Carpathian 20 - Dark Slayer

Surrounding them, the pack came in from various angles, keeping the doe running straight toward Ivory. They’d hunted this way more than once, bringing the prey to her in desperate times.
    Ivory waited until she had a killing shot, not wanting the doe to suffer before releasing her arrow and taking the animal down.
    Before the alpha could approach the carcass, snarling at the others to wait until he had his fill, she hurried to it and retrieved her arrow, striding away fast, not wanting to use energy to control a starving pack when there was a banquet in front of them.
    Increasing her speed until she was running, Ivory sprang into the sky, shifting, the wolves sliding over her skin to become ferocious tattoos as they streaked through the clouds with her.
    She always felt the joy of traveling this way, as if a burden was lifted from her shoulders each time she took to the air.
    Spinning dark clouds helped to ease the light on her skin as she moved quickly toward her home. Maybe that was what made her feel less weighted down—that she was heading home, where she felt safe and secure.
    She’d never learned to be relaxed and at ease aboveground where her enemies could come at her from any direction. She kept her lair secret, leaving no traces near her entrance, so no one had the opportunity to track her. Her unique warning/protection system would never be detected; of that she was certain. The entrance wasn’t protected with the usual spell, so if a Carpathian or vampire found her lair, they wouldn’t know it was occupied or even existed. She’d learned many years earlier what levels underground her enemies were most comfortable at, and she avoided them.
    Ten miles from her lair, she went to earth, landing, still running, skimming across the surface, arms outstretched so her wolves could hunt. They all needed blood, and with all seven of them spreading out, they’d run across a hunter or a cabin. If not, she would go into the closest village and bring back enough to sustain the pack. She was very careful not to hunt near home, not unless she absolutely had to.
    As she slipped through the trees, the mountain rising high in the distance, she came across tracks. An early morning wanderer out to get wood perhaps, or doing some hunting himself. She crouched low and touched the tracks in the snow.

    A big man. That was always good. And he was alone. That was even better. Hunger gnawed at her now that she’d allowed herself to become aware of it. Ivory ran in the footsteps, following the male as he made his way through the trees.
    The forest gave way to a clearing where a small cabin and outhouse sat, a stream bisecting the meadow surrounding it.
    Ordinarily the cabin was empty, but the tracks led through the snow and inside. A thin trail of smoke began to float from the chimney, telling her he’d just come to the hunting cabin and lit a fire.
    Ivory threw her head back and howled, calling to her pack. She waited on the edge of the clearing and the man stepped outside, rifle in his hands, looking at the surrounding forest.
    That lonely call had spooked him and he waited, quartering the area around his house.
    Ivory took to the sky again, moving with the wind, part of the drifting mist surrounding the house. She stood above her prey on the roof while he studied the forest and then, with a small curse, went inside. She saw the shadows flitting among the trees and gestured to them. The pack sank down, waiting.
    The crack beneath the cabin door was wide enough for the mist to flow through, and Ivory entered the room, warm now from the crackling fire. Only one room, with a small fireplace and cooking stove, the cabin had the barest of amenities. In modern times, even the poorest of the villagers had such few trappings.
    She watched the man from a dark corner of the room as he poured water into a pot and set it on the fire to boil.
    Crossing the room, she materialized almost in front of him, slipping between him and the fire, her will already reaching for his to calm him and make him more accepting. His eyes widened and then glazed over. Ivory led him to a chair where she could seat him. She was tall, much taller than many women in the villages, a gift from her Carpathian heritage, but this mountain of a man was still taller. She found the pulse beating on the side of his neck and sank her teeth deep.
    The taste was exquisite, hot blood flowing, cells filling and bursting with