Carpathian 21 - Dark Peril

shoulder exploded from the inside out. His shoulder, his arm and the side of his neck turned black and fell into ashes. Drago screamed, his head snapping around, those pitted red eyes finding her in the precarious shelter of the tree.

    Her heart slammed hard in her chest. She crouched, preparing to leap, even as she fitted another arrow into the crossbow. Howling, Drago threw his good arm toward the sky so that the dark clouds boiled and lightning forked along the edges. The bolt slammed into the tree as she jumped into the branches of the next tree, landing hard, catching with one hand, claws bursting through her left hand to grip the trunk while her right hand clutched her weapon. Few of her kind could perform such a difficult feat in the midst of a battle, utilizing one body part in jaguar form and the other in human form.

    She dragged herself onto the branch, lifting her bow to get another shot off. Zacarias was back on his feet, whirling so fast his large frame seemed to blur, flinging off the bats, leaving his clothing shredded and bloody. He bowed slightly as he moved to his right, forcing Drago to move as well.

    “I see you learned a trick or two from your master.”

    Drago drew back his lips to show his hideous teeth. “You will regret your contempt.”

    Zacarias smiled. “I think not.” The two opponents rushed forward again, two gladiators crashing into one another while the thunder rolled over their heads.

    Around Solange trees groaned and tilted as the massive upheaval continued. From her position she could see the center of the web, with the cracks spreading out, reaching like silken threads, searching . . .

    She gasped. This was an attack against a specific person. Her Carpathian. The ground swells and cracks were reaching to find him. She could see the gaping lines in the earth switching directions, away from Zacarias and the vampire he was fighting with.

    The blades spun too fast, making a shot with her arrow nearly impossible. She was good, but the timing was out of the question. Her heart in her throat, she watched her Carpathian. He seemed to be anticipating every move the vampire made, his sword meeting with crash after fiery crash. From her vantage point she could see the vampire trying to maneuver him into a position, but the Carpathian seemed able to avoid traps. Twice she saw his blade penetrate the whirling knives, a slash that swept cleanly through the armor and bit deep into the vampire.

    Black blood sprayed across the whirling blades, hissing as the acid hit the ground. Demyan spat blood at her Carpathian and touched his head in a mock salute. Her Carpathian sliced a second time, striking through the armor, and Demyan’s eyes went mad, the red killing haze reflected there. He attacked hard, driving her Carpathian back, fearful now of allowing him the offense, as he had somehow figured out how to time the spinning of the blades.

    The cracks widened, drawing Solange’s attention again, now several feet long, the ground opening a good inch across. It was impossible to see how deep each crack went.

    Look out! It sucked that she didn’t even know his name. On the ground, a trap. She didn’t know what kind of trap, but it was closing in on him, ring after ring of spiderweb cracks. She sent the detailed image into his mind.

    Dominic. The name was given to her in a calm, detached tone, even as his sword parried thrust after thrust, the vampire clearly trying to maneuver him toward the widening, gaping holes in the forest floor. I am Dragonseeker.

    Solange frowned, the adrenaline running wild, the blood in her veins pumping in a ferocious, almost violent reaction to the parasites in the vampire’s blood. She actually could feel the reaction inside of her, as if her blood rose up to fight the blood of the vampire in complete revulsion. Everything inside of her felt feral and uncontrollable, yet he was the exact opposite. Dominic. That was all. As if he was strolling through a meadow of wildflowers, not in the fight of his life.

    She took a breath, watching the way the master vampire maneuvered him, stepping back, drawing him in, turning left, then right, attacking, retreating, but keeping Dominic’s attention on him as he expertly wielded his sword. That terrible razor-sharp blade sliced into Dominic’s chest, shredding elegant clothes and leaving deep slashes across his skin.

    The master vampire and Dominic anticipated one another’s moves, a very violent ballet that was