Dark Wolf (26 page)

“You disobeyed the council,” Zev accused, loud enough for all Lycans to hear. “You went directly against their orders. You lied to us all, and you put the lives of the council members in jeopardy along with those of everyone here.”

Gunnolf charged, rushing Zev. At the last moment, his clawed hands returned to those of a man’s, enabling him to pull a silver dagger from his belt and slice viciously across Zev’s arm. Blood sprayed over the treacherous Lycan. Zev let out a string of curse words, leaping back away from the man who had followed him for so many years—a man who had been his friend. No Lycan ever drew silver on another—not unless they were rogue. Another collective gasp went up in the Lycan circle.

Fen had his hands full keeping Convel from working his way around him in order to take a slice at Zev. He was faster and stronger than the Lycan, but he couldn’t accidently give himself away as a mixed blood. He had to toe a fine line, fighting just well enough to appear nearly evenly matched.

“Clearly you’re supposed to kill your alpha,” Fen said, in a mild, but carrying voice. He wanted the other Lycans to be aware of the true nature of both challengers. “You and Gunnolf obviously planned to kill Zev during your raid on wounded people. Was that the true goal? Getting rid of the man who had the true ear of the council?”

Convel drove at him hard and fast with his sword, moving easily over the uneven ground, clearly an accomplished swordsman. To be an elite hunter he would have to be. He had confidence. He had experience, and he expected to cut Fen down quickly.

Gunnolf grinned at Zev, once again licking at the drops of blood catching in the fur along the back of his hand and arm. “Your time is over.”

“You don’t have the brains to come up with this plot on your own,” Zev said. He ignored the wide slice on his arm, although blood was pouring from the wound. “Who gave the order for Dimitri to be sentenced to the
Moarta de argint
?”

“Dimitri,”
Gunnolf snarled. He spat on the ground in disgust, circling Zev, looking for an opening for the attack. “You mean the
Sange rau
? Why do you champion him? I have noticed you have become very friendly with Carpathians. Is it possible you are mixed blood and you seek to save your own kind?”

Another collective gasp went up, and the Lycans closest to the two combatants moved back, putting distance between them and a possible
Sange rau
.

Zev shrugged his shoulders, his gaze fixed on his opponent. “You have betrayed our council, Gunnolf. You put them all in jeopardy. You’ve disobeyed nearly every law we have. Even now, you do not fight fair, challenging me for leadership, yet not following the rules of the pack. Calling me a hated and feared name seems a desperate tactic. If that’s all you have left, put down your weapons and allow me to take you into custody.”

“There is no fairness when fighting a
Sange rau
,” Gunnolf countered. “We kill them—exterminate them where we find them.”

He rushed Zev again, feinting to his right and then striking left, the dagger still gripped in his hand. Zev was ready this time, avoiding the razor-sharp blade and catching Gunnolf’s wrist in his unbreakable grip, bending it back and away from Gunnolf so that the wolf fell to the ground. Zev retained possession of the wrist, extracting the dagger and tossing it away.

Gunnolf rolled, howling as an audible snap signaled that his wrist was broken. He kicked out at Zev, driving him back just enough to leap back to his feet. The two bodies came together with a loud crash.

Fen parried Convel’s sword, over and over, but never once gave ground, guarding Zev’s back from the Lycan determined to cut his pack leader from behind. The swordplay was fast and ferocious. Convel tried to drive Fen from his position, but Fen fought him back, increasing the strength of each cut minutely, ratcheting up the speed so skillfully that at first Convel didn’t notice the difference.

Convel obviously recognized that Fen was every bit as skilled as he was with a sword. His expression changed from pure confidence to anger and then desperation. He was now on the defensive, frantically meeting each cut of Fen’s sword. His movements were just that little bit too slow. His footwork began to suffer as time after time the heavy metal jarred his arms and sent shockwaves through his entire body.

He tried to retreat, but the blows kept coming relentlessly, so hard, so fast, he couldn’t begin to keep up with Fen.

“Throw your sword down,” Fen advised. “And face the council.”

Convel couldn’t if he wanted to. His grip was so tight, adrenaline and fear gluing his fingers to the hilt. Fen feinted toward him and triumph burst through the Lycan. At last, Fen had made a terrible mistake. He thrust hard straight at his opponent’s body, putting everything he had into that attack, determined to kill him.

