Dark Peril by Christine Feehan

was certain that he was—they could be using the trees to hide.
    Stay away from the trees, he cautioned Zacarias.
    Zacarias must have had the same thought as Dominic, because he was already shifting position, trying to secure a spot where he could keep an eye on the surrounding trees. Dominic was grateful he had the hunter at his back. They might look like predator and prey, but they had battled together many times in the past, in the old days, hunting vampire and the enemies of both humans and Carpathians. There was no other he would have chosen to fight with him.
    Drago’s fingers rose and fell over his invisible companion. “This hunter will be turned over to the masters. ”
    Dominic risked a glance at Zacarias. He was every inch the Carpathian hunter, broad shoulders, long flowing hair and eyes cool under fire, yet minutes earlier he had been an older man, bent over, fumbling with his cameras in the trees. How did he know who you were? Zacarias’s disguise had been faultless.
    I have no idea.
    “ I am a master ,” Dominic growled at Drago, staying in role as a braggart and bully, as so many of the undead were. “You cannot tell me what I must do with my prey. Stand away or you will meet the same fate as that fool who challenged me.”
    Drago spat on the forest floor, and small parasites wiggled obscenely in the dried and decaying leaves. His eyes glowed a deep red, and he threw back his head and howled. A tree to the left of Dominic shivered. A large snake that was twisted around the branches lifted its head and slithered along the trunk, uncoiling its long body as it descended to the ground and slithered almost to Drago’s feet. Its long tongue tested the air and then flicked over the parasites before he rose, taking his hideous true form, to stand a few feet from his companion.
    Drago’s fingers continued to stroke the air under his palm as the ground just behind Zacarias split open and spewed a third vampire. A fourth emerged from the twisted branches of the blackened fig tree that Drago had come from, and Dominic automatically put him down as the weakest link. His face was still half recognizable, the flesh still covering the shrinking bones. Dominic had encountered him when he was still a hunter, not even an ancient, yet he had been unable to control his desire for emotion and had obviously capitulated to the whisper of darkness. His name had been Robert, but Dominic thought of him as a worm.
    Zacarias looked around at the four vampires surrounding them. We could be in a little trouble here.
    Dominic sent the impression of a smug smirk. Just like in the old days. The way I like it.
    You always were a little crazy. You love the battle. Zacarias’s tone was wry.
    And you do not? There was laughter in the question.

4
    But then beyond hope, you came into my dream . . .
Your melody haunting, your gentle voice healing.
The soul of a poet, great heart of a warrior.
You gave all for your people. Let me give you feeling!
     
    SOLANGE TO DOMINIC
     
     
     
    W hat had she done? Solange stood in the rain, hands covering her face, throat aching, her heart thundering in her chest. She’d told him every secret thing about her. She’d thought herself safe, that he wasn’t real. She had exposed her every weakness. Had the dreams been some kind of trick? She groaned and stroked a hand over her throat to try to ease the terrible pain. Her vocal cords felt shredded—just like her heart.
    A Carpathian warrior. She had made him up. Built his image detail by detail—hadn’t she? She had known back then, when she first began to daydream, that she had given up all hope and was coming to the end of her days. Her warrior had been the only thing keeping her going through all the battles and all the horrific slaughters she had encountered. Brodrick the Terrible had been determined that he would purge every diluted strain of jaguar he could find. Only those who could shift were spared—male and female.
    There was no way to