Strangely, Sandu didn’t actually feel when he was in battle. The emotion was there, though. He recognized it; he just couldn’t feel it. Glacier cold—volcano hot. He ripped and tore without hesitation—with a craving for violence that far exceeded anything that should have been. He didn’t even recognize that it was a craving or a compulsion, but Sandu knew it had to be.
Sandu couldn’t ever allow Adalasia to see that part of him. She feared demons, and he had tied her to one. She was courageous. She didn’t back down and she was determined. She also, so far, was polite and hadn’t tried to go beyond the very forefront of his mind. They spoke to each other. He felt her fill those lonely cracks and spaces, but she never tried to push beyond the barriers that would lead to the memories of his hunting the undead. It was a good thing, because he hid those memories behind strong shields. If she found them and questioned him, he would have to tell her the truth—that he wouldn’t share those battles with her.
Lucian was leading the master vampire and his little army into the position he wanted him. There were eleven vampires. Three were going to be extremely skilled. Four more were question marks and not to be taken lightly. Four were pawns the master would throw at Lucian to test his skills. Sandu doubted if they had much in the way of battle experience. They were newly turned, which meant, as hunters, they had been skilled, but they didn’t yet have control over their voracious appetites. That made them very vulnerable on the battlefield.
Lucian was the bait. He appeared a younger, much more na?ve Carpathian, tentatively following the trail of the master vampire. Sandu recognized the master to be Abascus Baros. He’d run across him a time or two but hadn’t bothered with him because other hunters had been after him. He was a little surprised to see the two others with him. He had heard rumors many centuries earlier that both Ambrus Halmi and Barnat Kardos had chosen to give up their souls to become undead. That they followed Abascus when they had to be so close to becoming master vampires themselves was another surprise. Most skilled vampires didn’t serve another. They had egos. Huge egos.
The three very skilled vampires thought they were in for a show. They had spread out, all three choosing to blend into the gray of the boulders making up the backdrop for the waterfall as it poured in a long steady stream down a rocky ravine, winding through the rocks and trees to the small creek that flowed to the river.
Trees rose in all directions, surrounding the falls. The four vampires, servants to the exalted three, had taken their positions, secreting themselves in the trees. One in a trunk beside the waterfall. One high in the branches. A third had shifted into the form of a mountain lion and lay stretched out on top of a fallen log, blending into his surroundings. The fourth had chosen to keep the body of a bird of prey, the owl. He was perched in the branches of a tall tree, his beady eyes on the lone Carpathian male as he slowly unraveled the trail of the master vampire.
Sandu and his four brethren each chose a target. They drifted with the wind. He was no longer in the body of a bat but had assumed the shape of nothing more than the mist, moving like fingers of fog through the trees. He went right on past the waterfall, circling behind Abascus. Benedek drifted behind Barnat, while Petru had chosen to pit his skills against Ambrus. Those three vampires were the most skilled and experienced.
Siv and Nicu each had to take two of the guardians, who would try to protect their master with everything they were. Depending on the ages of the undead and how many hunters they had battled and defeated, if they had fought together before, all of that would determine how difficult it would be to defeat them. Lucian would have to kill all four of the pawns. The ancient, legendary Carpathian continued forward, winding in and out of the trees, appearing almost to stumble as he leaned down to examine a bruised leaf on a bush.
The four pawns leapt out of hiding, surrounding Lucian, so eager to fall on him and drink his rich Carpathian blood, they hadn’t managed to keep their true forms from showing. Already, time was telling on their skin, some of it sloughing off to reveal the maggots underneath and the white skulls. Tufts of hair on their heads looked bizarre, and noses were simply holes on flat bones.
Lucian straightened to his full height. “Gentlemen. I see you have come seeking the justice of our people.” His voice was low. Velvet soft. Unmistakable in its power.
Abascus caught his breath audibly. “Lucian. Lucian Daratrazanoff.” He nearly fell off the boulder he was seated on, looking for a way to escape. He stood up very slowly, trying not to draw the eye of the legendary hunter. When he turned, his pasty skin paled even more. “Sandu,” he whispered. “Sandu Berdardi.”