Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

of, he planned on doing just that. Dax’s body jerked again, his foot lifting awkwardly
     and then setting down a large stride away, nearly throwing him off balance.
    Exasperated, he scowled. Just give me direction. Don’t try to control the movements of my body.
    How was he going to fight Mitro when he could barely take a step without falling?
     The dragon hadn’t had a body in centuries and Dax’s body was far too small for him
     to comprehend how to move it around.
    The dragon gave a snort of derision. It is no wonder this great evil has prevailed. You are a puny one, Carpathian.
    Perhaps that is so, Dax soothed. After all, in relation to size, it was true. But I can maneuver this body much more easily than you. If we fight one another how
     will we succeed in our mission? If pandering to the dragon’s ego would result in destroying Mitro, Dax could manage
     it with no problem.
    Power pulsed deep inside, pushing against the restraints of his physical frame. His
     entire body vibrated, his brain crashing hard against his skull. His body hit the
     side of the tube hard, this time flinging him to the floor. He couldn’t imagine how
     frustrating it had to be for a massive dragon to find himself confined in a human
     frame, but Dax was finished reasoning.
    And I was told your kind was so intelligent.
    Fiercely he pushed back, slamming a wave of massive force straight at the Old One’s
     soul. The internal explosion sent his body reeling. For a moment his head felt as
     if every bone in his body would shatter. He set his jaw and accepted the pain.
    We can do this all night, or work together to destroy the vampire.
    Amusement filled his mind. The dragon had a rusty sense of humor. For a puny lizard, you have a hard punch. How do we do this? I cannot work this strange
     body.
    If you can find him, point me in the direction. I’m Carpathian. I know you are aware
     of the things we can do. I’ll shift into whatever we need to hunt him. If we need
     your form, you take over, otherwise we work as a unit, with you guiding me where we
     go and me getting us there. Is that acceptable?
    There was a long moment of silence. So be it.
    Dax didn’t give the Old One time to change his mind. He moved into the lava tube at
     the dragon’s urging. As Dax shifted into mist and sped away through the vents and
     fissures in the black volcanic rock, the dragon was there with him, part of him, a
     separate soul and consciousness sharing his body, his gifts. Together, yet still separate.
     More powerful together than either had been apart. Neither of them would ever be alone
     again. And both of them streaked through the volcano with one purpose foremost in
     their minds: to stop Mitro Daratrazanoff or die trying.
    The tube was miles long, an old subterranean flow that had long since shifted, leaving
     a wide tunnel extending under the mountain. Dax had been in it often, following Mitro,
     knowing the vampire was up to something within the tube, but he’d never managed to
     catch him at anything. As mist, he could travel without giving away his presence if
     Mitro had set a trap for him, which he did habitually.
    Wait. Here. He has not gone beyond this point.
    Dax stopped moving instantly, the mist stretching out along with his senses, trying
     to reason out where Mitro could have gone. The stench of the undead permeated the
     tube, and he couldn’t feel or smell a difference, but he trusted the dragon’s instincts.
     The creature was a fierce hunter and well adapted to stalking in caves.
    The tube didn’t have any tributaries, not any that Dax could see, or that he’d ever
     found, yet the dragon sensed that the vampire hadn’t continued along the tube, which
     meant he’d found another way through the mountain—or was disguised and lying in wait
     for his enemy.
    Dax went still, reaching for his dragon senses. The undead was a repulsive, loathsome
     stench in the home of the Old One. The creature of myth and legend found the presence
     of a creature so against nature to be abhorrent. The fact that Mitro was in his home
     had the dragon outraged.
    The stench was strongest to his right. Dax studied the rock outcropping. The wall
     was dark reds, yellow and deep brown. He could detect no hint of Mitro tampering with
     the wall itself. He experimented with moving slowly, inch by inch, his patience at
     odds with the dragon’s growing emotions of hostility toward the unwelcome abomination
     in his home.
    The hunt took