Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

encounter with Arabejila.
     He’d been shocked. Horrified even. He was so certain she was dead. She had not responded
     or spoken to him and he hadn’t searched her mind when he had the chance. He stayed
     very still, reaching out carefully. If he knew what words had bound him, he could
     undo the weaves quite easily. He just had to get inside her head. She was his lifemate.
     Her blood would answer his call, but his touch would have to be delicate.
    He tamped down all anger, not an easy feat when Arabejila was to blame for everything
     that had gone wrong in his life and he was already plotting to kill her and everyone
     she might care about. His touch on the thick weaves was very careful, seeking a tie
     to her. His blood stirred, but remained cold. Silence. Emptiness. There was no contact
     at all. If he didn’t know better, he would say she was dead.
    Puzzled, he changed tactics. The sense of urgency grew as the mountain rumbled and
     the gases spewed high. Below him, the gathering fiery storm threatened to break free.
     Abruptly he felt a difference, as if the weaves had loosened just that little bit
     as if she hadn’t quite set them before she turned her attention elsewhere. She’d been
     gripping him hard, and now, that death grip was gone.
    Triumphant, he struck hard, slashing through the weaves. They held, stronger than
     he expected against his all-out assault. He exerted pressure on his bonds, fighting
     panic, afraid his struggles might attract the attention of the hunter. Danutdaxton
     had become something much more as well, there in the volcano, and eluding him was
     essential.
    The bindings tightened once, but then unexpectedly dropped free. Exalted, Mitro rose
     quickly toward the barrier and the one spot he’d spent centuries thinning. It would
     take seconds to break through, and when the volcano erupted, he would go out the vent
     with the gases. Elation swept through him. Glee. Triumph. Nothing , no one, could stop him.

    Dax streaked through the furious volcano, moving as only a dragon could through the
     lower chambers, upward, toward the barrier. He felt the subtle difference in the earth,
     a pouring of comfort, a soothing hand stroking the volcano, easing the rising catastrophic
     explosion that would have blown the top off the mountain and flattened everything
     for miles.
    Arabejila? He sent his inquiry, but he was positive she had been long gone from the earth. He’d
     felt her passing. He’d felt the mourning of the mountain when she was gone. His blood
     should have called to hers had she been alive. Still, the feel of her, the welcoming,
     the power—it was all there. More so.
    Silence greeted his call. Had Arabejila been close—and he knew someone was trying to soothe the volcano—their blood exchanges would have allowed him to
     reach out to her. They’d been friends long before Mitro’s betrayal, but their centuries
     of traveling together had deepened that friendship even further. Being around Arabejila
     had allowed him some emotion. She had been unique that way, providing solace to the
     warriors of their people—and Dax had practically been born a warrior. He had a gift
     for ferreting out evil. He could smell it, see it inside , and from the moment he’d met Mitro he’d seen inside to his rotten core.
    The volcano whispered to him as he moved through the scalding chambers, told him of
     a woman, powerful, healing, a true daughter of the earth. Dax knew the moment she
     plunged her hands into the soil—the volcano responded with a flutter of activity.
     He felt the instant reaction, not only of the volcano, the soil, the very heart of
     the earth, but in his own blood. Familiar, yet unfamiliar. Arabejila, yet now—more.
     This woman was a force to be reckoned with. Where Arabejila was soft through and through,
     this woman had a core of heat and fire.
    He continued to streak through the labyrinth of lava-formed tubes and hollowed caves,
     moving up toward the barrier. No doubt Mitro thought he could escape with the explosion
     of the volcano, right through that small space the vampire had worked centuries to
     thin. Dax had never let on he was aware of Mitro’s work.
    He never caught the undead working to thin the barrier, and all traces were removed,
     but Mitro hadn’t counted on one thing—the intense blood bond between lifemates. Mitro
     had deliberately filled the mountain with his evil, so it would be impossible for
     Dax to detect him, not with his