Dark Challenge (3 page)

Julian turned his attention back to the more immediate threat to his lifemate. Somewhere out there were six humans who had attempted to kill her, an innocent woman whose only crime was possessing a voice from the heavens. He could not rest this night until he had tracked them down and ensured they would never get close to her again. He still had the stench of them in his nostrils. The cats would take care of his lifemate until he returned to her. His job now was to defeat the assassins, bring Carpathian justice to them, removing the danger to Desari as quickly as possible.

He gave a fleeting thought to his need for blood, the wounds he had sustained, and the possibility of the mysterious panther tracking him, but decided all that didn’t matter. He could not allow the assassins to go free. He turned back inland and streamed toward the bar, rising high to mingle with the fog. He hoped to avoid detection by the leopard’s superior sense of smell, but if it found him again, so be it. As he moved through time and space, he touched the mind of his lifemate to see if she was coming out of her unconsciousness. She would need to heal, but he discovered that she was alive and being cared for. Pandemonium reigned at the bar, with police and ambulances everywhere. Likely by now the cats were locked up securely.

He found the first body in the thick brush not ten yards from the back of the bar. Julian shimmered into solid form, pressing a hand to the dripping claw marks marring his side, not wanting to leave any evidence of his presence. Though there was no sign of a struggle,
the assassin’s neck was broken. Julian found the second body a few yards ahead, tucked in an alley. It was sprawled against the wall, half in and half out of a puddle of oil. There was a hole in the man’s chest the size of a fist where the heart should have been.

Julian stiffened and glanced carefully around him. The assassin had been killed in a manner consistent with a ritual slaying of the undead. Not the human version, using stakes and garlic, but the true manner of a Carpathian. He studied the mutilated body. It almost had the look of Gregori’s early work, yet it wasn’t. These days Gregori would not have wasted time; he would have stood at a distance and simply killed all the evil mortals in one stroke. This was retribution. Someone had taken a personal hand in each death.

His own brother, Aidan, lived here out west and often destroyed the undead—there were few Carpathians as capable as he here in the United States—but Julian would have felt his twin’s presence, would have known his work the instant he saw it. This was somehow different from the cool, impersonal work of Carpathian hunters yet still close to it.

Curious now, he sought out the other killers. Bodies three and four were side by side. One had buried his own knife deep within his throat, no doubt under an irresistible compulsion. The other’s throat was completely ripped out. It looked as if an animal had done the damage, but Julian knew better. He found the fifth body only a few yards from the two. This one, too, had seen death coming. The horror was on his face. His eyes stared obscenely skyward, even as his own hand gripped the gun he had used to shoot himself—the same weapon he had used on the musicians. Julian found the sixth assassin lying face down in a gutter, a pool of blood surrounding him. He had died hard and painfully.

Julian thought for a long moment. This was a message, a clear and brazen message to those who had sent the assassins after the singer. A challenge from a dangerous adversary.
Come and get us if you dare.
Julian sighed. He was tired, and his hunger was becoming a gnawing, biting demand. Much as he shared the sentiment to brutally destroy any who dared to threaten De-sari he could not allow this challenge to stand. It would place his lifemate squarely in deeper danger. If the society knew exactly how their assassins had been dispatched, they would be convinced she and her protectors were vampires and would redouble their efforts to destroy her immediately.

It took a few moments to collect the bodies into a heap in the privacy of the alley. With a little sigh he gathered energy from the sky and directed it toward the corpses now lying in the puddle of oil. Instantly there was a flash of fire and the stench of burned flesh. He waited impatiently, masking the scene from all eyes, even those of the police searching just down the road. When the dead men were little more than ashes, he directed the fire out and collected the remains. He then launched himself skyward and streaked away from the scene. Well out over the ocean, he scattered the grotesque, grisly ashes, watching the choppy waves, made hungry by a flick of his hand, devour them for all time.

