Abascus pulled back abruptly, forcing his mind away from the owl’s. He was the driving force, not the bird. He was in total control. In command. He searched the ground once more for his prey. She was at the thick door already, looking small and enticing. Something about her drew him like a magnet. She turned and looked out at the night, at the shadowy shapes slinking in and out of the trees, then into the surrounding forest, even up at the trees where the owls waited. She looked with unseeing eyes, and deep within the owl’s body, Abascus gave an evil smile of pure satisfaction. Humans were never aware, even when they were stalked.
Once more, as she turned, placing her hand on the doorknob, the master vampire sent out an order to stop her in her tracks. The mansion was enormous, and he didn’t want to have to search for a window or door that was open. Nor did he want to have to resort to trickery to be invited in.
Again, when his voice should have commanded her, nothing emerged but the call of the owl. This time, the others had to have heard. The woman went into her home without a backward glance, leaving him sitting in the owl’s body, his temper rising. He took to the air, flying through the forest with all the skill of the owl but the speed of the vampire. He needed the outlet of feeling the air under his wings while he decided if delaying his journey was worth going back to seek answers.
He decided to take one spin around the mansion in an effort to understand why the woman drew him to her. He turned back, slowing his speed, and led his followers back in the direction of the estate. It was a large one for the remoteness of the area. As he approached the house itself, an uneasy feeling came over him. Dread. An oppressive trepidation that came close to actual fear.
Abascus Baros did not feel fear. He instilled terror in humans, vampires and Carpathians alike. Even the most skilled Carpathian hunters avoided him. He would not be intimidated. He couldn’t afford to show he was in the least affected by whatever oppressive waves this structure was giving off—and he recognized now that the house was safeguarded. A Carpathian, then. The woman belonged to a Carpathian. A lifemate. He had been so close to acquiring a Carpathian lifemate.
He shifted from the shape of the owl to that of a man, the one he used to be. Tall and imposing, quite stocky. Black hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He clothed himself in a suit. He liked the finer things and made certain his clothes were always of the best quality. He expected his followers to have the same. They were not allowed to ever look disheveled. When they joined him, they learned very quickly to keep up appearances. It was only in battle that he allowed them to appear as they truly were.
He stood at the iron gates of the house, the closest he could get. Clearly, the Carpathian had protected his home with a weave above and below, as well as around all sides of it. Abascus was not going to bother trying to unravel the safeguards. He would set a trap for the Carpathian. Few vampires would ever venture this way. There wasn’t enough prey to make it worthwhile. The Carpathian wouldn’t have much in the way of experience in hunting vampires.
With a low bow, he turned and made his way into the forest, deliberately allowing a trail to be left behind for the Carpathian to find should he venture out. Abascus could afford a day or two delay in his travels in order to give his lazier followers a chance to learn battle skills. They certainly could use more experience, and he would get the ultimate prize—a Carpathian woman.
* * *
*
The last thing Sandu wanted was for Adalasia to stay connected to him while he hunted the undead. He couldn’t afford for her to see him the way he really was. He appeared civilized to the outside world, but he wasn’t. He wouldn’t ever be again. He had gone well beyond his time to live and he knew it. All of those who had chosen to lock themselves behind the thick walls of the monastery had known it.
They were secreted there for a reason. They had kept their code of honor. They stayed true to their lifemate, but each of them had gone beyond the time most Carpathian hunters had ever been expected to survive. Souls could be blackened. They could be tattered. They could have holes. A lifemate repaired that damage if she could be found in time. Every male was born knowing that truth.
Those Carpathian hunters living too long went beyond the whispers of temptation. They found absolute silence. They found the rage of the kill. The scarring of the soul. The scarring that couldn’t be taken away. The thicker that scar, the worse the berserker’s rage when battling. Sandu knew he wasn’t alone, because anyone first entering the monastery had been asked the question of the scars versus tattering on the soul.