They broke into a run, using blurring speed to retrace their path back to the two drunken men. It took only minutes. The two sat beside a tree passing a flask back and forth, one occasionally bursting into song.
Tatijana instinctively broke away from his side, moving to his left and allowing him to approach the two men alone. Fen was grateful to her. Already, he knew the pack was hunting. The rogues had both heard and smelled the men. They knew both men were physically impaired, drunk from the alcohol they’d consumed, and would be easy prey. Tatijana and he could take to the skies if necessary, but the two men were extremely vulnerable.
He muted his appearance, blending with the mist until he was directly in front of them, sending a swirl of mist ahead of him so that he could emerge naturally out of the fog. Both looked up at him.
“Fen, what are you doing out so late? You want a drink?” One held out the flask.
“You’re Enre,” Fen greeted. “Do you live far?” He projected his voice directly at the two men, although there was really no hope that the pack wouldn’t know Tatijana was in the forest. He had known, from the moment the werewolf pack leader had given his hunting cry and the others had answered that the rogue pack was close by and hunting. To them, he would smell human.
“Gellert here, too,” the other said drunkenly, opening his eyes and removing the flask from Enre’s hand. “What are you doing here?”
“Let’s get you two home,” Fen encouraged. “It’s too cold to stay out all night. Your families will worry.”
“My woman kicked me out,” Gellert said, his words slurred. “She said I drink too much.” He was indignant. “I don’t drink too much. She accused me of sleeping with the barmaid, Faye.”
“You did sleep with Faye,” Enre said.
Gellert took a long pull from the flask. “There was no sleeping,” he said slyly.
“He’s staying with me,” Enre admitted. “I’ve got no family.”
He didn’t sound quite as drunk as he had been earlier. He struggled to his feet and reached down for Gellert. Gellert groaned and let both Fen and Enre help him up.
“You shouldn’t have let your friend talk you into attacking the lady,” Fen said to Enre.
Enre shrugged. “It was all just talk. I wouldn’t have attacked her. I would have just given him a good clout upside the head and dragged him home if he’d really gone through with it.”
“The redhead wants me,” Gellert slurred. “She comes back night after night, and dances for me.”
“The redhead is my woman,” Fen said. “It isn’t a good idea to say those kinds of things in front of me.”
Gellert peered up at him with red, runny eyes. He burped loudly, the smell wafting toward Fen like a green cloud. “Sorry man. Didn’t know. Come on, Enre, let’s get on home.”
A sound broke the night. Chilling. Close. Too close. The howl of the werewolf on the hunt. Enre, the more sober of the two, shivered and looked around warily. That joyful, frightening note floated on the wind, full and round-bodied, different from that of a normal wolf, far more unnerving.
“We have to go now,” Fen urged, gripping Gellert on one side while Enre took his other arm. “Tatijana, leave us now while you can. Defending against a pack, even for one such as you, is not easy.”
She lifted her chin, but her eyes stared out into the night. Like Fen, her senses had reached out far beyond the immediate area in an effort to locate the pack individuals—something he knew would be impossible. “I will not leave you to this fight alone. They won’t be of any help.” She indicated the two men with a jerk of her chin, still not looking at them.
“Do either of you have a weapon?” Fen hissed. He glanced toward Tatijana. They weren’t going to make it out of there without a fight. Depending on the pack size, they could be in real trouble.
Above them, a large owl landed in the branches of the neighboring tree. He folded his wings for a moment, surveying the small group below him. A burst of mist rose around the tree and out of it, a man emerged. He strode toward Fen, tall, his shoulders broad, and his eyes every bit as piercing, intelligent and ice-cold blue as Fen’s. Hair as black as midnight flowed down his back, and he moved with a smooth, fluid step.
Fen stepped forward and they clasped forearms in the centuries-old greeting of warriors.
“Kolasz arwa-arvoval—may you die with honor,” the tall warrior greeted. “I would not want to miss such a battle with you, ekäm—my brother.”
“Kolasz arwa-arvoval—may you die with honor, Dimitri, ekäm—my brother,” Fen said. “You are most welcome to this battle.”
