Dark Storm (14 page)

Shelton shook his head. “Are you crazy? Damn it, Don, we’re going to get killed if that mountain blows. We need to hightail it out of here as fast as we can in the opposite direction.”

Don shrugged. “Let’s just get it done, and then we can run like hell.”

“Pick up the pace, Miguel,” Jubal ordered. “We want to make the base of the mountain before nightfall if possible.”

Miguel lifted a hand toward his brothers and set off without another word. The professor and his two students remained with the other two guides and two of the porters, who argued heatedly among themselves. At the last moment, Hector caught up a pack of supplies and hurried after Miguel, leaving his cousin shaking his head. Weston and Shelton followed the porter and guide.

Jubal fell in behind them, nodding toward the archaeologist and his students.

Riley caught up her mother’s pack and eased it over her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how battered and bruised her body was from the monkeys’ knocking her around. She followed Jubal.

“Good luck,” Gary called to the others as he paced behind Riley, clearly prepared to protect her.

Riley didn’t look back. The sense of urgency grew in her even as she realized everything around her had changed. Her focus. Her awareness. Her feet seemed to find the right path of their own volition, avoiding every hazard. The forest breathed for her, providing oxygen to enhance her ability to move quickly through the narrow trails. She knew before she rounded a turn just what was ahead. She felt the forest living in her, whispering comfort, sharing information, advising her.

The pace was fast as the ground tremors increased in frequency and strength and night began to descend. Still, there was a calm and rhythm to the group that had never been before. Riley felt as if she was a part of each of the travelers as they made their way through the tangled jungle.

Behind her in the rear position, she felt Gary, calm and steady, watchful, always alert, ready for anything, just as Jubal, ahead of her, appeared to be. Ben Charger moved well in the forest, his strides sure and his manner confident. Don and Mack were far less so, both nervous and fighting the rugged terrain, although both tried. They were just out of their element.

Miguel, however, familiar with the way and danger of the entire area, radiated fear. Each vine, every branch, the brush blocking their trail was met with a clean stroke of his giant black blade as he removed obstacles from their path. She felt the separation of the long vines, so real she could almost feel the air rush past as each separate piece fell to the forest floor. The foliage tried to retreat from the blade, subtle vibrations warning plants ahead of them.

She began to whisper softly under her breath, asking forgiveness for cutting a trail. They had to rush. There was no time for avoidance, or even the rain forest itself might be lost. Open the trail to them, let them through.

Riley drew in a swift breath. How many times had she heard her mother whispering in a soft, singsong voice as they backpacked through heavy jungle? With every step connecting her to the earth, she felt more connected to her mother, closer to her, more aware of memories.

She touched the end of a severed branch in a kind of reverence. Already there was a light-colored liquid oozing out to meet her fingertips. The plant’s lifeblood was cool and sticky, and a calm descended into her mind, helping her to focus on what she needed to do. She placed one foot in front of the next, allowing her hand to linger, keeping contact with the plants until the last possible moment. She felt the shift inside of her, her tight lungs easing, drawing a full breath of fresh air, letting the plants take much of the burden of her sorrow and fear of what was to come.

The tremors continued, giving her a feeling of extreme urgency, a need to hurry faster, and with that came an awareness of the growing fear in their guide. Miguel knew what those tremors meant—an impending eruption. He was responsible for the travelers and he already felt as if he’d failed Annabel. Little by little he was changing the direction, a subtle shift so that it was barely noticeable, but Riley’s sense of their objective was acute now, as was the map in her head, leading her to the precise location she needed to be.

She didn’t blame Miguel. How could she? He felt weighed down with responsibility and guilt. A memory surfaced of Riley as a child, during one of their trips, a storm raging, pounding the shelter the guide had hastily set up for them. She’d been wrapped in the strength of her mother’s embrace as her mother sang softly to take away her tears.

