Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

laughing and the merry notes traveled through rock and soil to find her. Tears clogged
     her throat.
    She closed her eyes, inhaling. At first she could hear the men breathing. An occasional
     jarring crash resounded on the roof above her head. She forced herself to block out
     the distractions and pushed her awareness deep, searching for a connection, a way
     to tap into that vein of information that seemed to be just out of reach. She could
     hear rumblings and knew if she just tuned in, she would understand what was happening
     in the world around her.
    She had a message center willing to impart information to her, she just hadn’t learned
     how to use it yet, but each time she pushed her hands into the rich soil, she found
     she unlocked more of the mysteries surrounding her mother. Whatever gift exchanged
     from mother to daughter was locked here in the ground waiting for her to discover
     the legacy that had been left to her. She just needed to find the right words to draw
     the secrets to her. With others depending on her, she needed to figure it out.
    She took another breath and let it out, pushing away the need for action or hurry.
     The men disappeared, taking with them the sounds of their presence. The walls of the
     cavern melted away. Fear and grief left her until there was only the sound of her
     lungs moving in and out rhythmically. For a few minutes she breathed, allowing the
     mechanics of that simple process to clear and open her mind completely.
    She became aware of a pulse beating—an eternal thrum, coming from the very center
     of the earth’s core. Through the pads of her fingers she felt an expanding cloud of
     extremely hot gas, and felt an intimate connection with that older star exploding
     violently, yet giving birth to new stars, to the sun and moon and planet Earth. She
     actually could see the creation in her mind, the nebula collapsing and cooling into
     a flattened, slowly spinning disk. Earth’s surface covered by the pulsating ocean
     of molten rock.
    Riley felt the bubbling magma beneath the surface, the shifting of plates and pushing
     up of mountains and the roots spreading out, like great chains and vines, deep beneath
     the sea, under every continent, connecting every part of the planet together—connecting
     it all with her. The first soft whispers came to her, murmurs filling her mind, voices
     of women long past, welcoming her to their sisterhood.
    Her heart sang when she recognized the familiar, comforting feel of her mother and
     grandmother.

8
    D ax stared into the hate-filled, triumphant eyes of the vampire. Just as the volcano
     had changed Dax, Mitro, too, had evolved into something else. He had spent hundreds
     of years inside that super-heated environment, and to withstand the pressure, gases
     and heat, Mitro had shifted into a form that was better suited. Over the centuries,
     his body had taken on the shell of a mutated lizard.
    Heavy ridges dissected Mitro’s skull, drawing his skin tight over heavy bones. Singed
     hair stood straight up in spiked razor-sharp rows. Eyelids had grown heavier and the
     eyes themselves, windows to the soul, reflected back a pure black, no white showing
     at all, no soul within. Scars from the magma formed deep pits over most of his exposed
     skin. Slime-covered skin had yellowed and gave off a faint scent of rotten eggs. The
     chamber began to spin. Poisonous gas infused in the vampire’s thick, mottled skin
     induced lethargy and clouded the mind.
    Dax forced his brain to work. The withered heart of the vampire had been incinerated,
     yet he still lived. How? And how could any hunter possibly kill the undead if he didn’t
     die when he should have? In all the endless years of destroying the undead, he’d never
     encountered such a thing, nor heard of it.
    The mountain shook. A boom reverberated through the chamber. Maniacal laughter grated,
     slicing through his head. Staring straight into his eyes, Mitro drove his clawing
     fist deeper into Dax’s chest. Agony, bright and hot, robbed Dax of breath. The talons
     ripped and tore, shredding sinew and muscle, digging a hole, tunneling deep in an
     effort to reach the Carpathian’s beating heart.
    That dark parody of a grin widened, jagged, stained teeth in receding gums rushing
     toward his neck even as the greedy talons grasped at his heart. In that moment everything
     changed. Dax didn’t have the luxury of dying, leaving Mitro loose on the world. Dax
     had to live no