Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

turning to steam against his superheated skin.
     Dax hardly noticed. An inferno raged inside him.
    Hoping to escape the indescribable agony, Dax transitioned into pure energy, a skill
     normally used to heal someone else, but even as his body became a white glow of light,
     he could not escape. The vast, fiery redness of the dragon’s soul was there, searing
     him. Body, mind and soul were invaded with burning heat and energy. A latticework
     of magic and energy led back to every particle of his being, connecting them. That
     latticework grew tighter, pulling Dax’s light form and the dragon’s shimmering red
     soul together, closer and closer until they touched.
    In that instant, for a brief flash of time that seemed to stretch to eternity, the
     dragon’s memories sped through Dax’s mind. Eons of existence. Soaring flights. Fiery
     battles fought between winged behemoths dominating the skies. Dense, savagely beautiful
     jungles, a world that had existed long before the first footsteps of man. A mate,
     sleek and beautiful, with wide, wind-filled wings and sharp, curling talons. Then
     man with his steely spears, hunting the creatures he feared. The beautiful mate fallen
     to the spears of men. Rage. Fire. Blood and destruction raining from the sky. And
     finally, age and weariness . . . a wound draining ancient strength. A choice to sleep
     in the heart of the volcano until the world passed away.
    The Old One was ancient indeed. A vast, primordial power. An ancient intelligence
     birthed when the world was still young. Red dragon. Fire dragon. No wonder it had
     chosen a volcano’s heart for its final resting place. The wonder was that it even
     considered sharing any part of itself with Dax at all.
    And share it did. The dragon’s long life, each moment of thought or feeling, instinct
     and craving before this one became part of Dax’s memories, part of him. The two became
     one. Not two beings merged together, but two souls connected by a single body. They
     could feel each other, move with one another.
    The magma pool rose to fill the chamber, and the crystallized remains of the dragon
     melted back into the liquid earth’s blood that had spawned him.
    Centuries of living deep in the labyrinth of caves meant Dax had explored every inch
     possible. He knew the river of lava flowing beneath the earth, a long ribbon of bright
     orange and red magma and the long tubes that formed the underground subway. He knew
     every chamber, some with walls of crystalline beauty and others under steaming water.
     Mud pools bubbled and spat while pools of hot mineral water sent steam rising like
     fog through caverns.
    The problem was that Mitro had had the same time to explore his environment as well.
     Dax could no longer separate the evil scent from the living abomination; the stench
     of the undead was everywhere, making it impossible to track him—unless you were a
     dragon.
    Dax felt the Old One stretch, testing senses. Suddenly, like a stick puppet, Dax’s
     body whipped around awkwardly and began moving toward the lava tube on his left. He
     staggered, his body impossible to control, falling sideways into the wall. The sharp
     edges of rock scraped at his skin, peeling off the top layer. In the glare of the
     magma pool, his burnished arm appeared covered in overlapping ovals of red gold. He
     blinked down at the strange patterning and then touched them. The ovals felt hard,
     like armor. With his strange diamond-hard nails he tapped them tentatively.
    Scales? Like a lizard?
    At least it kept him from bleeding. That could come in handy in battle. He’d evolved
     there in the volcano, and clearly now there would be more changes. The enticing whispers
     of the earth hadn’t disclosed that his body would be altered on an elemental level
     if he allowed the Old One’s soul to share his physical form.
    Before he could make a move, his body jerked again toward the lava tube, a large round
     tunnel he knew went for miles beneath the peaks. He felt like a marionette being jerked
     around by a drunken puppet master. He sensed the dragon’s impatience and realized
     that being without emotions was a double-edged sword. Carpathian males lived for so
     long that not feeling was a terrible burden, yet with that came an advantage when
     hunting.
    The dragon was eager for the chase, believing Mitro to be no more than an irritation.
     He wanted to slumber, didn’t want to remain awakened, and once Mitro was disposed