Tatijana, this is going to go bad for Zev very fast. Those loyal to him are surrounded by Gunnolf's army.
What you need, wolf man, is a dragon in the sky.
True, but they have guns.
And we have shields.
The crowd pushed closer to the combatants, ringing the two males as they fought for supremacy. The great bulk of a Lycan surged forward with feigned eagerness. Up close, using his mixed-blood senses, Fen read cold and calculating in the closed-in energy field surrounding the assassin. This was a man used to committing assassinations. Killing Zev wasn't personal to him, but his job, a duty to perform, nothing else. He took pride in his work, and he wouldn't stop until Zev was dead.
Zev drove Gunnolf to the ground over and over, each time the other male tried to leap to his feet. The punches increased in strength each time Gunnolf refused to submit. Realizing he was in trouble, Gunnolf rolled away from Zev, attempting to conceal a small blade in his fist as he managed to get his feet under him in a crouch.
Those closest to him saw and reacted with a roar of rage. In a challenge fight, two males fought bare-handed. Gunnolf clearly wasn't following the rules. Zev feigned a kick at the knife hand and went in low, driving for Gunnolf's head. He locked his arm around the Lycan's neck and spun, bringing the head up over his shoulder behind him. Gunnolf hung there for a moment, but the crack was loud and his body stiffened and then went limp.
The crowd went silent as Zev dropped the lifeless body onto the ground. He palmed a silver stake and drove it down hard, directly through the heart of the fallen Lycan.
The crowd roared approval. Zev slowly straightened. As he did, the assassin made his move. He shuffled forward with others around him, gawking, seemingly trying to get a look at the dead body of Gunnolf. The moment he was close to Zev, his entire demeanor changed. There was nothing awkward about him. He was fast and smooth, keeping his knife low and covered with his fist, driving the poisoned blade straight at Zev's kidney.
Fen caught him from behind, twisted him around, his grip like steel, thumb digging into the pressure point of the wrist, exposing the knife and the assassin's intent. Zev spun around to face the killer. He caught the dagger as it fell from paralyzed fingers. Fen let the assassin go, and Zev stepped forward into the man's attack, plunging the silver blade into the heart.
A hot breath of fire swept over the crowd. Everyone looked up. There were three dragons in the sky, all circling around for a run at them. The lead dragon was blue, the neck elongated, stretched toward that outer circle of Lycans. Fire rained down, a steady stream that burned the fur on the Lycans' heads and shoulders.
Tatijana had learned from previous clashes just how high a wolf could jump. Her blue dragon was in the lead, staying high enough to keep out of harm's way, yet low enough to singe fur. The dragons circled the outer ring of Lycans, flames shooting down in long, steady streams. The Lycans broke formation, abandoning whatever plans they had to kill Zev's force.
The Lycans scattered, a few dropping to their knees to take aim at the impressive sight of dragons in the sky. They fired off several rounds, but the bullets seemed to bounce off the tough scales of the dragons. When the creatures flew over for another fiery pass, the rest of the Lycans took to the forest, sheltering beneath the canopy of the taller trees.
"I see you're still hanging around that woman," Zev observed. He hadn't moved a muscle when the dragons flew over, spraying the Lycan ranks with fire. "I can understand why you want to hang with her, but seriously, what does she see in you?"
Fen grinned at him. "I'm smart enough to always play the hero, unlike you, who seems to get into trouble every time you open your eyes."
"You like to play with fire, don't you?" Zev asked with a wry grin. He had warned Fen more than once that a relationship with a Carpathian woman was trouble-forbidden even. The council had decreed centuries earlier that all Lycans should avoid Carpathians so there was no chance of creating the dreaded Sange rau.
"Ha ha. You're very funny," Fen retorted. As far as Zev knew, Fen was Lycan. He might understand Fen's attraction to Tatijana, but he couldn't condone a union .
Zev nudged Gunnolf's body with the toe of his boot. "The really sad thing is, I liked him. I've known him for years." He looked up at Fen. "What the hell is going on?"