Losing six assassins, not having a clue as to their whereabouts or fate, would be a huge blow to the society of killers. With luck, their directors would crawl into a hole to regroup and remain inactive for months to come, sparing innocent mortals and Carpathians from their malice.

Julian turned inland toward the small cabin he had tucked away in the mountains, his thoughts once more turning toward the strange behavior of the leopards. If
he didn’t know better, he would swear the large black panther was not really a cat but a Carpathian. But that was impossible. Every Carpathian was known to one another. They could detect one another easily, and all used a standard path of mental communication when necessary. While it was true that a few of the ancients could mask their presence from others, it was a rare gift.

Another thought disturbed Julian. His own behavior had assuredly thrust Desari directly into a new path of danger. By claiming her as his lifemate, Julian had marked her as surely as he had been marked in the eyes of the undead, his mortal enemy.

Swearing softly in his mind, Julian turned his attention back to the strange animal guarding her. Although Julian was a loner, he knew every Carpathian alive. And the black panther reminded him of someone, with its method of fighting, its fierce intensity, its complete confidence in itself. Gregori. The Dark One.

He shook his head. No, Gregori was in New Orleans with his lifemate, Savannah. Julian had seen to young Savannah’s protection until Gregori had fulfilled his vow to allow her five years of freedom before claiming her as his lifemate. And Gregori was not the undead; his lifemate assured that. No Carpathian would attempt to destroy another who had not turned vampire. No, it could not possibly be Gregori.

Julian solidified at the entrance to his cabin and pushed open the door. Before he went in, he turned and inhaled the night; seeking the scent of any prey that might be nearby. He needed blood, fresh, hot blood, to fully heal his wounds. When he looked down and saw the tears in his side, he cursed, yet he felt a certain savage satisfaction in knowing he, too, had scored against the huge cat.

Julian had traveled the world. He had had centuries
to indulge his curiosity, his thirst and need for knowledge. He had spent considerable time in Africa and India studying the leopard, inexplicably drawn there time after time. He believed the cunning and deadly cats were possessed of superior intelligence. However, they were also wildly unpredictable, which made them all the more dangerous. So it had to be an unusual group of humans who had befriended the cats, let alone secured the required permits to travel with them in the United States.

Julian questioned again the unusual behavior of the cats themselves. Even if they had been hand-raised and trained, the coordinating of their efforts to bring down an intruder in their midst, especially when chaos and the smell of blood were all around them, was remarkable.

The huge black panther had not even licked at the woman’s wounds or attempted to sample the blood of the other two fallen band members. The scent of fresh blood should have triggered the cats’ instinct to hunt, to eat. Leopards were notorious scavengers as well as hunters. Something was off kilter, for these leopards were definitely protecting the singer.

Julian shook his head and returned to matters regarding his immediate attention. He sent himself into his own body, seeking the lacerations, sealing them off from the inside this time. The effort took more energy than he could afford, so he mixed an herbal drink that promoted healing. Drifting back outside onto the porch, he drained the liquid quickly, forcing his body to hold on to the unfamiliar nourishment.

It took a few minutes to gather the necessary strength to make his way into the forest. He was seeking rich soil, a blend of vegetation and dirt, that would best approximate the earth of the Carpathian homeland, which always aided the healing of a Carpathian’s wounds. He found such soil beneath a thick layer of pine needles on
the far side of a knoll. He mixed moss and soil with the healing agent in his saliva and packed his wounds with it. At once the blend soothed the terrible burning.

It was interesting to him, observing the different sensations and emotions pushing in on him. He had known that those Carpathians who reclaimed emotion and color found that everything they experienced was much deeper and far more intense than it had been when they were younger. Everything. That included pain. All Carpathians learned to block things out if it was necessary, but it took enormous energy. Julian was tired and hungry. His body cried out for nourishment. His mind was tuned to Desari’s. His lifemate. Her mind was in turmoil now, but she was alive. He wanted to reach out and reassure her, but he knew such an intrusion would only make her more upset.

