Dark Lycan (Carpathian)

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.