Fen nodded toward Gunnolf. "I'll ask him."
Zev shook his head. "It's too dangerous. I respect you as a fighter, Fen. I've told you that before. I can't understand why you're not running an elite pack, but questioning a dead Lycan, even for someone as strong as you, is not a good idea."
Fen shrugged. "One of us has to do it, and I'm more expendable than you are." And he had a lifemate, waiting to pull him back from the edge. It wouldn't be his first time extracting information from a dead Lycan. Zev was right, it had been dangerous, but Tatijana was powerful and she would never fail to pull him back. He had complete faith in her.
Zev shook his head and made a movement toward his lifeless opponent. Fen was there before him, grasping the head between his two hands. The Lycan became aware of him almost instantly and mentally fought him, desperate to protect his secret. Black hatred poured over and into Fen. Rage took hold, a violent, churning cauldron of such fury that Fen's body shook with it. The emotions of the dead wolf, still active in his brain, found a new home in Fen.
As if a great distance away, Fen heard Zev cursing, knew he'd drawn his sword and was close, very close. His hatred spread to the elite hunter like an infection. Why should he have to put up with the scout's orders? Why, each time Zev returned to the pack, did Gunnolf have to relinquish authority?
Zev was a traitor. He mingled with the Carpathians. He danced with one of them, clearly smitten. He'd allowed the woman to enter his mind, take his blood. Every member of the pack knew he was pining for her. He had even committed the biggest sin of all-he'd argued that there was a difference between Dimitri-their prisoner-and any other Sange rau.
Worse, Zev had sided with Dimitri and had even given him blood. The Sange rau should have died within three days. Everyone who had ever been sentenced to the Moarta de argint had succumbed to the pain and writhed and moved until the silver had managed to pierce their heart. Not once had there been a survivor beyond the third day, yet Dimitri had lasted over two weeks. Zev had to have been helping him.
The Sange rau was weak, dying. They had a chance to destroy the monster. It was the woman with him who had somehow, through a dark practice, managed to protect the abomination. Revulsion spread like cancer. A disgust and loathing like no other. They had the scent of her blood, it permeated the meadow and the very air itself. She had to die. Her very existence was an outrage to humanity. What if the Sange rau began breeding? They had to be stopped. It was a sacred mission.
Kill. Kill. Kill him. Kill her. They both have to die. Kill Zev. He should die with the monsters, the abomination. Kill them all. The chant was loud in his mind, echoing through his veins with a need and hunger that shook him.
Fen let the savage emotion wash through him, but he refused to stay there and wallow in it as Gunnolf wanted. The Lycan would trap him there or Fen would be forced to leave to prevent the intensity of the hatred and rage from consuming him.
The feelings of superiority helped. The emotion flooded his mind and Fen caught at the opinion and nurtured it. He was more than Gunnolf. More than Zev. He was Guardian, and this Lycan who wished to trap him for all time in the black mire of prejudice and hatred would not do so. Fen was too strong to be ensnared by the Lycan. Too intelligent.
He was ruthless, refusing to back down but searching through the memories to find a thread that would lead him back to Gunnolf's master. The Lycan reeked of fanaticism. His emotions were fiery, intense-and he believed in his cause with a single-minded purpose.
War. They had to wipe out the Carpathians to stop the spread of the mixed bloods. All Lycans who refused to join them, who frowned on the sacred code, would be wiped from the face of the earth as well. They were enemies of the great council-the great ones who had kept them alive and thriving for centuries. Those past moral compasses were slowly being forgotten or deliberately pushed aside by the new council who only wanted their own glory.
The zeal of devotion permeated every move and memory that Gunnolf had. It was difficult to find a single thread to get back to the one master who fed his extreme fervor. Fen couldn't stay much longer. The intolerance and radicalism was slowly eating at him, threatening to consume him in spite of his strength. He'd never encountered such vehemence.