Carpathian 12 - Dark Melody

to them. Dayan knew they were not in league with the undead; The vampire was simply using them as another delaying tactic. Dayan was supremely confident in Darius and Gregori. Their reputations were legend. He didn't have to look to see that they were gliding in behind him. He knew they were there and trusted them to take care of the humans.
    "I believe you wanted to introduce yourself," Dayan said softly to the vampire, his voice pure and Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    melodious, the sound filling every atom of space around them though he hadn't raised his voice. "You will turn and face me, vampire. I am quite willing to accept your challenge."
    The vampire shuddered with the effort to break free from the sound of that voice. It was made for golden tunes, truth and honesty. It was hideous to the creature, so that he pressed his hands hard against his ears in an attempt to block out the sound. He turned slowly, hands clamped to his head, his body swaying slightly. As he turned he opened his mouth as if to speak. A black swarm of insects erupted all around him, the air thick with them, so many they appeared as a solid wall, for one brief second obscuring Dayan's vision of the undead.
    He was striding forward, easily blocking the stinging, poisonous bugs by deflecting them away from his body with a powerful current of moving air he produced with a casual wave of his hand. He continued moving rapidly, a blur as he whipped through the cloud of living shields. Dayan realized immediately that the vampire had used the insects to flee once again. He had disappeared as if he had never been, leaving behind an empty space in the air. Blankness.
    Behind him, Dayan heard the shouts of the humans, the loud discharge of a weapon. The air vibrated with power, the storm raged, yet nothing mattered but that he pursue his quarry – the vampire who had sought his lifemate. He used the blankness to track the undead. The vampire was concealing his form, but Dayan wasn't fooled. The stench of his prey was overpowering, and he followed unerringly. He didn't glance behind him; he knew Darius and Gregori would be taking care of the enemy and would follow him as soon as possible.
    The storm was fierce, a boiling, spinning mass of heavy black clouds. Lightning arced from cloud to cloud and there was a fast buildup of electrical charge along the ground. Bolts slammed from sky to earth, the sound deafening. The land shook. Nearby a large tree exploded in a fiery conflagration. Sparks rained onto vegetation. A wall of flames leapt at Dayan, solid, orange-red, a brilliant living, mindless antagonist roaring straight for him. At once he whirled quickly, a cloak of wet mist enveloping him as he raced through the fire with preternatural speed. He heard the sizzle of the mist as it heated and evaporated, but he was through and on the other side.
    A dark shadow was just ahead, fleeing toward the darkened interior of a thicket of trees. Dayan took to the air, shape-shifting as he did so, a streamlined raptor racing through the canopy of branches to reach the undead before it managed to get to its lair. He came in from high above, dropping down out of the turbulent sky so fast the vampire had no warning. The large body of the bird knocked the night creature off balance, sharp talons raking viciously so that tainted blood splattered to the carpet of vegetation, withering it on contact.
    Snarling, the vampire staggered, tearing blindly at the sky around him in an attempt to destroy his enemy, his head undulating back and forth like a reptile. He was a hideous, depraved being determined to live at all costs. Desperately he tried to regain his balance, his bearings, searching the sky and ground for his attacker.
    Dayan was moving so fast he was a blur, a chameleon blending in with the trees, once more in human form. He struck straight at the abomination, the fury of the kill rising with the heat of battle. Flames leapt in the depths of his coal black eyes, and every vestige of the poet was gone, leaving behind the beast with the lust of battle on him. His fist plunged through the wall of the vampire's chest, a flimsy barrier, straight for the withered, blackened heart. The age-old lure of the beast was on him. Bloodlust was a red haze clouding judgment and honor, beckoning relentlessly. More, always more, it demanded, never sated, never satisfied.

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