The long-forgotten memory sparked the knowledge of what she had to do. The song came out soft and low, barely a whisper, but she remembered the words and melody from that long-forgotten trip. Her mother had sung the song while they hurried along muddy trails with the rain pouring down. The words formed in her mind and grew in strength.

It wasn’t long before the others began to slow their pace, to be closer, to hear more. Riley picked up the pace, moving past Jubal, touching him on the shoulder. Her nodded to her, obviously aware of the soothing quality to her voice and approving of what she was doing.

She continued to walk forward, quickening her pace, softly singing, passing each traveler, touching them gently as she did so, easing their burdens and growing in confidence and power with every step. She reached Miguel. It was clear how far his efforts had taken them off course. The guilt was tangible, but she felt only sadness for him. She understood his need to protect them all, and he’d braved her anger to try to get them away a safe distance from the volcano.

She moved in front of him even as her song drifted to a low hum. Her hands came up and she wove a pattern as she sang to the jungle. The path opened, leaves and branches pulling back to let them move through quickly. Beneath her feet, the ground urged her to hurry. The sense of need grew and spread until it was all-consuming. She became aware of the silence, as if the insects held their breath waiting for her arrival. She felt pressure building beneath her feet.

As if the others all caught that sense of urgency she was feeling, they double-timed it, their feet pounding out the rhythm of her song. The ground shook harder, longer, throwing them all to the forest floor just as they reached the base of the mountain. Riley dug her hands into the soil and felt the enormous force and the tremendous heat in the ground. Instantly she was aware of the triumph of malicious evil rising like the tide, rising with the gases.

She looked up at Jubal with stricken eyes. “I’m too late. It’s too late.”

6

T
he ground wept drops of blood like honey dripping from a comb—a dark sorrow invading and spreading through the earth. She was dead! At long last, Arabejila was dead. If he could have done so without attracting the hunter, Mitro would have danced. He’d done it! He’d destroyed the one woman who could bring him down! He could barely contain his glee. He’d expected a bigger impact, the ground rolling and swaying in protest—or even trying to retaliate against him—but none had come. He had grown strong while she had grown weak. He’d sensed that over the centuries, that slow decline without her lifemate—without him. She hadn’t been able to hold on as he had.

She had needed him to live, but she’d chosen to side with the arrogant Carpathian hunter, thinking they could defeat him. She’d chosen poorly. Once again he’d proven he was stronger, better, far more intelligent and cunning than the rest of them. The hunter and his whore had lost the game to Mitro’s superior skills. He had known all along he’d outsmart them. He proved time and again he deserved the position as right-hand man to the prince, yet he’d been cast aside because the prince had feared him—feared others would recognize that Mitro was a born leader and turn against the prince.

Even as injured as he’d been from their last encounter, he’d managed to rise first—or maybe the hunter had been burned in the magma. He knew better, but it was a nice thought. No one could defeat him. Not the famous Danutdaxton and not Arabejila.

Now, with Arabejila dead at last, his victory almost made him giddy. He had to focus. He had everything he needed at long last. His quest had been successful, and he was invulnerable now. Nothing would stop him. With Arabejila dead and his newfound treasure in his possession, once he was out, there was no hunter who could ever destroy him. The world and all its riches would belong to him.

Mitro kept his movements slow and deliberate in spite of the urge to rush toward the thinning crust and push hard to get out. He had succeeded where so many others failed because he was patient and tenacious. They had made a terrible mistake, trapping him inside the volcano. They thought it a prison, a torture chamber, but he had grown into something else, something more. He found a treasure beyond price, and he had all the time in the world to plan his revenge—and his vengeance knew no bounds.

He still had to evade the hunter and get through the barrier Arabejila and her assassin had erected to keep him close to the center of the volcano. Over time he had tested that barrier, and over the past years he had thinned it in one place without the hunter noticing. He had been stealthy, staying away from the area for long periods of time and careful never to leave a trace behind. He had even worked at the safeguards in other places, determined this spot would be his true escape hatch should the others fail. This was his chance and he wouldn’t risk losing it by giving away his position too soon.

