Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

enemy, regardless of the cost to himself. Within the dragon’s
     body, aware of how close they were to death and even more aware of the vulnerable
     humans who had resumed their frantic run down the mountain, Dax was equally determined
     to stop the Old One long enough to heal. He could not afford for them to die before
     Mitro was defeated—especially not with the woman so close. Yet each time he attempted
     to exert control, his efforts seemed only to feed the Old One’s rage.
    Suddenly, the black dragon turned and extended his wings. Long, curving hooks sprouted
     from the apex of each wing. He used the hooks as a third pair of claws, scrabbling
     up the volcano in leaps and bounds. With a final, ferocious roar, the red dragon set
     off after his adversary once again.
    The hot rush of emotion rolled over Dax like an ocean of fire, burning him with its
     wild need. But this time, instead of fighting that fury, he relaxed into it, let it
     wash over and through him. He didn’t try to stand fast. Instead, he tried to make
     himself as insubstantial as mist.
    The Old One’s anger and destruction surrounded him. The dragon’s innate determination
     to dominate any threat plowed into him, and this time, Dax let that fury pass through
     him without resistance. Lightly, with serene patience and endless calm, his senses
     branched out through the dragon’s body. He was not an interloper in the dragon’s body.
     He was the dragon. Not a separate consciousness, not a separate will, but one and the same.
     He did not want to imprison or control the dragon, but rather merge their consciousnesses,
     let their thoughts and actions become one. The dragon offered raw power, primal and
     indefatigable. Dax offered calm, judicial restraint, the ability to plan, think and
     act without passion, without rage, without emotion. If he could successfully join
     the dragon’s might with his own legendary control, together they would be unstoppable.
     Together they could—and would—end the threat Mitro posed to the world.
    But they would only succeed if they could act as one, rather than fighting each other
     for control.
    Above them, higher up the volcano’s slope, Mitro had turned his attention to the bubbling
     fury of the earth’s hot core. The ground began to tremble as Mitro directed the volcano’s
     heated gases and acids to the surface. Steam began to rise from the cracks and fissures
     in the rocks. The main blast of the volcano had exploded on the other side of the
     mountain, but now Mitro was opening another vent on this side . . . one that would
     mean certain death for the four humans racing down the mountainside.
    Mitro knew Dax too well. Knew how to distract him. Mitro called it weakness—to care
     for those helpless before a hunter’s great power—but that need to serve, to protect,
     was the only thing that had ever stood between Dax and the same darkness to which
     Mitro and so many other Carpathian hunters had succumbed. The innocent must be protected
     at all cost. It was the reason Dax had been born. The reason he lived still.
    The dragon’s bloodlust was in full force as the Old One fought to pursue Mitro and
     end him. Fire spewed from his throat, roaring up the mountain, licking at the black
     dragon’s tail.
    Mitro leapt into the sky just as the volcano split open. The side of the mountain
     burst open, throwing boulders and trees through the air like a child’s toys. Burning
     clouds of ash and superheated gas roared down the mountainside at phenomenal speed.
    As diversions went, it was a superb one. To go after Mitro now would mean certain
     death for the humans. With only a split second to decide, Dax made his choice.
    We must save them, Old One. The woman, especially.
    He didn’t try to force the dragon to his will, instead he merged his will with the
     dragon’s, weaving their most instinctive drives together. With a scream, the Old One
     wheeled around and launched into the air, diving at a steep incline toward the fleeing
     humans below. As they neared the small group, dragon’s wings spread wide, forming
     a protective shield over their bodies. Ash and burning rock pelted the dragon’s hide.
     He locked his claws deep in the earth and swept his wings tight around the small party,
     ignoring their shouts of fear and surprise as he caged the humans in a protective
     dome formed by his curled body and overlapping wings. The dragon tucked his head beneath
     his wings as the