Abascus Baros did not feel fear. He instilled terror in humans, vampires and Carpathians alike. Even the most skilled Carpathian hunters avoided him. He would not be intimidated. He couldn’t afford to show he was in the least affected by whatever oppressive waves this structure was giving off—and he recognized now that the house was safeguarded. A Carpathian, then. The woman belonged to a Carpathian. A lifemate. He had been so close to acquiring a Carpathian lifemate.
He shifted from the shape of the owl to that of a man, the one he used to be. Tall and imposing, quite stocky. Black hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He clothed himself in a suit. He liked the finer things and made certain his clothes were always of the best quality. He expected his followers to have the same. They were not allowed to ever look disheveled. When they joined him, they learned very quickly to keep up appearances. It was only in battle that he allowed them to appear as they truly were.
He stood at the iron gates of the house, the closest he could get. Clearly, the Carpathian had protected his home with a weave above and below, as well as around all sides of it. Abascus was not going to bother trying to unravel the safeguards. He would set a trap for the Carpathian. Few vampires would ever venture this way. There wasn’t enough prey to make it worthwhile. The Carpathian wouldn’t have much in the way of experience in hunting vampires.
With a low bow, he turned and made his way into the forest, deliberately allowing a trail to be left behind for the Carpathian to find should he venture out. Abascus could afford a day or two delay in his travels in order to give his lazier followers a chance to learn battle skills. They certainly could use more experience, and he would get the ultimate prize— a Carpathian woman.
The last thing Sandu wanted was for Adalasia to stay connected to him while he hunted the undead. He couldn’t afford for her to see him the way he really was. He appeared civilized to the outside world, but he wasn’t. He wouldn’t ever be again. He had gone well beyond his time to live and he knew it. All of those who had chosen to lock themselves behind the thick walls of the monastery had known it.
They were secreted there for a reason. They had kept their code of honor. They stayed true to their lifemate, but each of them had gone beyond the time most Carpathian hunters had ever been expected to survive. Souls could be blackened. They could be tattered. They could have holes. A lifemate repaired that damage if she could be found in time. Every male was born knowing that truth.
Those Carpathian hunters living too long went beyond the whispers of temptation. They found absolute silence. They found the rage of the kill. The scarring of the soul. The scarring that couldn’t be taken away. The thicker that scar, the worse the berserker’s rage when battling. Sandu knew he wasn’t alone, because anyone first entering the monastery had been asked the question of the scars versus tattering on the soul.
Strangely, Sandu didn’t actually feel when he was in battle. The emotion was there, though. He recognized it; he just couldn’t feel it. Glacier cold—volcano hot. He ripped and tore without hesitation—with a craving for violence that far exceeded anything that should have been. He didn’t even recognize that it was a craving or a compulsion, but Sandu knew it had to be.
Sandu couldn’t ever allow Adalasia to see that part of him. She feared demons, and he had tied her to one. She was courageous. She didn’t back down and she was determined. She also, so far, was polite and hadn’t tried to go beyond the very forefront of his mind. They spoke to each other. He felt her fill those lonely cracks and spaces, but she never tried to push beyond the barriers that would lead to the memories of his hunting the undead. It was a good thing, because he hid those memories behind strong shields. If she found them and questioned him, he would have to tell her the truth—that he wouldn’t share those battles with her.
Lucian was leading the master vampire and his little army into the position he wanted him. There were eleven vampires. Three were going to be extremely skilled. Four more were question marks and not to be taken lightly. Four were pawns the master would throw at Lucian to test his skills. Sandu doubted if they had much in the way of battle experience. They were newly turned, which meant, as hunters, they had been skilled, but they didn’t yet have control over their voracious appetites. That made them very vulnerable on the battlefield.