Dark Lycan (23 page)

He watched as the wind playfully tugged at the grass in the field, creating a rippling effect and pushing small tornadoes of dirt playfully into the air. The field rolled gently, the smallest of lifts, as if far below, the ground shifted. The soil lifted slightly almost in the middle of the field, no more than a couple of inches. He wouldn’t have noticed but for the horses.

He’d left his best four in the corral, close to the small covered shelter he’d built three winters ago. He had six horses, but two were older and he used them mainly for pulling the cart going into the village to the store. A neighbor had taken them for him, just in case his farm came under attack.

The chickens began to fuss. The horses stomped nervously, sensing something he didn’t. He stepped off the porch and walked a few feet away from the house, his eyes on the field. There it was again. A subtle movement beneath the soil, picking up speed and racing straight at the corral.

The horses tossed their heads, eyes rolling nervously. His horses weren’t the nervous type, but they were eyeing that strange lift in the soil coming straight at them. A hen flew down to the ground, pecking lazily. She cocked her head to one side and then, wings flapping, gained a few feet of air. The shift was so fast it was nearly impossible to see, although the small hen became a full-sized blue dragon, slamming deep into the earth, burrowing fast.

Tatijana came up out of the ground, a raging, clawing werewolf in her dragon’s mouth. She shook him hard and dropped him at the farmer’s feet. Fen shifted from the farmer’s form back to his own, pulling the silver sword from the walking stick and slicing cleanly through the werewolf’s neck, severing the head. He slammed a silver stake through the heart.

As if Fen revealing that Costin was merely an illusion and the warrior was waiting for them, the werewolves poured into the farm out of every conceivable cover. Clearly they’d circled the farm and now closed in fast. They came over the roof of the house and barn, converging on the animals, determined to slaughter everything.

Two raced over the house to drop on Fen as he straightened up, the wolves clawing and biting, tearing at his flesh. He reached behind him with one hand and caught one wolf around the neck, jerking him down and off, throwing him toward the porch where the invisible silver net hung between the columns. The wolf slammed into the netting and screamed, hanging there on the slender silver wires.

The second wolf reached his muzzle around and sank teeth into Fen’s side, ripping and gnawing in an effort to incapacitate him. Fen snarled, cutting off the pain, stabbing down with a silver stake, driving it deep into the rogue’s eye. The werewolf howled and dug his claws deeper. Fen was more worried about the ones he didn’t see than the one he did. He spun in a circle, using his sword to cut a wide swath around him, fending off the second wave leaping at him from the horses’ shelter.

Wolves flung themselves at the corral with astonishing speed, determined to gut the horses. One wolf threw himself on top of the nearest horse, sinking his teeth into the neck, tearing out great chunks of flesh while a second ripped at the horse’s belly. They worked with blinding speed, almost too fast to comprehend.

The horses shifted, revealing the Carpathian warriors Tomas, Lojos and Mataias. The three brothers immediately went back to back, swords at the ready, silver stakes in their other hands. They’d fought wars together and they moved in complete synchronization. The werewolves howled their rage, circling, feinting attacks to keep the attention centered on them while three others leapt up on the corral itself.

The three rogues screamed as the fence flashed silver and sparks accompanied the scent of burned fur and flesh. Tomas nodded his head. “Electricity is a marvelous invention.”

“Come on, furball,” Lojos added, beckoning with his sword hand to the nearest werewolf.

“Time for a little justice,” Mataias added.

The remaining rogues rushed them, using blurring speed, sliding beneath the blades to fling themselves onto the three brothers, ripping with razor-sharp claws at their arms to try to dislodge the weapons.

Gregori shifted back to his own shape, shedding the form of the fourth horse. He came out fighting, trying to unseat the werewolf tearing at him with powerful jaws and teeth. The second wolf, clawing at his belly, dug faster and deeper, trying to eviscerate the Carpathian.

“These furballs are fast.” Lojos spat on the ground as he threw a rogue off of him. He was bleeding in half a dozen places even as he stepped up to slice off the head of the werewolf. He had barely started his downswing when his arm was ripped backward.

Mataias tried to wade through the line of werewolves to go to Gregori’s aid, but one managed to leap over Tomas and land on his head, strong hands attempting to twist his head off.