Mitro couldn’t chance another battle with the hunter. Just as he’d grown into something more, so had Danutdaxton—a relentless hunter he’d known since childhood. “The Judge,” they called him. Even as a boy he’d been a serious warrior and everyone, including the prince, had made a big deal over him. Mitro had done his best to pretend to be his friend, but watching everyone grovel around him was truly sickening.

Mitro was intelligent—far smarter than Danutdaxton would ever be—and the prince should have seen that.
All
of them should have seen it. Mitro had been wronged so many times. They’d all been jealous of him—especially his brothers. They had said he was ill, that his heart was black, just because he didn’t make clean emotionless kills as the Judge did. Mitro
enjoyed
watching the damned suffer. They deserved it. They’d been condemned, so why shouldn’t he have a little fun after he took the time and effort to hunt them down? What business was it of anyone how he dispatched an enemy?

And humans were fodder. Food. Their women were fair game. He
felt
when he stared into their eyes and took their bodies without their permission while their men watched in horror. So helpless. Like children. Like the animals he ran across and spent hours torturing. The suffering, watching the life leave their eyes, it was all exhilarating. The prince and his brothers didn’t want to admit they had the same nature. They weren’t supposed to be civilized. The prince wanted to “tame” them, to subdue their natural predatory instincts.

Mitro had tried hard to make the prince understand the harm he was doing to their people. The men lost emotion because their true natures were suppressed. If he could feel without his lifemate, the woman who would cripple him, force him into a mold, take away the very essence of who he was, then so could the other hunters. The women hobbled them—turned them into rabbits when they were meant to be at the top of the food chain.

His brothers tried to stop him from advising the prince, cowards every one of them. They knew he was right, but they feared banishment and loss of status if the sniveling prince disagreed with him. Mitro had been unafraid. He knew he was right. He had the brains and the strength to do what had to be done. He could have anything he wanted, not live restrained by the dictates of a man without any vision.

But now—at last—things would be different. Arabejila was dead, and he would soon be free to rule the earth, as he should have done from the beginning. He floated, rising slowly, careful to exert no energy, knowing any disturbance would draw the hunter to him. He reminded himself how close he was, he just needed to do this right, move so slow, drift with rising gases toward the barrier and reach that very thin wall. He had to time it perfectly. Already he could feel the hunter on the move. He hadn’t died then, but Mitro had known all along it wouldn’t be that easy.

His heart jolted hard, sending an electrical charge through his body. The current robbed him of breath but gave him a deep satisfaction. He could feel what others could not. He had changed—evolved—to a higher purpose. His imprisonment had only made him stronger and more determined. He would escape and elude Danutdaxton. Without Arabejila to track him, the hunter had lost his edge.

Mitro’s veins throbbed and burned; after all these years of suppressing his need for blood, the craving was more powerful than ever, and with it, the yearning to see that horror and revulsion, that terrible fear as he held life or death over his victim. He always chose the strongest of the warriors to kill, deliberately torturing them so the others would see how useless fighting him was. He could turn whole villages against one another. They would sacrifice their children to him when he demanded it. Their young daughters. Their firstborn sons.

He fed on terror. Fear was every bit as important as blood to him. He needed it the way he needed sustenance—delicious, delicious terror. The more he thought of people trembling before him, begging for their lives, the stronger the compulsion became. He’d been too long without food and he craved the fear-inspired adrenaline in his victim’s blood when he drank.

He flexed his muscles as he continued to rise toward the barrier keeping him from the top of the volcano where he needed to be when it finally blew. Without Arabejila calming it, the explosion would be catastrophic, flattening and killing everything for miles. His plan was in place, and nothing would stop him now. Not some silly woman and not the Carpathian hunter. He would be free, and he would reign supreme!