Drake Sisters 07 - Hidden Currents

striding away fast, not wanting to use energy to control a starving pack when there was a banquet in front of them.
    Increasing her speed until she was running, Ivory sprang into the sky, shifting, the wolves sliding over her skin to become the ferocious tattoos as they streaked through the clouds with her. She always felt the joy of traveling this way, as if a burden was lifted from her shoulders each time she took to the air.
    Spinning dark clouds helped to ease the light on her skin as she moved quickly toward her home. Maybe that was what made her feel less weighted down—that she was heading home where she felt safe and secure.
    She’d never learned to be relaxed and at ease above-ground where her enemies could come at her from any direction. She kept her lair secret, leaving no traces near her entrance, so no one had the opportunity to track her. The entrance wasn’t protected with a spel , so if a Carpathian or vampire found it, they wouldn’t know it was occupied. Many years earlier she’d learned the areas underground where her enemies were most comfortable, and now she avoided them.
    Ten miles from her lair, she went to earth, landing, stil running, skimming across the surface, arms outstretched so her wolves could hunt. They al needed blood, and with al seven of them spreading out, they’d run across a hunter or a cabin. If not, she would go into the closest vil age and bring back enough to sustain the pack. She was very careful not to hunt near home, not unless she absolutely had to.
    As she slipped through the trees, the mountain rising high in the distance, she came across tracks. An early morning wanderer out to get wood perhaps, or hunting himself. She crouched low and touched the tracks in the snow. A big man. That was always good. And he was alone. That was even better. Hunger gnawed at her now that she’d al owed herself to become aware of it. Ivory ran in the footsteps, fol owing the male as he made his way through the trees.
    The forest gave way to a clearing where a smal cabin and outhouse sat, a stream dissecting the meadow surrounding it. Ordinarily the cabin was empty, but the tracks led through the snow and inside. A thin trail of smoke began to float from the chimney, tel ing her he’d just come home and lit a fire.
    Ivory threw her head back and howled, cal ing to her pack. She waited on the edge of the clearing and the man stepped outside, rifle in his hands, looking around at the surrounding forest. That lonely cal had spooked him and he waited, quartering the area around his house.
    Ivory took to the sky again, moving with the wind, part of the drifting mist surrounding the house. She stood above her prey on the roof while he studied the forest and then, with a smal curse, went inside. She saw the shadows flitting among the trees and gestured to them. The pack sank down, waiting.
    The crack beneath the cabin door was wide enough for the mist to flow through and Ivory entered the room, warm now from the crackling fire. Only one room, with a smal fireplace and cooking stove, the cabin had the barest of amenities. In modern times, even the poorest of the vil agers had such meager trappings. She watched him from the hidden corner of the room as he poured water into a pot and set it on the fire to boil.
    Crossing the space, she materialized almost in front of him, slipping between him and the fire, her wil already reaching for his to calm him and make him more accepting. His eyes widened, and then glazed over. Ivory led him to the chair where she could seat him. She was tal —much tal er than many women in the vil ages, a gift from her Carpathian heritage—but this mountain of a man was stil tal er. She found the pulse beating on the side of his neck and sank her teeth deep.
    The taste was exquisite, hot blood flowing, cel s fil ing and bursting with life. Sometimes she forgot just how good it was to feast on the real thing.
    Animal blood could sustain life, but true strength and energy came from humans. She savored every drop, appreciating the life-giving blood, grateful to the man, although he wouldn’t remember he had donated. She planted a dream, slightly erotic, whol y pleasing, not wanting the experience to be unpleasant for him.
    She flicked her tongue across the puncture wounds to close the two holes and erase al evidence that she’d been there. Before leaving, she got him a drink of water and pressed it to his