The billy goat on the boulder launched himself into the air, ripping at his own horns as he shifted, driving feet first into the wolf on Gregori’s back, knocking him back and off the Carpathian warrior. The billy goat’s horns morphed into a long silver sword and stake as Jacques took his true form. He sliced through the werewolf’s neck cleanly before the body ever hit the ground. Landing on his feet, he straddled the torso, driving a silver stake deep through the heart with his enormous strength.

The werewolf ripping at Gregori’s belly spun around and caught Jacques’s head in powerful claws, his gaping mouth closing over the Carpathian’s shoulder. He tore out a great chunk and went for the throat and a quick kill.

The other goat shifted in midjump, landing behind Jacques and the rogue wolf. Falcon slammed the silver stake through the werewolf’s back straight into his heart. The wolf went down hard, taking Jacques to the ground with him.

Falcon reached down and yanked Jacques up. “Not safe down there, bro. These boys came for a fight.”

“Bloodthirsty, aren’t they?” Jacques acknowledged with a little grin. He wiped blood from his face. The wolf had bitten him numerous times in a few short moments, tearing out great chunks of flesh.

Gregori cut down another leaping for Jacques’s back. “Fen wasn’t kidding when he said it’s the ones you don’t see.”

As ten of the werewolves had rushed the horses, a good dozen had gone for the all-important cattle. The cattle lying in the grass didn’t move. One raised his head, but simply looked bored as the large wolves descended on them. The fastest rogue bore down on the lazy steer fast, saliva dripping from its gaping jaws. Still the cattle didn’t move, even when the wolf landed on the steer’s back and lowered powerful jaws to take a bite out of the placid animal’s neck.

The other wolves followed, leaping upon the sleepy cattle, sinking claws and teeth into the unsuspecting animals. Teeth clamped down hard on rock. The entire field was filled with boulders, the cattle mere illusions. The three cattle dogs shifted into their natural forms—that of three Carpathian hunters.

Nicolae Von Shrieder, a renowned vampire hunter, wielded his silver sword, the blade flashing scarlet as he removed the head of the nearest rogue. Even as he did so, before he could plunge his stake in the chest of the still clawing creature, two leapt upon his back and tackled his legs, taking him to the ground. They were so fast, these werewolves, leaping higher and moving quicker with no warning than even the vampires he’d hunted for centuries had given.

Traian Trigovise hit the ground running as he shifted. The werewolf coming at him was huge, seemed to be all muscle, teeth and claws and lightning fast. He dove under the wolf’s reaching claws, sliding along the ground, hooking his arm around the wolf’s knees to bring him down. He slammed the silver stake into the heart before the rogue could recover. Two more were on him before he could make it to his feet. He tried to dissolve, but the claws digging into his flesh prevented escape.

The third cattle dog shifted fast. The Carpathian known simply as Andre was as elusive as a legend could get, moving fast, a shadow only, streaking through the air and literally ripping the wolf from Traian’s back. He didn’t slow down at all, moving continuously, his sword flashing in the early dawn’s light, wreaking havoc with the number of werewolves attacking.

Andre’s swordsmanship was superb. He’d fought in centuries past and the sword felt right at home in his hand. He seemed to flow, his feet smooth and sure. The blade gleamed bright red, blood dripping onto the ground and spraying through the air as he calmly cut through the raging wolves.

Traian and Nicolae followed in his wake, slamming silver stakes into hearts as Andre cut the rogues down. The three made short work of the werewolves who had attempted to attack the cattle. Costin Eliade and his cattle were safe on a neighboring farm, leaving the Carpathians to build their trap for the rogues.

It took a few moments to realize they had successfully destroyed the twelve werewolves bent on killing the livestock. Both Traian and Nicolae were surprised at the lacerations and chunks of flesh missing from their bodies. Blood streamed down their chest, necks and backs. Nicolae had slash marks across his belly. Andre had bite marks on his legs, but other than that, he’d remained unscathed.

Traian grinned at Nicolae. “What did we learn from this?”

“That Andre needs to give us both sword lessons,” Nicolae acknowledged. “We had to do all the grunt work and look at us. Next time, I want to be the one dancing with the sword while you two do mop up.”

