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.
Fen shoved him away as they both hit the ground hard. The scent of his rich, Carpathian blood set up a frenzied mass hysteria. The werewolves howled and rushed at him. Fen dissolved as they all leapt on him. As he streaked away, one arm emerged, fist holding a silver stake, which he plunged into the nearest werewolf's heart. He moved quickly to get out of that crush of werewolves, a trail of ruby red blood giving his path away.
He pushed the pain to another dimension as he worked furiously to stop the blood flow. Tatijana was immediately beside him, a mere translucent image. Her hands became flesh and moved over his open lacerations. The sound of her soft healing chant filled his mind. For a moment the ice cold of his injuries burned hot. She'd stopped the blood by cauterizing the area.
You cannot be here. It's too dangerous. If he spots you, he'll go after you in order to get to me.
I can scatter the werewolves, and hunt them from the sky.
There was no time to argue with her. Watch for tricks and stay high. Lycans can leap enormous distances.
The tree limbs shook. Trunks split with a terrible boom, a heralding of great danger. Tatijana streaked for the sky, shifting into her blue dragon, answering the echoing blast with a roaring challenge of her own.
Abel followed the trail of red blood, and was on Fen just as Tatijana took to the air. The undead leapt after her, but Fen blocked his path with his body, so that the vampire slammed into him and they both landed on their feet in the middle of the werewolf pack.
"Take him, my hungry wolves," Abel commanded, his voice filled with compulsion. "Do not let him escape. He is my gift to you with his hot, rich blood, fresh and flowing in his veins."
Howling, the wolves surrounded Fen. He moved in a circle, keeping his gaze on the Sange rau, but his senses waiting for the attack from the werewolves. The rumbling growls grew louder, indicating the pack was working itself up to attack mode. Abel smirked, his black-stained, serrated teeth were stuck deep into his receding gums as he pulled the silver stake from his heart and tossed it to the ground at Fen's feet.
"I have come to join this party," a voice announced.
A Carpathian hunter strode out of the trees into the midst of the frenzied werewolves, drawing them away from Fen. Silver eyes slashed as he moved fast through their ranks, breaking necks and backs and then tossing the bodies aside.
I'm sorry. That's Gregori Daratrazanoff, second to the prince and prime protector of the Carpathian people. He must have followed me here. I can't flame the werewolves from the sky without burning Gregori alive.
As fast as Gregori was, the werewolves were faster, seeking new blood, hot and alive. They swarmed him, sheer numbers taking him down until he was buried beneath the frenzied bodies.
Cursing under his breath, Fen had no choice but to share his knowledge of all things rogue and the vampire/wolf combination with the hunter through the common Carpathian telepathic link. He knew he was putting himself at risk-the Carpathian could glean a tremendous amount of information about him as well in seconds. He had used the common pathway so rarely, he couldn't be certain he had conveyed the speed and strength of the rogues, or the immense power of the Sange rau. As he passed on the information, Fen leapt into the fray, hurtling bodies off the prince's guardian.
As Gregori struggled to stand, Abel struck hard and fast, rushing Fen, hitting him from behind and knocking him off his feet. Fen called on his Lycan blood, twisting in midair as he went down, shifting with lightning speed so that it was Lycan claws grasping Abel's neck and yanking him down with him. His claws dug deep into the vampire's neck, anchoring himself, his own muzzle growing to accommodate the expanse of teeth.
They rolled on the ground, Fen taking them away from the writhing mass of werewolves, his teeth tearing at Abel's throat.
Gregori, get out of there! he warned as he tore into the Sange rau with the strong bite of the Lycan. Black blood poured over him, his muzzle, and down his neck and chest, burning like acid. The scent of burnt flesh permeated the air.
Abel screamed in horror and fear as Fen relentlessly held him, uncaring that the undead ripped at his flesh and tore at his chest to get to his heart. He had to hold out until the undead became so terrified that he called to his pack. It was the only way to save Gregori from the vicious, voracious pack.
Fen drove one fist deep into Abel's chest, claws searching for the withered, blackened heart, even as he continued to bite chunks of rotted flesh from the vampire/wolf.
"Kill this one. Leave the other. All of you, kill this one," Abel screamed.
His voice was high-pitched and hurt the sensitive ears of the werewolves. They set up a terrible din, howling and screaming, as they reluctantly obeyed their leader. Out of the corner of his eye, Fen could see Gregori on the ground, still fighting off a particularly large werewolf who didn't want to give up the rich blood of the Carpathian.
Above him, the blue dragon soared across the sky, circling around above the canopy to suddenly drop down with a steady stream of fire that engulfed several of the werewolves. She took great care to stay clear of Gregori. The tall werewolf ripping and tearing at him leapt without warning, without so much as turning his head, claws catching the underside of the blue dragon's belly where he hung by his curved long nails alone.
The blue dragon retaliated with a curling of her long, spiked tail. It swept beneath her to hit the werewolf with a tremendous slap, the spikes driving in deep even as her great wings drove hard to lift her high above the canopy. The force of the blow knocked the rogue's claws loose. For a moment he teetered, desperately raking at her belly for a better grip. The tail slapped him a second time, and with a sharp cry, he fell back to earth.