Dark Lycan (Carpathian)

“It is my sworn duty to my people to bring justice to those who have given up their souls for the rush of adrenaline they get for the kill.” Fen’s hold on Drummel’s throat was relentless. He wasn’t about to allow Bardolf’s shadow to escape and try to slip inside him. “I think you already know that.”


I will watch for the shadow. If he tries to enter you, I can repel him, Tatijana assured. I didn’t spend centuries in Xavier’s lair without learning every spell he ever made. Bardolf had to learn from Drummel. Yes, he was very good, but I am better.

There was no bragging in her tone. Tatijana was afraid of what was happening. She knew just how dangerous the mage was and now doubly so with Bardolf’s shadow in him. She had confidence in herself, but she didn’t want Fen to be overly confident.

Have no worries, my lady, he assured. What he is saying to me is pure drivel. He knows I will hunt them. I am well aware this is a stalling tactic.

He inhaled, using Lycan-heightened senses, the acute hearing and smell, but he didn’t take his eyes from Drummel.

“I offer you a deal.”

“Justice does not make deals, Bardolf. I am the one appointed to bring that justice to you.”

Drummel spit and snarled, the red eyes spinning wildly with hatred and malice before Bardolf made a tremendous effort to recover. Just that alone put Fen further on edge. Vampires were not known for their control. Why would Bardolf make such an effort?

Fen, I am telling you, if Bardolf was Lycan before he became vampire, he could not possibly have placed a shadow of himself inside of a mage of Drummel’s importance. An ancient Carpathian might know. Even a vampire might have run across a mage willing to trade his soul for immortality, but how would a Lycan even know about such things? Tatijana asked.

If Tatijana was right, and she was the daughter of the most powerful mage in history, then Bardolf couldn’t have placed his shadow in Drummel. Fen didn’t wait to find out what Bardolf had to say next. There was no reasoning with madmen, and he saw no reason to wait for the attack he knew was coming any moment. He struck hard and fast, breaking Drummel’s neck.

The mage’s eyes opened wide, Bardolf staring in shock and horror. The body seized, convulsed. Poisonous sweat burst from his pores, out his eyelids and mouth.

Look out. Get back, Tatijana warned. She withdrew from her refuge, streaking to the battlefield to aid him. The sliver of Bardolf will seek another host.

Fen spun around, more worried about what he couldn’t see or hear than that small piece of Bardolf. Keep it off me, he commanded, certain of her now, knowing she would guard his back. And stay hidden. Do not reveal yourself no matter what happens, he added, cautioning her. They were not alone and he knew it.

The dead body jerked. Coughed. Fen didn’t spare it a glance. That was Tatijana’s territory and he could already hear her murmuring an ancient spell directed at the sliver of a shadow, so small but deadly. His was to find the unseen threat. He moved away from the dead body where Bardolf’s shadow sought a new host.

On the ground, small insects swarmed over rotting vegetation and Fen leapt into the air, just as creatures in the form of half man, half wolf, poured out of the trees in all directions. Directly beneath where he’d been standing, the ground erupted into a dark geyser of contaminated soil, spraying high, and with it, another large figure burst into the air after Fen, his long wolflike arms extended, claws tipped with glistening poison.

Fen reversed direction, hurtling toward the newcomer with blurring speed, slamming into him with such force they both tumbled back toward the ground. In his fist, he had a silver stake. This was the vampire/wolf Bardolf had tangled with and supposedly killed. Bardolf had exchanged life for servitude under a master killer.

Fen plunged the silver stake through the chest wall, deep into the heart of the vampire. He barely recognized him, a Carpathian male only a few years younger than him, one he’d played with as a boy. Abel, his parents called him. He’d been a boy with a sunny personality. Always smiling. Fen would never have thought Abel would choose to become vampire. He actually felt a pang of sorrow when he drove that silver stake into his chest and twisted the spiral in deeper.

Black blood poured over his fist, wrist and arm, burning like acid down to his bone. Abel’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away as expected. He was not only vampire, he was also werewolf. The long snout rushed at Fen, the razor-sharp teeth sinking into his neck and shoulder, slicing down to the bone as Abel ripped chunks of flesh away. Blood streamed down Fen’s body, and the vampire lapped at the ancient treat, gulping to get as much as possible.