3
“We fight together then,” Fen agreed. He held out his hand to Tatijana. “This is my lifemate, who remains unclaimed and quite happy about it. Tatijana, my brother, Dimitri.”
Dimitri’s gaze, glacier-cold, swept over her. “You are Dragonseeker.”
Tatijana’s answering nod was regal. Fen hid his grin in spite of the graveness of the situation. She looked like a royal princess.
“Have you ever battled the werewolf?” he asked Tatijana, already certain of the answer. She’d given him enough of her history to know she had no practical experience.
Tatijana made a face at him. “Of course not. I’ve been locked in ice my entire life, but I can help. Just tell me what to do.”
“They mask energy easily. You will not feel the attack before it is on you. They move as fast as Carpathians and they cannot be killed without a special silver stake or bullet. Heads are removed and bodies burned.”
Tatijana nodded solemnly, taking him seriously.
“Dimitri, remember our war games. Fight as if you are fighting the Sange rau.”
“That makes it difficult without special silver stakes,” Dimitri pointed out a little drolly.
“I always carry a few weapons,” Fen admitted. “One has to, when rogues are in the vicinity.” He reached into the pockets of his jacket and pulled out several very small stakes. They were made of pure silver, shaped like a unicorn horn, a gleaming spiral worth a fortune.
“How do you kill them?” Tatijana asked.
“You must penetrate all the way through the heart with silver,” he warned her. “Unfortunately, they will be close enough to bite you and they tear chunks of flesh, going for arteries. They’ll try to gut you with their claws. Again, they’re fast.”
“I flew over the forest and counted thirteen. There may have been more, they were difficult to spot,” Dimitri said. “We can’t abandon the humans, but we could fly them out of here.”
“Rogue werewolves will kill everyone they come across. They’re worse than vampires because they hunt in packs,” Fen said. “Tatijana, perhaps you should fly the two humans out of here.”
“I will not leave you. I can fight, better than you know. There were a few Lycans brought into the ice caves. I learned their strengths and weaknesses and I’ve looked into your mind as well. With what you told me, I know I can do this.”
“They’re close,” Fen said.
“How can you tell?” Dimitri turned in a circle. “I cannot feel them.”
“I can smell them. Get Enre and Gellert into the tree and throw a shield around them,” Fen instructed.
Zev, from the tavern, strode out of the mist and brush. He looked cool, and confident, his long trench coat open, his hair gathered at the nape of his neck, much like Dimitri and Fen wore theirs. His eyes blazed a mercurial gray, sheer steel. He looked around the small circle of fighters.
“You cannot stay here.”
“There’s no safe passage,” Fen said. “Carpathians will fight with Lycans to bring this rogue pack to justice.” He nodded toward his brother. “This is Dimitri, and that is Tatijana.”
“Zev,” the newcomer identified himself. “This pack is my problem. I’ve sent for the hunters, but they are still twenty-four hours out.”
Dimitri waved his hand toward the two drunks to take over their minds, spinning his fingers to encase them in the safety of a shield before wedging them in the higher branches of the trees.
Zev studied Fen’s face. “Dimitri and Tatijana are Carpathian, but you are Lycan.” It was a statement, the tone strictly neutral.
There was no hint of distrust in Zev’s voice, but Fen knew Zev was suddenly very suspicious of him. Why would a Lycan be friends with two Carpathians? There was no way not to notice the resemblance between Dimitri and Fen. Zev was an elite investigator, which meant he had gone from an elite hunting pack to pursuing rogues on his own for the shadowy government behind the Lycans. He seemed more than confident.
“Have you any idea of the size of the pack?” Fen asked.
Zev nodded. “It’s large. The largest I’ve ever run across. I’ve been tracking them for months.”
“Dimitri counted thirteen, and that was just with a single pass.”
“It’s more like fifty to seventy. I’ve identified that many individual tracks, and I’m not certain that’s all of them. They tend to divide, each unit hunting separately and then coming back together.”
“That’s why they’ve been able to do so much damage,” Fen said.
