Dark Predator d-22 Page 37

  Marguarita took a deep breath as the leaf figures attacked, swinging at Zacarias, slicing through skin and bone as he whirled in the center among them, using every available means to keep them at bay. Fire. Wind. Nothing worked against them and all the while, Ruslan laughed, a shrill, grating sound that set her teeth on edge.

  She forced herself to try to stay disconnected from what was happening to Zacarias. He was very calm, his mind working. All this was a distraction. She didn’t see how it would help at all, but she couldn’t help but be in awe, even as she was terrified for him. He didn’t attempt to hide the truth from her—that she was in his mind—but not on his mind. She was in him only because he needed another weapon, and he didn’t acknowledge she was a flesh and blood woman—his woman. He was not afraid for himself or for her. He felt only the need to destroy evil.

  The forest canopy rippled with life and monkeys dropped from the tree branches onto the backs of the creatures, toppling them, tearing them apart and leaping onto the next. It took a moment or two for Marguarita to realize the creatures being destroyed were the ones blocking the path to the exulting Ruslan.

  Zacarias sped through the opening the monkeys had carved for him, his entire being focused on one thing only. He knew exactly where Ruslan stood and where his heart was located. He had the time to assess the obstacle he’d met in his earlier attack and he knew how to penetrate that protective coat of armor to reach the withered heart.

  He was on Ruslan before the vampire had time to realize he was vulnerable. Zacarias once again changed the molecules in his body, shifting at the last moment to drive through that plating, using split-second timing to open his fist and grasp the heart. His fingers dug through the tendons and muscle, ripping at them in an effort to reach the organ.

  Ruslan shrieked, blasting Zacarias in the face with the foul stench of putrid rot. He sank both hands into Zacarias’s belly, tearing it open, spilling blood on the ground, insane with rage, dipping his head to the contents, trying to eat the hunter alive with his savage, serrated teeth.

  Zacarias ripped the heart from the chest, spinning to try to get the vampire off of him. Powerful Carpathian blood poured over Ruslan’s face and down his chin while his own black venom burned through Zacarias’s hand and arm to the bone. Zacarias flung the heart from him and clamped both hands over Ruslan’s head and jerked, snapping the neck and flinging the vampire away from him.

  He clamped both hands over his open belly, his legs going out from under him. He landed hard on his knees, breathing deep, riding out the pain before he could shove it away from him. Ruslan had landed a few feet from him and rolled, his head obscenely lolling to one side.

  Zacarias groaned when he saw that Ruslan had fallen over his extracted heart. The vampire caught up his heart and took to the air, black blood dropping and sizzling along the ground. He licked at his fingers in the air, trying to extract every bit of Carpathian blood from his arm and hand before streaking away.

  The moment Ruslan had been attacked, he’d pulled his energy from the army of the dead, so that the leaves and branches tumbled back to the forest floor. Monkeys scrambled back into the trees. Zacarias let himself fall, looking up at the rain. Once more it was a gentle drizzle, hitting him in the face. It took great effort to call down the white-hot energy to rid himself of the vampire venom. As soon as it was off of him, he dropped his arms wearily to his sides.

  I’m coming to you. Marguarita made it a statement, not a question.

  He found himself smiling. His beautiful lunatic. She had every right to despise him, every reason to fear him, yet if he had ordered her to stay away, she would have defied him and come to him anyway. There was no stopping such a quiet force and he was too far gone to try. She never seemed to bother to argue. She just did what she believed was right. His blood was leaking out all over the ground and healing himself was going to be a difficult task.

  Do not forget your clothes. Cesaro will be riding this way any moment. I would have to kill him and I am not certain I am up to the task.

  She tried to laugh, he’d have to give her that. Her amusement came through her tears. She was crying for him and he knew she would be doing that a lot in the years to come. I should have converted you with love, Marguarita. With care. I should have held you when you were so afraid. I am so far in the dark, perhaps there is no way to bring me back.

