Dark Lycan (Carpathian)

Gregori stood up slowly, his body still reluctant to work properly after the terrible savagery of the rogue pack attack. “Please come to Mikhail’s home on your first rising to give us more information. We’d be grateful.”


Fen sighed. By rights, if he met the prince, he should swear fidelity, but he had to think like a Lycan. Be a Lycan. And the cycle of the full moon was starting. If he crossed paths with Zev, or his elite hunters, they would kill him and ask questions later. Life had gotten far more complicated.

The Carpathians were silent, waiting his decision. In the end, he simply nodded and took to the air, Tatijana in his arms. He made certain no one was following him before he circled around to the spot where he’d left his brother. He opened the earth above Dimitri—better to guard him—and settled in with Tatijana. Above him the soil poured in, covering them both. Leaves and debris swirled above their resting place and fell softly, naturally, covering the area as if it had never been disturbed.





6

Fen woke three risings beneath the earth, still sore, feeling bruised and battered, but he left Tatijana and Dimitri to find sustenance for them. He’d reassured Branislava each rising that Tatijana was mending well and would come to her as soon as she was properly healed.

He was well aware on his third night that he was now in the most perilous time where any Lycan would know immediately he wasn’t wholly one of them. He took care to conceal himself. As a rule, during this time, he stayed in the ground, avoiding any possible confrontation, but he didn’t have that luxury—and he knew the elite team would have joined Zev by this time.

He was a little surprised that, although it had been centuries for him, the Carpathian Mountains still felt like a home to him. He had traveled throughout the world, rather than remaining in one place, so he’d never truly found another environment to call home. The soil was extraordinary, and he’d forgotten what that mineral rich loam could feel like. Still . . .

He was worried about Dimitri. Dimitri’s belly wasn’t healing as well as he would have liked. He concealed himself in the fog, moving through the forest until he came upon the outskirts where a small farm had been carved out of the marsh. The farm backed up to a swampy area, but was neat and tidy. Stacks of hay were piled in the field farthest from the water. Horses tossed heads nervously and stomped hooves as he passed, the Lycan scent spooking them.

The farmer came out of his house, glancing toward the corral where the horses began to half rear and gallop around as if that would save them from a pack of wolves. The man disappeared back into his house and reemerged with a shotgun, looking over toward the nervous horses. Fen stayed in the mist as it circled through the field, swirling around the haystacks so they appeared as disembodied towers in the clouds.

The farmer stepped off the porch and again cautiously looked around. The horses trumpeted their distress over and over. Fen moved slower, allowing the wind to carry him above the corral. There was no way the horses would be in such a state over his scent. There was something else there, stalking the animals—or the farmer. There was no wolf pack closing in on the horses, or he would have seen them.

Fen kept his gaze on the farmer even as he moved cautiously in the midst of the dense fog creeping around him. Something moved along the ground. Something dark, twisted and ugly. The thing had crawled out of the swamp and dragged itself over the field, first toward the horses, then, when scenting the farmer, turned toward him.

Fen saw the disgusting creature huddled beside a boulder, positioning itself for the attack as the farmer drew near. Hastily, Fen shifted, to come striding out of the mist straight toward the owner of the farm. “Look out, man, step back,” he called, pushing compulsion into his tone.

Startled, the farmer did as Fen commanded. The twisted creature struck at him, fangs hooking his boot. It wiggled and growled, hissing its impatience. That small sliver of a shadow, a part of Bardolf, was still without a host it could influence to do evil. Animals could sustain its life, but certainly could never be used for the purpose Bardolf intended.

“What is it?” the man asked, shaking his boot and trying to knock the animal loose with the shotgun.

“A deadly creature,” Fen answered honestly. “A vampire’s familiar.” He knew most of the folks living around the village were superstitious—they believed in vampires—mostly because they’d had encounters with them even though the rest of the world made fun of them. They knew evil existed and they did their best to guard against it. The farmer made the sign of the cross and slammed his shotgun down on the wriggling creature.