Zev shot him a quick glance. “You’ve been tracking them?”
Fen nodded. He wasn’t about to admit that he thought Zev was wrong, or at least partially wrong. He was fairly certain the rogue pack killed often, but a vampire either trailed them, doing far more of the brutal destruction than the pack had done, or traveled with them as a Lycan. The vampire was intelligent. He covered his tracks well, making certain the pack took the blame for his work. Of course, that was conjecture, Fen had no real proof.
“I ran across their kills a few weeks back and trailed after them,” Fen admitted. Dimitri, they’re coming at you from your left. Three of them. Tatijana, go to mist or take to the skies. You’ve got two targeting you. They’ll rush you from opposite sides and they’re unbelievably fast.
Mist swirled, a thick gray fog. The wind rushed through the trees and the rogues were on them, tall wolves running at them on their hind legs, each leap crossing thirty feet or more with blurring speed. The wolves poured into the circle from every direction, a silent, eerie attack made all the worse by their red glowing eyes, shining through the mist.
The three wolves leapt at Dimitri before he could move, or dissolve, all three sinking their teeth deep, ripping through muscle right down to the bone. Claws dug at his belly, trying to slash him open.
Claws raked Tatijana from her shoulder to her hip, even as she tried to turn to mist. They got to her far faster than she ever conceived possible. Fen rushed past the ones coming at him from every direction, his speed and momentum allowing him to knock over the one directly blocking his path to Tatijana. As he passed the werewolf, he slammed the silver stake deep into the chest wall. The sound of the rogue’s heart was his beacon. The werewolf went down, and he kept going, blowing past the other three as they tried to close in on him.
He reached Tatijana, pulling one werewolf off her, spinning him around and staking him through his heart so hard he nearly drove the silver dagger all the way through the man. Tatijana punched the second werewolf hard in his throat as he drove teeth, dripping with saliva, at her face. She used the enormous force of the Carpathian hunter, staggering the werewolf. As he stumbled back, she dissolved into mist and tried to take to the sky.
Droplets of blood mingling with the mist led another werewolf straight to her. He leapt high and hooked claws into her dissolving ankle, yanking her down to the ground. Fen caught the movement out of the corner of his eye as two others tried tackling him. He felt the burn of teeth snapping down, the bite pressure, an enormous tearing at his calf and thigh. He ripped both wolves off of him, knocking their heads together with tremendous force, just needing a few seconds to get to Tatijana.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Zev, in the form of a huge Lycan, half man, half wolf, whirling in the midst of several werewolves, his body torn and bloody, but he moved with grace and precision, ducking attacks, coming up under one of the werewolves to plunge a silver stake in his heart and whirling away again.
Fen caught the werewolf who had his claws in Tatijana’s ankle, snapping his neck and yanking Tatijana back up to her feet in one smooth motion.
Go, he hissed. Take to the air.
A werewolf landed on Fen’s back, sinking teeth into the nape of his neck. Tatijana put on a burst of speed, darting into the skies, shifting as she did so, taking the shape of a blue dragon. Fen shifted into the shape of a Lycan, using the strength and muscular form to throw off the werewolf ripping at his body.
The second wave of the pack rushed in. Fen spun around toward the new threat, saw them engulfing Dimitri and Zev, who were back to back. He moved fast, using the double speed of the Carpathian/Lycan blood flowing in his veins. He plunged a silver spike deep into one werewolf’s heart and rushed past just as an enormous werewolf came out of the mist.
Instantly, Fen knew. This was no ordinary werewolf. This was the vampire masking his presence in the midst of a rogue pack, no, not just a vampire, this was far more. “Zev, Dimitri,” he shouted the warning. “Behind you. Sange rau.”
He was already leaping across the werewolves, trying to get to his brother before the newcomer did. His burst of speed put him directly in the vampire’s path. Eyes glowed red, settling on him. The wolf/vampire charged him. They came together with terrible force, shaking the ground around them. The impact was so hard, Fen felt his very bones rattle. He felt as if a freight train had hit him, but if he felt that way, he knew his adversary did as well. He punched through the chest wall, his last silver stake in his fist, driving for the heart. To kill a Sange rau was far more difficult than killing either a Lycan or a vampire. He’d had a lot of experience on what didn’t work.
