Carpathian 17 - Dark Curse

reached out to connect with Nicolas and found-a killer. There was no hint of her charming life mate, so intent on courting her. There was no mercy, no gentleness, nothing but a killing machine made of sinew and bone, honed by centuries of battles and a mind made for combat.
    She skidded to a halt, pressing her palm to her mouth. Did she want to see him like that? Know him like that?
    The killer was as much a part of him as that smooth, charming man, the one who had kissed her senseless and taken her on the wildest ride of her life, and he was in a fight for his life-both of their lives.
    She knew evil when she saw it, and the vampire had the same peculiar odor as Xavier\'s pet mutations-the parasites. She pushed down the gathering bile caused by just the stench alone, and forced her body forward.
    She couldn\'t leave him wounded to fight a battle with such evil when she might find a way to help him.
    Lara dropped down on her belly and scooted the rest of the way up the rise to peer over the snow bank. Below she could see sprays of crimson streaked across the sparkling snow, as if someone had thrown red paint in slashing lines in every direction. A lone tree, bent under the weight of the snow, stood as a sentinel watching the age-old battle between vampire and hunter.
    Nicolas stood a distance from her, tall and straight, his hair flowing behind him, his eyes glowing with power.
    In spite of the injuries-now open where the vampire obviously had raked down his chest and belly with talons, tearing away the soil patch-Nicolas moved with fluid grace, a blurring speed she could barely comprehend, as he streaked across the snow to slam his fist deep into the chest of the vampire.
    The vampire screamed and clawed at Nicolas\'s face, but the hunter had already leapt out of reach, using his tremendous speed. It hadn\'t been his first attack. Lara could see three deep wounds on the undead. The two combatants circled each other.
    \"Your woman will be fodder for animals. They\'ll eat her flesh and drink what I leave of her blood.\"
    Nicolas didn\'t reply, didn\'t engage in conversation. His gaze never left the vampire. His breath came slow and easy, although Lara couldn\'t imagine the agony he must have been in with his severe wounds. There was something about him. She couldn\'t help but admire the lone warrior, facing an enemy with such confidence, Page 109

    Christine Feehan: Dark Curse
    nothing in his mind but absolute victory.
    She wanted to be like Nicolas. She wanted that confidence in herself, to know she could handle any situation alone if necessary. She didn\'t want to be afraid anymore. She could see how Nicolas had gotten the way he was-he had to be confident to the point of arrogance, he had to believe in his own abilities or he would have never survived.
    The vampire spat a mouthful of blood, hate twisting his features. Twice his gaze shifted toward the sky and both times Nicolas feinted a movement, bringing attention back to him. The third time, Nicolas moved again with that same blurring speed. The vampire turned his head at the last moment, meeting the attack with a shriek, shape shifting to avoid the enormous strength that smashed through bone and sinew to reach for the vulnerable, blackened heart.
    Nicolas hit the undead as he tried to shift, half-vampire form, half-wolf. The muzzle elongated, razor-sharp teeth driving straight at Nicolas\'s face. Lara bit back a scream of fear and buried her face in her hands. Her body began to shake so hard her teeth rattled. How could he face that? He hadn\'t even flinched. She peeked out between her fingers and saw his face, a mask of blood, his arm buried deep into the cartoonish werewolf\'s chest.
    The creature was nearly seven feet tall, and he caught at Nicolas with clawed hands, jerking him back, shrieking as Nicolas refused to let go of the heart. The vampire shook him, slamming a fist into his chest repeatedly in an effort to dislodge those burrowing fingers. The eyes went cunning and she saw the gaze lock on Nicolas\'s throat. Her heart nearly stopped, but she flung her hands up, weaving a hasty pattern of protection.
    Orr of earth, forged by fire, circle cast by need-desire, form this metal into a ring of hard titanium.
    The pattern glowed white-hot and then cooled as it formed a protective circle around Nicolas neck just as the werewolf thrust its head straight toward Nicolas\'s exposed throat. Saliva and blood dripping, the muzzle gaped wide, and then clamped down