  I don’t want to bring you back. I just want to save you. There’s a difference. You’ll have to do the clothes yourself. I can’t manage. There was impatience in her voice. And she was much closer than she had been.

  Zacarias lifted his head. Her beloved mare raced toward him with Marguarita astride her back, and thanks to the good Dios the horse had a smooth gait. She was entirely naked. He shook his head. She was slowly filling him back up with her light, pushing the darkness away. He could see his blood was red, pooling on the ground around him.

  She was off the horse and running toward him as he waved his hand to clothe her. She nearly tripped over her skirt as she raced to him. Using both hands, she shoved a soft cloth she carried against his belly. Lie back. Just relax for a moment. And don’t let me too far into your mind. I don’t want you to feel this.

  He allowed himself to sink back down and just watched her face—that beloved face with so much concern stamped into it. So much love—love he didn’t deserve. “What did you mean when you said you didn’t want to bring me back from the darkness, that you just wanted to save me? It is the same thing.”

  She shook her head, digging into the soil to find the richest, untainted earth she could find. She used her own saliva to make a paste. Actually, it isn’t the same thing. The darkness in you that you despise so much is a precious gift and one you have come to rely on. It allows you to hunt the way you do. It keeps you alive when others would die.

  She winced visibly as she packed his wounds tight with the muddy paste she’d made. He touched her lips with gentle fingers. “You think it is a gift not to feel? To be so close to darkness that every moment I exist is a fight?”

  Yes. It is that darkness that allows you to instinctively know where your prey is going next, to be one step ahead of them. To endure these kinds of mortal wounds that would kill anyone else. You are already healing yourself, Zacarias. And you are already thinking of where this vampire will be hiding until tomorrow night. It is near dawn and you know he is seeking a resting place. That’s what those shadows do for you. They allow you to live and do what you do like no one else can do it. So, no, I don’t want to take that from you.

  “But you fear I will not come back to you.”

  She extended her wrist to him. Hunger beat at her, but it was far more important to give him whatever she could to sustain him and help him heal as fast as possible. You are so good at pushing aside your memories that a small part of me thinks you will one day forget to remember me after the battle.

  He took her wrist and very gently made the cut, allowing her life-giving blood to flow into him. It was the blood of an ancient Carpathian now. Powerful and strong because his blood flowed in her veins. He felt his body reach for it, every organ, all muscle and tissue, each cell.

  I will always return to you—always, but I can only be who I am, Marguarita. I want to be gentle for you. I want to give you all the things you deserve. I will always expect you to follow my lead . . .

  Her eyebrow shot up. With her free hand she smoothed back his hair. Do you think I am unaware of this about you? I want who you are, Zacarias, but I expect you to follow the vows you swore to me. I want to be cherished. I want you to have in mind my happiness when you make your decisions. And you have to know I will always be me. I will make up my own mind when I feel you are wrong.

  He glanced up at her face, a smile in his eyes. I cannot conceive of being wrong. Well—there was that one time . . .

  Her laughter spilled into his mind. One? I’m going to let that go because after this battle you might just be a little out of your mind.

  He swiped his tong
ue across the cut on her wrist. “Cesaro comes. He will give you blood and you will have to take it, Marguarita. I need to go.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Go? I don’t understand. Go where? You have to go to ground and heal is what you have to do and I can be with you.

  “I must hunt Ruslan.”

  She shook her head adamantly. No. You can’t do that, not tonight. It’s almost dawn and you could be caught out in the sun.

  “You saw my memories of Dominic and his woman sharing their blood with me.”

  Yes, but I also saw him warn you that you have to be cautious, to test your limits. You haven’t done that and you said yourself, the stronger the darkness, the less a Carpathian can take the sun. Don’t do this, Zacarias. For me. Don’t do this.

  He reached out and very gently caressed her long sweep of hair. “This particular vampire is a master unlike any other. I would not get this chance again in another ten thousand years. I am asking you to not ask this of me. Right at this moment, I would give you anything you want—even this, Marguarita. But I need you not to make this request.”