He closed his eyes and leaned against a tree trunk. A leopard. Who would have thought a leopard would score such a blow against him? Had he been so distracted by the presence of his newfound lifemate that he had been careless? How could an animal have outmaneuvered him? And what of the assassins and the way they were killed? No cat or even human avenger could have accomplished all that so quickly. Julian had supreme confidence in his own abilities; few of the ancients, and certainly no mere animal, could defeat him in battle. There was only one who could. Gregori.

He shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. The way the cat had battled, so focused, so relentless, was all too reminiscent of the Dark One. Why couldn’t he shake that thought when he knew it was totally impossible? Could another ancient have hidden from all of his own kind? Gone to ground for a few hundred years and emerged undetected?

Julian tried to recall what he knew of Gregori’s family.
His parents had been massacred during the time of the Turk invasion of the Carpathian Mountains. Mikhail, now the Prince and leader of the Carpathian people, had lost his parents the same way. Entire villages had been destroyed. Beheadings were common, as were bodies writhing on stakes, left to rot in the sun. Small children were often herded together into a pit or a building and burned alive. Scenes of torture and mutilation had become a way of life, a harsh, merciless existence for Carpathians and humans alike.

The Carpathian race was nearly decimated. In the horror of those murderous days they lost most of their women, a good number of their men, and, most important, nearly all of their children. That had been the most violent and shocking blow of all. One day the children had been rounded up, along with mortal children, and driven into a straw shack, which had been set on fire, burning them alive. Mikhail had eluded the slaughter, along with a brother and sister, Gregori had not fared as well. He had lost a brother around six years of age and a new baby sister, not yet six months.

Julian took a deep breath and let it out, going over each and every male Carpathian he had encountered over the centuries, trying to place the unusual black panther.

He recalled the legends about two ancient hunters, twins, who had disappeared without a trace some five or six hundred years earlier. It was believed one had turned vampire. He inhaled sharply at the thought of that. Could he still be alive? Could Julian have escaped relatively unscathed from one so powerful? He doubted it.

Julian searched every corner of his mind for information. Had there been a child he didn’t remember? Wouldn’t any Carpathian, male or female, from Gregori’s bloodline be far too powerful to miss? If there was a chance that any relative of Gregori’s existed somewhere,
anywhere, in the world, wouldn’t the rest of their people know it by now? Julian himself had traveled near and far, in new lands and old, and had come across no strangers of their kind. True, there were rumors and hopes that Carpathians as yet unknown to their people might well exist, but he had never found them.

Julian dismissed the matter for the moment and sent forth a call, luring prey in close to him rather than wasting valuable energy hunting. He waited beneath the tree, and a light breeze carried to him the sounds of four people. He inhaled their scent. Teenagers. Males. They had all been drinking. He sighed again. It seemed that was the favorite pastime of young mortals—drinking or using drugs. It didn’t matter; in the end, blood was all the same.

He could hear their conversation as they stumbled almost blindly through the forest toward him. None of the boys had permission from their parents for this camping outing. Julian’s white teeth gleamed in the night in a slightly mocking smile. So the boys thought it was funny to make fools out of people who loved and trusted them. Their species was so different from his own. Although his race was often more predator than man, a Carpathian male would never harm a woman or child or be disrespectful to those who loved or protected or taught him.

He waited, his intense eyes molten gold, easily piercing the veil of darkness. His mind continually strayed to his lifemate. Every Carpathian male knew the chance of finding a lifemate within their dwindling race was nearly impossible, their numbers being repeatedly decimated by the vampire and witch hunts in the Middle Ages and during the bloody Turk and Holy Wars. To complicate matters, the few remaining women had not given birth to a female child in years, and the rare children born in recent centuries nearly all died within their first year. No
one, not even Gregori, their greatest healer, nor Mikhail, the Prince and leader of their people, had found the solution to these grave problems.

Many had tried in the past to turn mortal women Carpathian, but the females had either perished or become deranged vampiresses, feeding on the lifeblood of human children and always killing their prey. Such women had had to be destroyed to protect the human race.