Dark Predator

monsters all moving toward him. The shadows in him called to the darkness in them. Ruslan had learned quickly.

“I fear it matters little how I look to you, Zacarias. My little army does not care, either. I have no need to expend energy for your last moments. You should have joined me. In truth, you have always had the darkness in you—far more than I ever had. This was your legacy, the greatest gift of your father yet you refused to embrace it.” There was real contempt in Ruslan’s voice. “You had greatness handed to you, but you chose to be a martyr, suffering alone while I have whatever I want.”

Zacarias slowly opened his eyes, smiling, knowing his white teeth were a stark contrast to Ruslan’s blackened, gaping maw and that small detail would prick Ruslan’s vanity as nothing else could.

“I cannot fear you, Ruslan. I cannot feel what you do to me. I do not care about anything other than destroying you. You think you have the advantage, but in fact, I do. You want to continue your pitiful existence. You seek power. You wish to rule the world. To destroy the prince. To kill me.”

Zacarias’s smile turned as cold as ice. “So many wishes, when I have only one. Your death. You are kuly—nothing more, an intestinal worm, a demon who devours souls. You are truly han ku vie elidet—a thief of life and for that, I pronounce sentence on you.”

The dead and rotting vegetation, collected over hundreds, perhaps thousands of years went into a frenzy, flapping arms and growing teeth as they shuffled toward him. Zacarias sent the wind, but the leaf creatures weren’t in the least affected, holding their own against the blast.

Ruslan’s laughter grated on the ears of any within hearing range. Joyfully he danced around. “I do not think it will be me who dies this night, hunter.”

The creatures closed in, making the air stagnant, oppressive, smelling of dead, rotting things. He needed something completely the opposite to oppose Ruslan’s force, giving him the necessary time to kill the vampire. Deliberately Ruslan had preyed on his worst secrets, those shadows cutting through his body, taking his soul.

Now was not the time for pride. Or for fear. He was a hunter and he had no choice but to use every resource possible. Ruslan Malinov was the biggest threat to the Carpathian people. Without him, the army of vampires would diminish, giving Mikhail, the prince, time to bring together his people and shore up all defenses.

He did the unthinkable. Marguarita. You must wake.

He could not allow himself to think of her and what she might go through upon waking beneath the ground. She was human and he had already asked so much of her. This vampire was responsible for bringing the Carpathian people to near extinction. He could not escape no matter the cost to the hunter—or his beloved lifemate.

Deep beneath the hacienda, Marguarita became aware of two things: she was buried alive, and Zacarias was in trouble. She came awake instantly, the knowledge flooding her body along with a terrible hunger that clawed and raked her belly. She kept her eyes closed tight, determined not to panic. She knew she would have if she’d simply awakened buried alive, but she felt Zacarias.

Strangely, she could hear her heartbeat, but there didn’t seem to be air moving through her lungs. The sound echoed eerily through her head. She concentrated on Zacarias, ignoring her need to mindlessly scream, to feel the weight of the earth pushing down on her. Gently, with great stealth, she found the path to his mind. Pain engulfed her—savage—vicious pain, an agony that pushed through her entire body easily rivaling what she had gone through in the conversion. She slipped out of him before she could give herself away, or faint from the horror and pain of what he suffered.

What had he said to her? He had told her how to move the soil from her resting place. Visualize, Marguarita, she reminded herself. Will it to happen.

Her first attempt got her nowhere, just panic seeping in. Determinedly, she pushed it away. Use your will. Your father always said you were stubborn enough to move mountains if you really wanted to do it, so move this little bit of earth, she commanded herself.

Her mind screamed the moment her fingers moved and she was more aware than ever that she was beneath the ground, but she kept her eyes closed tight and forced her mind to picture the dirt above her parting like the Red Sea, pushing up and to either side. When she could draw breath and look up at the ceiling of the chamber, she wiped beads of sweat from her face and sat up.

I am here.

Come to me. Inside me—your way. If this goes wrong, pull out immediately.

She didn’t hesitate. No matter how angry or hurt she’d been, a man like Zacarias De La Cruz would never ask such a thing in a time of battle unless it was necessary. She found that now-familiar primitive animal in him and gained entrance, sliding ever so gently into him. The darkness took her breath away. Sheer savagery, kill or be killed. Every part of him seemed dark and shadowed, walls of sheer ice, blocks of it, filling his mind, ice in his veins.

His insides were ravaged. The pain, excruciating, yet somehow he was able to block it, something she didn’t understand but was grateful for. She didn’t want to know how all that damage had occurred, or how he could remain on his feet, his entire focus on destroying evil. She poured warmth into him. Love. Everything she was. She gave herself up to him, filling him, forcing the dark to recede, spilling her brightness across every shadow.

He made no move to connect with her, but she felt him tap into that flow of warmth—of empathy and understanding. He sent out a call into the rain forest. She felt the summoning. No, not exactly a summoning, more of a request such as she would make. No command. No arrogance. No hint of self. Only that request for aid.

The dead in the forest had to be destroyed by the living. It amazed her how he knew such things—how his mind worked so quickly surrounded by creatures bent on tearing him apart. He needed a clear path to Ruslan and that was all that mattered to him in that moment.

Marguarita took a deep breath as the leaf figures attacked, swinging at Zacarias, slicing through skin and bone as he whirled in the center among them, using every available means to keep them at bay. Fire. Wind. Nothing worked against them and all the while, Ruslan laughed, a shrill, grating sound that set her teeth on edge.

She forced herself to try to stay disconnected from what was happening to Zacarias. He was very calm, his mind working. All this was a distraction. She didn’t see how it would help at all, but she couldn’t help but be in awe, even as she was terrified for him. He didn’t attempt to hide the truth from her—that she was in his mind—but not on his mind. She was in him only because he needed another weapon, and he didn’t acknowledge she was a flesh and blood woman—his woman. He was not afraid for himself or for her. He felt only the need to destroy evil.

The forest canopy rippled with life and monkeys dropped from the tree branches onto the backs of the creatures, toppling them, tearing them apart and leaping onto the next. It took a moment or two for Marguarita to realize the creatures being destroyed were the ones blocking the path to the exulting Ruslan.

Zacarias sped through the opening the monkeys had carved for him, his entire being focused on one thing only. He knew exactly where Ruslan stood and where his heart was located. He had the time to assess the obstacle he’d met in his earlier attack and he knew how to penetrate that protective coat of armor to reach the withered heart.

He was on Ruslan before the vampire had time to realize he was vulnerable. Zacarias once again changed the molecules in his body, shifting at the last moment to drive through that plating, using split-second timing to open his fist and grasp the heart. His fingers dug through the tendons and muscle, ripping at them in an effort to reach the organ.

Ruslan shrieked, blasting Zacarias in the face with the foul stench of putrid rot. He sank both hands into Zacarias’s belly, tearing it open, spilling blood on the ground, insane with rage, dipping his head to the contents, trying to eat the hunter alive with his savage, serrated teeth.

Zacarias ripped the heart from the chest, spinning to try to get the vampire off of him. Powerful Carpathian blood poured over Ruslan’s face and down his chin while his own black venom burned through Zacarias’s hand and arm to the bone. Zacarias flung the heart from him and clamped both hands over Ruslan’s head and jerked, snapping the neck and flinging the vampire away from him.

He clamped both hands over his open belly, his legs going out from under him. He landed hard on his knees, breathing deep, riding out the pain before he could shove it away from him. Ruslan had landed a few feet from him and rolled, his head obscenely lolling to one side.