Carpathian 17 - Dark Celebration

blood. We have kept some just in case we find a use for it. An astonishing young woman."
    "I am looking forward to meeting her."
    Gregori began to shimmer into transparency. "You know there will be trouble over Gabrielle and Gary now that she has been converted."
    Mikhail sighed. "Even now, when we are supposed to be gathering for Christmas, there always seems to be trouble."

Chapter 14
    The inn was beginning to fill up with people. Manolito De La Cruz stood in the corner watching the strange scene unfold before his eyes. Chaos. Stupidity. Why would so many people gather indoors and feel safe?
    Hunger was sharp and terrible, clawing at his gut, riding him hard, and the sound of so many heartbeats, blood ebbing and flowing in veins, only added to his discomfort. Shadows rose in him, the demon crying for blood, for some small spark of feeling, a momentary rush that would give him back life. Just once. He could almost imagine prey beneath him, heart beating wildly, the rush of adrenaline spiking the blood and giving him a high when he consumed it.
    There in the shadows he chose his prey. The man, fit and strong and thinking he was such a big man, telling everyone what to do. Manolito would let him see it coming, death in his eyes, in his heart and soul, and he would sink his teeth deep, feel the struggle for life—

    always life. A life he no longer had and could never get back.
    All around him were Carpathian males who had managed to claim a woman—even two of his brothers. He heard their laughter, felt emotion through them, but it wasn't enough.
    Too many centuries had gone by. Too many battles. Too many kills. He felt his will slipping into that dark abyss he couldn't seem to drag himself out of. He had stood with the Carpathians against the vampires, had been wounded and had been healed, but rising, had felt the darkness coiled in him, whispering continually every moment until he thought he might go mad—until he thought he would welcome madness.
    His gaze shifted to a woman in heels. Women always welcomed his attentions. He could draw them easily with his dark, seductive looks. He knew what women saw when they looked at him: a handsome man, mysterious, wealthy and very, very sexual. He looked the epitome of the predatory male and women followed him, begging to be taken to bed. He used them ruthlessly, leaving behind the impression of sexual prowess, marking them with his teeth, disgusted by their willingness to throw their bodies at him. If they only knew what he really wanted was to drain every drop of blood from their bodies, to leave them a withered shell just so he could feel the momentary rush of life.
    Temptation was overpowering, triggering a response, so that his incisors lengthened and grew, filling his mouth even as his body craved the power of the kill. Just once . The whispers grew louder, drowning out his thoughts of calling to his brothers for aid. One time only. A taste of life that would have to last him a long while. Just once . Who would know?
    The heartbeats grew louder until they thundered in his ears. He heard his own heart beating and waited for the sheep around him to follow—and they did, slowly, one by one, picking up his rhythm.
    He craved hot blood pouring into his system. He craved the feel of a woman's skin, the thrill of her body submitting to his. Only he couldn't feel it—not for real. His brothers fed him emotions like they would spoon-feed a child. It wasn't enough. Darkness called and he needed to answer. He could almost taste the power in his mouth.
    Abruptly, he turned and strode from the inn, out into the night, where he could calm his heart and try to think with more clarity. Hunger beat at him relentlessly, a dark driving obsession he couldn't shake. The night wasn't dark enough to hide in. The snow lit up the ground and kept the shadows from prevailing. He needed the shelter of the woods. Manolito switched directions and headed for deeper forest.

    "Nicolae, warrior, brother, it is good to have you home." Mikhail clasped the forearms of the tall, ancient dark-haired hunter, greeting him with the timeless Carpathian tradition for welcoming beloved warriors home.
    Nicolae Von Shrieder stood arm to arm, staring into the eyes of his prince, emotion nearly choking him. It was unexpected and shocking to feel the lump in his throat at the admiration and genuine welcome in Mikhail's greeting. He was home and he had served his people with honor and dignity for centuries. "It is