Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

drops of blood like honey dripping from a comb—a dark sorrow invading
     and spreading through the earth. She was dead! At long last, Arabejila was dead. If
     he could have done so without attracting the hunter, Mitro would have danced. He’d
     done it! He’d destroyed the one woman who could bring him down! He could barely contain
     his glee. He’d expected a bigger impact, the ground rolling and swaying in protest—or
     even trying to retaliate against him—but none had come. He had grown strong while
     she had grown weak. He’d sensed that over the centuries, that slow decline without
     her lifemate—without him. She hadn’t been able to hold on as he had.
    She had needed him to live, but she’d chosen to side with the arrogant Carpathian
     hunter, thinking they could defeat him. She’d chosen poorly. Once again he’d proven
     he was stronger, better, far more intelligent and cunning than the rest of them. The
     hunter and his whore had lost the game to Mitro’s superior skills. He had known all
     along he’d outsmart them. He proved time and again he deserved the position as right-hand
     man to the prince, yet he’d been cast aside because the prince had feared him—feared
     others would recognize that Mitro was a born leader and turn against the prince.
    Even as injured as he’d been from their last encounter, he’d managed to rise first—or
     maybe the hunter had been burned in the magma. He knew better, but it was a nice thought.
     No one could defeat him. Not the famous Danutdaxton and not Arabejila.
    Now, with Arabejila dead at last, his victory almost made him giddy. He had to focus.
     He had everything he needed at long last. His quest had been successful, and he was
     invulnerable now. Nothing would stop him. With Arabejila dead and his newfound treasure
     in his possession, once he was out, there was no hunter who could ever destroy him.
     The world and all its riches would belong to him.
    Mitro kept his movements slow and deliberate in spite of the urge to rush toward the
     thinning crust and push hard to get out. He had succeeded where so many others failed
     because he was patient and tenacious. They had made a terrible mistake, trapping him
     inside the volcano. They thought it a prison, a torture chamber, but he had grown
     into something else, something more. He found a treasure beyond price, and he had
     all the time in the world to plan his revenge—and his vengeance knew no bounds.
    He still had to evade the hunter and get through the barrier Arabejila and her assassin
     had erected to keep him close to the center of the volcano. Over time he had tested
     that barrier, and over the past years he had thinned it in one place without the hunter
     noticing. He had been stealthy, staying away from the area for long periods of time
     and careful never to leave a trace behind. He had even worked at the safeguards in
     other places, determined this spot would be his true escape hatch should the others
     fail. This was his chance and he wouldn’t risk losing it by giving away his position
     too soon.
    Mitro couldn’t chance another battle with the hunter. Just as he’d grown into something
     more, so had Danutdaxton—a relentless hunter he’d known since childhood. “The Judge,”
     they called him. Even as a boy he’d been a serious warrior and everyone, including
     the prince, had made a big deal over him. Mitro had done his best to pretend to be
     his friend, but watching everyone grovel around him was truly sickening.
    Mitro was intelligent—far smarter than Danutdaxton would ever be—and the prince should
     have seen that. All of them should have seen it. Mitro had been wronged so many times. They’d all been
     jealous of him—especially his brothers. They had said he was ill, that his heart was
     black, just because he didn’t make clean emotionless kills as the Judge did. Mitro enjoyed watching the damned suffer. They deserved it. They’d been condemned, so why shouldn’t
     he have a little fun after he took the time and effort to hunt them down? What business
     was it of anyone how he dispatched an enemy?
    And humans were fodder. Food. Their women were fair game. He felt when he stared into their eyes and took their bodies without their permission while
     their men watched in horror. So helpless. Like children. Like the animals he ran across
     and spent hours torturing. The suffering, watching the life leave their eyes, it was
     all exhilarating. The prince and