Fen wasn’t there, he’d glided to the other side, and Convel never saw the sword coming at him. He heard it, that betraying whisper as the sword, seemingly alive, cut through the air straight at him. He felt the energy, so aggressive and deadly, rushing toward him. The blade was so sharp he actually didn’t feel the cut as it sliced through flesh and bone. He was dead before he hit the ground, his sword slipping through lifeless fingers.

Dimitri, this is one of your enemies gone,
Fen whispered into his brother’s mind.

He took the opportunity to glance into the haven Skyler had created there in the meadow. Tatijana was inside.

Do they live?
he asked his lifemate.

Tatijana smoothed back Dimitri’s hair from his forehead. She had never seen a body so torn and battered, not even in the ice caves of her father’s torture chamber. The burns were deep and vicious. Healing the wounds, if even possible, would take time.

He is fighting to save her. Take care of business out there, and I’ll see to the wounded.

She didn’t tell him what she suspected—that Dimitri had possessed Skyler’s body and was undergoing the conversion with her. The idea was distasteful and wrong. No one should ever possess another’s body. For her especially, and for Skyler herself, it was such a crime, an abomination.

Tatijana’s father, Xavier, had made a practice of possessing his son’s body, seducing women and getting them pregnant. He wanted Carpathian blood for immortality. Skyler had been born of such an unholy unity. Possession was taboo in any species. Her stomach churned, but she forced herself to get past her aversion and examine Skyler’s body.

She’d been shot multiple times. Someone had packed rich loam in the wounds in anticipation of her conversion. She sent herself outside her own body to become pure healing spirit. Entering Skyler’s body confirmed her worst fears, Skyler was not alone; if anything, there was more Dimitri than Skyler.

The idea was so repugnant to her that Tatijana found herself back in her own body, thrown there by a force outside herself.

“What is it?” Byron asked. “Is she dead?”

Tatijana took a deep breath. She felt oily, dirty even. Wrong. “I don’t know. How’s Josef doing?”

Josef lifted a hand and waved at her, still feeding from his uncle’s wrist.

Vlad smoothed a hand over Josef’s blue-tipped spiky hair. “He’ll be fine once he’s in the ground,” he assured.

Josef closed the pinpricks on Byron’s wrist and looked from one man to the other. Twice he opened his mouth and closed it, blinking rapidly. “You came,” was all he managed to get out, choking a little and turning his face away.

“Of course we came,” Vlad said. “You’re my son, Josef. Our world. Our pride and joy. How could you ever think we
wouldn’t
come?”

Tears burned in Josef’s eyes and he quickly averted his eyes. “I’m different. I give you a lot of trouble.”

Byron laughed. “You’re
supposed
to give us trouble. You keep us from being old men.”

“Eleanor and I have always been proud of your ability to do things most of us can’t do,” Vlad said. “I had to handcuff her to the bedpost to keep her from coming,” he added.

Josef laughed, but even that familiar sound was a little watery and choked. “That’s just wrong, Vlad. I’m going to tell her you said that.”

Byron slung his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “You kept them all alive, Josef.”

Josef shook his head, looking down at Skyler’s body. Another ripple of pain across her face signaled a convulsion coming. “I don’t know if I did. She’s . . . gone.”

Vlad shook his head. “Dimitri’s fighting for her. He’s a powerful ancient.”

Tatijana pressed her lips together tightly. Her eyes met Josef’s across the two bodies. He knew. He knew exactly what Dimitri was doing. Her brother-kin must not have had any other choice. It was a desperate move, and one few would try.

She took another deep breath as Skyler’s body convulsed, pushing the last of the toxins from her system. Dimitri lay lifeless beside her, but his fingers were tightly threaded through Skyler’s. They both looked so battered and far gone from the world. Tears welled up. She pressed a hand to her mouth, pushing back a sob of despair. How could either survive?

She sat quietly beside the two bodies, undecided how best to help. She couldn’t attempt to heal Skyler as long as her body continued to go through the conversion. Dimitri’s spirit was gone from his body, but he was definitely alive, and more than anyone else, his body had taken a terrible beating.