Stop congratulating yourselves and get over here. We could use a little help.
Gregori used the common Carpathian telepathic communication, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Traian, undaunted, flashed another quick grin and winked at Nicolae. “We also learned werewolves fall for illusion and we had the advantage here.”

Nicolae, Andre and Traian moved quickly across the field to go to the aid of the other Carpathians just as a second wave of werewolves leapt over rooftops to drop down on the warriors fighting off the rogues.

I don’t like this,
Fen said uneasily to Tatijana.
Get into the air and see if you can find who is coordinating their attack. They have to have a leader directing them. This is too organized.

He fought his way toward Gregori. He’d dealt with rogue packs throughout the centuries and none were this large. He’d never seen a single pack this large.

How many dead?
he asked Andre.

Twelve.
Andre’s answer was short and clipped.
I have come across smaller packs of rogues, but none this size and none this well organized.

Just the fact that Andre added anything at all to his statement further alarmed Fenris. Andre conveyed tension in his terse sentence. Like Fen, he realized something was definitely not right about the attack. It was too well orchestrated, especially that second wave of werewolves sent to join their brethren.

Tatijana immediately took a running start and leapt into the air. As she did so, a werewolf launched himself from the horse shelter rooftop and swatted her out of the sky. Her body tumbled toward the ground, the rogue catching her around her rib cage between his teeth. Fen leapt to meet him, driving his silver sword through the werewolf’s gut. As the rogue opened his mouth in a gasp, Fen yanked Tatijana to him, streaking upward to avoid hitting the ground. The werewolf hit hard, rolled and came to his feet howling, holding his ripped belly with one hand while his red eyes tracked Fen and Tatijana.

Drops of bright blood fell to the ground, almost on top of the wolf. Tatijana clamped her hand over the bite marks. She could feel Fen’s building rage that she had been bitten. He was anxiously trying to examine her as he went airborne.

I’m all right, Fen,
she assured.
They’re so fast and they jump so high, it’s hard to judge a safe distance from them.

I can feel your pain. Don’t tell me an untruth, Tatijana, I need to know how you are.

It hurts like hell, but nothing’s broken. I thought for a moment he was going to snap my ribs like twigs, but you were on him so fast.

I am
Sange rau
. Faster than they are.
His voice was grim.

Even as he replied, telling her the strict truth, she felt the warmth of healing energy slipping into the wounds on her rib cage. There was instant relief.
Thank you.

Always.

The Carpathians were seeing for the first time the damage a rogue pack could have on them. When they realized just how difficult it would be to destroy the
Sange rau
, they might change their minds about allowing such a mixture of blood to live. It was tantamount to having a nuclear weapon aimed at one’s head.

Fen reversed his direction and this time aimed for the ground, moving like a speeding bullet straight toward the werewolf he’d knocked from the sky. The wolf leapt to meet him. At the last moment, Fen pushed Tatijana back skyward, giving her the opportunity to shift into her dragon as he met the wolf head-on. He was moving so fast, a mere streak in the sky, that when he hit the rogue, he nearly went through the body. His fist shot through the chest wall, the silver stake he held in it slamming through the heart so that the wolf was dead before both ever hit the ground.

You play rough.
Gregori had observed the encounter in spite of fighting off the latest wave of attackers. His voice was thoughtful. Wary.

Now they begin to understand,
Fen said to Tatijana.
He will be more concerned that I keep my distance from his prince.

Tatijana sighed.
Our prince. Don’t pretend you would not guard him with your life. I am in your heart and soul, remember, wolf man? I see what you are doing. You want Gregori and the others to realize what they’re up against. Mere words are not enough. They have to see for themselves.

No one Carpathian hunter will ever be able to defeat the
Sange rau
alone,
Fen told her.
Only if a miracle occurred. The combination of Lycan and Carpathian abilities is lethal. The Lycans know it, because they have seen thousands of their kind killed, nearly wiping out their species, by only one or two of these monsters. The Carpathians have not faced them, and their arrogance will get them all killed—and possibly their prince if they don’t process the information fast. Even now, they can’t fathom an enemy like the
Sange rau.