  She closed her eyes tightly. For a moment she felt she couldn’t breathe. She had to let him go. He couldn’t be anything but what he was—a hunter. She would be asking him to be something he was not. See that you come back to me in one piece.

  Zacarias stood, his clothing in bloody tatters. Lacerations and wounds crisscrossed his body. The bloody cloth fell from his belly, but the wound was closed. He flexed his muscles. “You will take Cesaro’s blood from his wrist. He will guard you while I am gone.”

  Framing her face with his hands, Zacarias leaned down to kiss her upturned mouth. She clung for a moment, uncaring that Cesaro was watching them. Reluctantly, Zacarias put her aside and took to the air. The moment he was away from her, he dismissed her from his mind, pushing her out, trusting her to stay out. There could only be one chance at this. Ruslan Malinov was too dangerous of an adversary to allow him to escape.

  Zacarias caught the scent of the vampire’s foul stench and he followed, using the droplets as a guide. He had spent centuries patrolling up and down the Amazon crossing borders and going from country to country. He knew every cave, every place a vampire might choose as a resting place. He knew where his enemy would most likely go. More than that, Marguarita was correct in saying the darkness in him allowed him to think like the undead.

  Ruslan would want to get as far from Zacarias as possible, but he would want to be able to feed as easily as possible. There were very few towns and ranches in the area near caves. Zacarias knew every one of them. He was convinced Ruslan would choose the most inaccessible, a mere crack in the rock allowing a shapeshifter to flatten his body enough to slide inside that narrow, steep tunnel leading down to the very bowels of the earth. Ruslan would guard it well as only a master vampire could do, so either Zacarias arrived ahead of him—before dawn and secreted himself inside to wait—or it could take hours to unravel the safeguards and he could get caught in the sun.

  Ruslan had a head start on Zacarias, but he was cunning and he would know his blood was in the wind and a hunter like Zacarias would scent it as well as any wolf. He would use false trails, backtrack, every trick he had ever learned to hide his true destination from the Carpathian and that would take time. Ruslan would try to use the sun against a hunter, only going to ground at the last moment so there was no risk a hunter could catch him in his lair. Zacarias had to make a decision—go with his gut feeling—depend on the very thing he detested in himself—or follow the trail. Either one could cost him his prey.

  Marguarita had said the darkness in him was a gift. She trusted it because it was a part of him. He thought of it as evil. He only remembered his father as evil, never earlier. It was as though that one moment had negated his father’s entire life, centuries of honor and duty. His father had taught him every skill he possessed. He had swung his lifemate into the air and laughed readily with her. He had rejoiced as each son was born and mourned, crying bloodred tears unashamedly when his one daughter had lost her battle for survival. His father had not been evil all of his life.

  So then, let the darkness guide him. He abandoned the trail and chose the cave deepest in the earth, hurrying now to get there before his prey. If he was wrong, he had lost his chance, but he would be safe from the sun.

  Zacarias passed over the rocky ledge where the cracked boulder was the only sign of an entrance to the narrow tunnel. He used stealth, allowing a slight breeze to let him drift, examining the area from every angle. Ruslan didn’t appear to have reached the resting place before him. He moved closer, careful not to disturb so much as a pebble, testing the entrance. There was nothing to hinder him going inside.

  As smoky vapor, Zacarias slipped inside the mountain, weaving his way through the long crack into the narrow, small tunnel. He followed it deeper and deeper beneath the earth. The sound of dripping water grew in volume as he neared the small chamber. The tunnel had narrowed so that only a small animal might get through to the larger hollowed-out cavern.

  Ruslan had not been there before him. There was a certain odor to a vampire, one that even a master could mask only for so long. Did that mean he had never found this particular cave? There was no more time to go looking. He had to trust in his experience. He took his time, examining the small chamber, finding several cracks running through the ceiling and walls. Water dripped steadily from the north wall, but the southern wall was mainly rock. He chose one of the smaller cracks to secrete himself in.

