Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

rushing toward him, lethal intent plain in the cold glitter of their eyes.
    Had he misread the situation? Were these men holding her prisoner?
    Dax reacted instinctively, moving with preternatural speed. “Arabejila, run!” he shouted
     in Carpathian. “Run, my sister! If they are Mitro’s slaves, he will soon return.”
    He disarmed Jubal, breaking his arm with a clear, audible snap. The man fell to his
     knees, clutching his arm to his chest.
    “Sisar?” the man repeated in Carpathian almost under his breath. Then in an odd dialect Dax
     was unfamiliar with, “Gary, wait, he thinks she’s his sister. He’s trying to protect
     her.”
    Dax caught Jubal by the strange clothing covering his chest. The hunter pulled his
     hand back, fingers curved into diamond-tipped claws, ready to rip out the human’s
     throat, when Arabejila cried out in the same, odd dialect as the first man.
    “No! Stop! Don’t hurt him! Please!”
    Dax froze. Not because he understood her command—though the plea in her voice was
     unmistakable—but because at the first sound of her voice, an enormous wave of emotion
     crashed over him. Not the fiery, rage-fueled emotion of the dragon, but something
     deeper, fuller, more visceral. It shook him to his core. And the black-and-white world
     of his Carpathian vision deepened as well, becoming richer, more varied.
    Before his brain could process the change, before he could understand or even put
     a name to it, a loud blast sounded behind him. Something hard and hot tore through
     his back, ripping a path through his chest. Dax staggered, releasing the man in his
     grip and falling to one knee. In a daze, he put a hand to his chest. It came away
     wet, covered in dark liquid.
    “Gary, stop! Stand down. Put the damned gun away!” The man with the broken arm pushed
     forward, shoving the others out of the way. “Olenasz? Nimed olen?” A demand to know his name.
    Jubal glanced up at the others. “Someone, give me a light. I need a light over here.”
    A small, shockingly bright light flared into existence. It blinded Dax for an instant,
     and then focused on the bloodied mess of Dax’s chest.
    His blood gleamed bright, shocking scarlet in the light. His skin, once the pale white
     that had never seen the sun, was a burnished mahogany brown.
    Dax stared up into Arabejila’s eyes. Not black but a rich, dark brown, the color of
     fertile earth so necessary to every Carpathian’s survival. But she wasn’t Arabejila.
     She wasn’t the friend who had traveled and hunted beside him for centuries. She was
     someone else entirely. Someone he had long ago ceased to think could possibly exist.
    He reached for her, his bloody hand brushing a streak of red across the ash coating
     her cheek. Päläfertiilam.

9
    R iley stared in stunned amazement at the fiercely beautiful man kneeling before her.
     He’d said “ Päläfertiilam ” and touched her cheek with exquisite gentleness; she found herself literally frozen
     in place. Little red and gold specks of glowing ash were falling in a dazzling display
     around them, adding to the dreamlike feel of the moment. The terror of mere seconds
     ago had evaporated entirely, leaving behind a dazed sense of wonder. Then, with a
     blinding speed every bit as shocking as his unexpected gentleness, the man whirled
     on Gary, divested him of the pistol and caught his throat in a viselike grip. The
     entire series of moves happened in less than a heartbeat.
    “No, please!” Riley leapt forward instinctively, grabbing the vampire’s arm. Beside
     her, Ben brought up his weapon.
    “Ben, wait,” Jubal barked. “He’s not the vampire! He’s not the vampire!” Jubal pointed
     to his left wrist where the bracelet that had been radiating colors seemed to have
     changed back to what he had called its dormant state.
    Whether driven by an innate protective streak, a rush of adrenaline or simply self-preservation,
     Ben did not respond to Jubal’s shout. He brought his rifle up, taking aim at the back
     of the dragon-man’s head. His finger squeezed the trigger.
    Riley’s whole body jumped at the loud report, then everything seemed to move in slow
     motion. The rifle spat bullet after bullet in rapid succession. Riley screamed and
     covered her ears as she waited for the dragon-man to fall. He seemed an impossible
     target to miss, standing as he was only a few feet in front of Ben. But the man didn’t
     fall.
    One moment the dragon-man was standing in