Lucian was the bait. He appeared a younger, much more naïve 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.”
Sandu gave a small, courtly bow. “I have not had the pleasure of an actual introduction, although I know you by reputation, Abascus.”
Abascus quickly glanced, with satisfaction, both right and left. His lesser vampires had not let him down. Both rose with grim smiles to face the ancient hunter as well. They took their cue from Abascus, acting civil, when neither would prefer to face such a skilled hunter.
“I fear you chose a bad night to pit your inexperienced pawns against Lucian. He has several visitors.” Sandu waved his hand. “My friend Benedek. He wishes to try his ancient techniques against one of your best. And Petru. You must have heard of him. He has been around for centuries. His fighting skills are legendary. Petru will be more than happy to engage with your good friend.” He nodded toward Ambrus.
Sandu didn’t wait. The scent of the battle was on him. A thousand years. Two. Time no longer mattered. Only this. There was only this in his world, the destruction of pure evil. The power moved through his veins. The inching of glacier ice. The ice burned white-hot. So hot it turned blue, like the densest glacier. That blue turned to a flickering flame. The flame smoldered in his eyes, glowed there in the dark, going blue to red, then fiery red. That same flame moved in his veins, slow, like that sluggish burn of magma in a volcano. He welcomed that burn, felt that fire spreading.