  His body desperately needed to go to ground. Shifting took energy, and even with Marguarita’s blood, he knew he didn’t have much time before it would become critical to heal in the soil or it would be too late. Few Carpathians would be able to survive the mortal wounds he had and continue the hunt. He knew the darkness within him enabled him to never acknowledge what was happening to his body. He fought, he healed himself and he went on without pain or exhaustion. But eventually his body would collapse. If Ruslan did choose this cave, Zacarias could not think about when that collapse would come.

  Minutes ticked by. He knew the exact position of the sun and it was very close to rising. He could feel its presence like a burning lamp pressed close against him. He knew the light would always get to him, even if Solange’s royal blood really allowed him a few more hours of the day to move in. He would never be comfortable, but if it made Marguarita happier with him, he would endure it, just as he would endure her human companions.

  A rock rolled in the dirt. Something scratched along the narrow tunnel wall just outside the chamber. Zacarias stayed relaxed, not expending any of his precious energy. He was in bad shape and if he gave himself away too soon and Ruslan was able to fight, they both would die this night. The foul stench of rotting flesh drifted into the chamber.

  Immediately, familiar calm swept through Zacarias. Nothing else mattered now, not him, not anything, but the destruction of this one vampire who had caused the Carpathian people so much pain and damage. This was the reason Zacarias had been born and bred to fight. This was why the darkness in him ran so deep—defending his people against the most vile, evil creature imaginable.

  He stayed still, patient, watching as Ruslan prepared his safeguards and staggered to his resting place. His head still listed to one side, which told Zacarias the vampire was as injured as he had been. Ruslan was too vain to allow something like that to go unless he needed to conserve his energy. Zacarias didn’t move as Ruslan lay down and folded his arms across his chest, giving himself up to the sleep of the dead. Even then, Zacarias waited until the sun had begun its climb. He wanted to insure Ruslan was in a leaden state.

  With infinite stealth he dislodged from the ceiling and made his way to the master vampire’s resting place. Instantly Ruslan’s eyes snapped open. He hissed, a low sound of hatred. There was no movement, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable. Zacarias stayed out of the strike zone just to be certain.

  “What honor is this? Coming to me in my wea
kest hour?” Ruslan demanded.

  Zacarias’s eyebrow shot up. “Exterminating vermin is not about honor. Living with a code of conduct is honorable, Ruslan. That is what you always failed to understand. Killing is not honorable. This is my job. Honor demands I use whatever tool possible, whatever weapon, to destroy evil—and you are evil. There is no honor in the method of kill, only the fulfillment of a job that is necessary.”

  Ruslan’s cackle filled his mind. “You can rip out my heart here in this cavern, but you cannot bring the lightning so deep beneath the earth. We will see who survives come nightfall.”

  “I have no intention of ripping out your heart.” Zacarias approached the leaden figure with extreme caution. Ruslan was a powerful vampire and, as a hunter, he respected that power, knowing the master would not go easily to his end.

  Ruslan looked puzzled, his hollowed eyes filled with hatred and cunning. Bats dropped without warning, covering Zacarias’s body, biting with sharp teeth, trying to drain him for their master. Worms burst through the dirt walls and spiders crept from every crevice, all at the summons of the master. A few rats poked their heads out of the tunnel, beady eyes fixed on Zacarias.

  Zacarias dissolved under the weight of the bats, shifting quickly to put himself across the room. He blazed light through the room, a flash bright and terrible, very hot, a concentrated sun that singed the bats and drove the insects and rats away. He needed only a small amount of time.

  “You cannot keep that up forever,” Ruslan crowed, “and they are mine to command.”

  “It does not matter.” Zacarias was on him instantly, scooping the dead weight into his arms. The foul breath blasting his face disoriented him for just a moment. There was poison in that concentrated breath, but he shifted, taking the vampire’s rotting form with him.

  What are you doing? Ruslan demanded, switching to the Carpathian common path of communication, for the first time truly alarmed. Where are you taking me?