With each convulsion that shook Skyler’s body, the earth beneath her trembled slightly and the two bodies sank a little deeper into the soil. She judged the movements were no more than a quarter of an inch each time, but the numbers were beginning to add up. Soil trickled from the edges of the sinking hole, pushing against the two bodies, working its way up their hips and legs in an effort to blanket them.

Tatijana wasn’t altogether surprised that Mother Earth was aware of Skyler’s plight and had reached out in the only way she could to try to aid her daughter and son. She couldn’t help herself, so she brushed her hand soothingly over Skyler’s hair, pushing the strands from her forehead.

“Hang on, little sister,” she whispered aloud. “Stay with him. Trust him to keep you safe.” It was all she could think to say. Dimitri had gone to great lengths to ensure Skyler didn’t die this night.

Skyler’s eyes suddenly opened as her body quieted. Tatijana felt a chill go down her spine. Both Skyler and Dimitri stared back at her, glacier-blue eyes swirling with color, sending an eerie, creepy feeling through her entire body.

“If you can hear me, we’re with you now,” she whispered. “I go now to heal Dimitri’s body as best I can. When he is successful and your body has finished the conversion, I’ll do my best to heal you as well, although Mother Earth is already standing in line to do just that.”

Tatijana sent her spirit seeking outside her own body and into Dimitri’s. She could see where Josef had made his attempt to push the silver from the Guardian’s body. He’d done a fairly good job for one so young and inexperienced. She made a mental note to herself to watch the boy. He had a gift to be able to accomplish so much when he was untrained.

There were traces of silver burning long thin lines along the bones, as if that precious metal had attached itself where it could hurt the most as well as do the most damage. Meticulously, taking her time when everything in her wanted to move fast, she began to work.

Tatijana, my brother? He has not moved. A conversion does not take this long.

Fen’s anxiety crept into her mind in spite of focusing completely on her task.
Be patient, wolf man,
she said.
I’m healing Dimitri’s body and I need to concentrate.

Fen let out his breath. He should have known not to disturb her. He couldn’t keep risking glances through the transparent wall when the Lycans’ attention was so focused on the life or death battle between Gunnolf and Zev.

Convel’s body lay at his feet, cut in two by the precise silver sword. His task wasn’t finished, it rarely was, unless you knew how to kill a Lycan. Their bodies could regenerate given the opportunity. He slammed home a silver stake, driving it through the Lycan’s heart, and then severed the head.

Fen stared down at the body for a moment before wiping the blood from his blade on the traitor’s shirt and then replacing the sword back in the scabbard. Lycans moved out of his way as he strode through the thick circle to the inside where he could keep an eye out for others who thought to aid Gunnolf.

There had to be more of them—supporters of Gunnolf’s rebellion. Gunnolf would never have made his move against Zev unless he thought he had the advantage. If Zev was right, and Gunnolf had deliberately gone against the word of the council, then he had done so with enough followers right here in this camp to challenge Zev’s authority.

Two Lycans caught Fen’s eye. They would have blended with the large crowd but for the fact that their movements seemed furtive while everyone else shouted encouragement to Zev or Gunnolf, all fully focused on the fight. Those shouting encouragement to Gunnolf growled warningly at any of the Lycans who grumbled about Gunnolf’s methods.

It had gotten very brutal as fights between Lycans often did. Both men were bloody, shirts stripped off, muscles streaked with lacerations and dirt. Gunnolf’s left eye was nearly closed and he favored his left side, as if protecting a cracked rib. His wrist was broken for certain, although he used the hand, tough enough to get past pain.

The slice that had opened Zev’s arm worried Fen. It was bleeding too much, as if Gunnolf might have treated the blade on the dagger with an anticoagulant. Fen sniffed the air, allowing his mixed blood senses to flare out into the night. The scent of blood was strong. So was fear and treachery. And yes . . . there it was . . . that faint odor confirming his belief that Gunnolf had rigged even his blades against his opponent. There was no doubt that Gunnolf had come prepared to kill Zev.

Once again he started to move, making his way through the crowds of Lycans to intercept the two who were acting so shifty. One, a darker wolf with a square muzzle, pushed his way through the other Lycans, skirting around again and again, in order to come up behind Zev. The other was much stealthier, and he moved
away
from the Lycans.
Away
from the combatants.