Around him, the battle waged, Zev and Dimitri fighting off the werewolves, while up above them, the dragon came in low, breathing fire on the wolves she could without harming Fen, Dimitri or Zev.
“I see you,” the Sange rau hissed, his voice low. “I know you.”
Fen knew him, too. He’d been in a pack for a few months a century or so ago and this Lycan had been the pack alpha. His name was Bardolf and he’d been particularly mean, ruling his pack with an iron hand. He’d disappeared on a hunt, and when they’d tracked him, there had been a bloody battle between him and what Fen had been certain had been the undead. Neither were anywhere to be found, nor were there bodies. Now, Fen knew what had happened. The Lycan had torn into the vampire, gulping his blood, and he’d consumed enough to transform himself.
“I see you, too,” Fen said, ducking under the wolf/vampire’s reaching arm to come in close to slam his fist hard into Bardolf’s chest.
He had no more silver stakes. To kill Bardolf he would need the silver spike as well as to remove the heart from the chest and destroy it with fire. Few knew how to kill one such as Bardolf, but Fen had plenty of experience in trial and error when he’d tracked the Sange rau centuries before. He knew destroying the monster would be very difficult.
He plunged his fist deep, twisting his body to avoid the muzzle full of teeth rushing toward his throat. The teeth grazed him, ripping through flesh. He felt the flash of pain an instant before he blocked it, his fist moving deep in the chest of the undead, fingers seeking the withered heart. He couldn’t kill the beast, but he could slow it down, giving Tatijana time to destroy a number of the rogue pack from the sky.
Bardolf wrenched his body backward, pushing himself off of Fen with tremendous force so that Fen was flung backward as well, his fist pulling free of the vampire’s chest. Bardolf, instead of following up his advantage while Fen staggered, trying to recover his footing, leapt for the air, for the small dragon skillfully wielding flame.
“Fen!” Zev yelled. “Catch.”
&nb
sp; Dimitri and Zev took the brunt of the attack on the next wave of werewolves as Bardolf clearly directed his rogues toward Fen. The two hunters, Carpathian and Lycan, quickly leapt between Fen and the oncoming assault.
Fen had his hand in the air almost before he turned around. A silver sword spiraled toward him. Fen caught the glittering handle and leapt into the air as a Lycan would, almost in one motion, slicing cleanly through Bardolf’s body just as the undead werewolf reached for the dragon’s spiked tail. Bardolf’s scream shook the trees below him, the discordant note an assault on every ear.
The werewolves set up a terrible cacophony of howls. The brush shivered. Leaves withered and tree branches shifted away from the body of the Sange rau as it dropped like a stone in two pieces to the ground with an ugly splat. Acid fell like rain, burning everything in its path.
Fen raced toward the head and chest. A large werewolf intercepted him. Fen swung the sword as another werewolf leapt on his back. The sword sliced through sinew and bone, cutting off an arm. The scent of blood and burned flesh made the werewolves nearly crazed so that they renewed their attacks in a mad frenzy, rushing at Dimitri and Zev, and dragging them to the ground.
Tatijana! Circle back.
Fen had no choice but to go to his brother’s aid. He turned away from the severed body of the undead, leapt over a fallen werewolf and landed in the middle of the frenzied pack. He picked up a large werewolf who ripped open Dimitri’s belly with his teeth and clawed at his insides in triumph. Fen snapped the werewolf’s neck and threw him into another one so that they both went crashing down, one on top of the other. He waded through more of the werewolves, it seemed a wall of them, trying to get to his brother and Zev.
Tatijana burst overhead, fire raining down, a long sweep of flames so that fur blackened, singed and then curled into ashes. Werewolves screamed in panic and pain. Fen took advantage of the assault from the sky, breaking through the mass of wolves to yank Dimitri up and away from the frenzied mob. Blood sprayed into and over the thrashing wolves.
Dark Lycan (Carpathian) Page 5
