Dark Slayer: Number 20 in series (Dark Series)

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Silent shadows slipped through the trees and ice-coated bushes, moving with absolute stealth. Large paws made tracks in the snow, a good six inches in diameter, single file, the trail winding in and out through the trees and thick shrubbery. Although they looked in good shape, strong with steel muscles rippling beneath thick fur, the wolves were hungry and needed food to keep the pack alive through the long, brutal winter. The alpha suddenly stopped, going very still, sniffing the trail around him, lifting his nose to scent the wind.

The others halted, wraiths only, silent shadows that immediately fanned out.

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The alpha moved forward, staying downwind while the others sank low, waiting. A yard away, a large piece of raw meat lay dropped on the trail, fresh, the scent wafting temptingly back toward the wolf. Wary, he circled, using his nose to detect potential danger. Scenting nothing but the meat, with his saliva running and his belly empty, he approached again, coming in downwind, angling toward the large piece of life-saving food.


He came in three times and backed away, but no hint of danger presented itself. He nosed in a fourth time and something slipped over his neck. The alpha leapt back and the wire tightened. The more he struggled, the more the wire cut into him, strangling the air from his lungs and sawing through flesh.

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The pack circled, pacing, his female rushing to aid him. She began to struggle as another wire snared her neck, nearly knocking her off her feet. For a moment there was a hush, broken only by the gasping breath of the two trapped wolves. A twig snapped. The pack whirled and dissolved in rush of fleeing shadows, back into the thicker cover of the trees.

The bushes parted and a woman stepped into the open. She was dressed in black winter boots, black pants that rode low on her hips, a sleeveless vest of black that left her midriff bare and had two sets of steel buckles running down the middle of it. The six buckles were shiny, almost ornamental, with tiny crosses running up and around, embedded in the squared silver pieces.

A wealth of blue-black hair spilled beyond her waist, pulled back in a thick woven braid. The long hooded coat she wore, made of what appeared to be a single silver-tipped wolf pelt, fell all the way to her ankles. She carried a cross bow in one hand, a sword at one hip and a knife at the other. Arrows were slung in a quiver on her shoulder and all down the inside of the long wolf skin were small loops containing various sharp-bladed weapons.

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A low-slung holster adorned with rows of very small, flat, razor-sharp, arrowheads housed a pistol on her hip. She paused for a moment, surveying the scene. Both wolves ceased struggling instantly at her command, waiting, bodies trembling, sides heaving and heads held low to ease the terrible pressure closing around their throats.

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The woman moved with fluid grace, flowing over the surface rather than sinking into the ice-crusted snow. She studied the snares, a multitude of them, disgust in her dark eyes. I should let you die here in agony. She pushed her fingers into their fur, over the cuts deep in their throats and clamped her palm over the slashes, chanting softly. The alpha growled a warning and his mate bared her teeth, both facing away from the woman. She smiled.

It is impossible not to smell the foul stench of vampire. The trunk gaped open, split nearly in two, blackened and peeled back, the needles on the outstretched limbs withering as the tree expelled the venomous creature from its depths. Icicles rained down like small spears as the branches shivered and shook, trembling from contact with such a foul creature. The woman rose gracefully, turning to face her enemy, signaling to the wolves to melt back into the forest.

Are you so slow and foul that you can no longer lure a human to use as food? I remember you from the old days when you were a young man, still handsome to look upon. Well, old friend, so be it. Our leaders say to leave you alone. You have joined them then, banded together against the prince and his people?

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Why seek death when you have a plan to rule every country? The world? In the old days, we lived simply.


Those were happy days. Do you not recall them? She kept her face serene, smiling, but inside she was still, coiled, ready to explode into action. You have more reason than any other to hate the prince. I do not think so. I wage war where it is due. You have left me little choice.

Give it to me and I will let you live. Her lips were red and full, a teasing, sexy curve inviting him to share the humor. She tilted her head to one side, her gaze moving over his face, assessing him carefully. When the world was right. And careless. You had no idea the trap was for you and not your precious wolves. You have no choice but to give me what I want, or you die this night. One moment it loosely flowed around her ankles and the next it was gone, settling over her skin until six ferocious wolf tattoos adorned her body from the small of her back to her neck, wrapping around each arm like sleeves.

Spinning, she drew her sword with one hand, rushing toward him, going up and over a snow-capped boulder to launch her body into the air.

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She felt the bite of a hidden snare, and inwardly cursed as the noose closed around her neck. Already she was dissolving, but blood spattered across the snow in bright crimson drops. Cristofor laughed and leaned down to scoop up a handful of snow to lick at the droplets, savoring the taste of pure Carpathian blood—not just pure—the slayer was Ivory Malinov, from one of the strongest Carpathian lineages possible. He followed the arc of blood, saw her forming a few feet from him, closer to the tree-line and satisfaction made him cackle.

Ivory saluted him with two fingers, touched the thin line running across her neck and put her finger in her mouth, sucking off the blood. I did not see that coming and I shall have to apologize to my wolves for scolding them. But Cristo, if you believe your partner back there in the woods is going to help you after slaying my wolf pack, you are doing some serious underestimating of your own. The vampire roared and tried to shift. His legs disappeared, melting into vapor.

Dark Slayer: Number 20 in series ('Dark' Carpathian)

His head swirled and disappeared. Fog drifted in from the trees in an attempt to help conceal him, congealing around his body, forming a thick veil. The torso remained, that straight, damaging line from belly to neck, exposing his heart.