with that older star exploding violently, yet giving birth to new stars, to the sun and moon and planet Earth. She actually could see the creation in her mind, the nebula collapsing and cooling into a flattened, slowly spinning disk. Earth’s surface covered by the pulsating ocean of molten rock.

Riley felt the bubbling magma beneath the surface, the shifting of plates and pushing up of mountains and the roots spreading out, like great chains and vines, deep beneath the sea, under every continent, connecting every part of the planet together-connecting it all with her. The first soft whispers came to her, murmurs filling her mind, voices of women long past, welcoming her to their sisterhood.

Her heart sang when she recognized the familiar, comforting feel of her mother and grandmother.

Chapter 8

Dax stared into the hate-filled, triumphant eyes of the vampire. Just as the volcano had changed Dax, Mitro, too, had evolved into something else. He had spent hundreds of years inside that superheated environment, and to withstand the pressure, gases and heat, Mitro had shifted into a form that was better suited. Over the centuries, his body had taken on the shell of a mutated lizard.

Heavy ridges dissected Mitro’s skull, drawing his skin tight over heavy bones. Singed hair stood straight up in spiked razor-sharp rows. Eyelids had grown heavier and the eyes themselves, windows to the soul, reflected back a pure black, no white showing at all, no soul within. Scars from the magma formed deep pits over most of his exposed skin. Slime-covered skin had yellowed and gave off a faint scent of rotten eggs. The chamber began to spin. Poisonous gas infused in the vampire’s thick, mottled skin induced lethargy and clouded the mind.

Dax forced his brain to work. The withered heart of the vampire had been incinerated, yet he still lived. How? And how could any hunter possibly kill the undead if he didn’t die when he should have? In all the endless years of destroying the undead, he’d never encountered such a thing, nor heard of it.

The mountain shook. A boom reverberated through the chamber. Maniacal laughter grated, slicing through his head. Staring straight into his eyes, Mitro drove his clawing fist deeper into Dax’s chest. Agony, bright and hot, robbed Dax of breath. The talons ripped and tore, shredding sinew and muscle, digging a hole, tunneling deep in an effort to reach the Carpathian’s beating heart.

That dark parody of a grin widened, jagged, stained teeth in receding gums rushing toward his neck even as the greedy talons grasped at his heart. In that moment everything changed. Dax didn’t have the luxury of dying, leaving Mitro loose on the world. Dax had to live no matter what.

He drew back, ignoring the agony ripping through him, took a breath and unleashed a torrent of fire straight into Mitro’s malevolent face. The vampire howled, jerking back, twisting his arm viciously as he withdrew his empty fist. Mitro threw himself to one side to avoid the steady stream of flames pouring from the hunter’s throat, his scream filling the chamber.

Bright red blood sprayed into the air from Dax’s torn chest. Great globs of burning blackened blood, a poisonous acid, from Mitro’s open chest splattered through the chamber and burned into ashes, raining down over him. Gases exploded into fiery balls, hurtling through the enclosed space, pitting deep craters into the walls. Vents burst below them, more noxious gas rising along with bright orange-red sprays of molten rock.

Mitro hammered at the thin barrier, slamming into it over and over like a battering ram, dodging the fiery bombs blasting upward from the lower pools of roiling magma. Dax leapt after the vampire, reaching with the tips of his fingers to hook an ankle and yank the undead backward. A thousand tiny needles punctured his palm, burning on contact. His first instinct was to let go, but he forced himself to hold on, dragging the vampire back down toward the bubbling pool of heated rock.

Mitro drove his foot into the hole in Dax’s chest. Pain exploded through the hunter. For a moment everything went black. His body shut down, his hand slipping off the ankle. He tumbled through the air before he caught himself. Mitro was at the barrier, ramming his ridged skull over and over into the same spot. Dax streaked upward to try to intercept him again.

The mountain rumbled ominously-held its breath for one still second-and then heaved. The concussion sent both combatants reeling. Dax slammed hard into the wall before he could catch himself. Heat seared his body. Blood dripped from his ears. His vision blurred. The chamber filled with gaseous vapor, and the sudden increase in pressure nearly tore him apart.

In that instant, he felt the Old One rise to protect him. His body had grown accustomed to the conditions of the volcano over the centuries, but neither he nor Mitro would fare well when the volcano erupted and the dragon knew it.

The Old One took possession fast, his soul rising, spreading out to encompass Dax. Crimson and orange scales first engulfed Dax’s body, sliding smoothly and efficiently from his head to his toes. The hard shell covered the gaping hole in his chest, but his blood continued to seep out between the scales, staining his chest scarlet.

Dax was used to shapeshifting, but this felt different. When Carpathians shifted, there was no sense of the body completely remaking itself, but this time, there was. He could feel his mass increase, his bones lengthen and reshape. He could feel the wings sprouting from his back, the supple, scaled hide stretching out like vast sails catching an ocean wind. He could feel his nails lengthen, become razor-tipped diamond talons. Strength, agility and raw, primal emotion coursed through his veins. He wasn’t a hunter who’d assumed the shape of a dragon: he was a dragon. Mighty. Powerful. Master of fire. King of the sky. And though his consciousness was still there, the Old One was there, too, ancient and powerful and just as deadly.