And share it did. The dragon's long life, each moment of thought or feeling, instinct and craving before this one became part of Dax's memories, part of him. The two became one. Not two beings merged together, but two souls connected by a single body. They could feel each other, move with one another.
The magma pool rose to fill the chamber, and the crystallized remains of the dragon melted back into the liquid earth's blood that had spawned him.
Centuries of living deep in the labyrinth of caves meant Dax had explored every inch possible. He knew the river of lava flowing beneath the earth, a long ribbon of bright orange and red magma and the long tubes that formed the underground subway. He knew every chamber, some with walls of crystalline beauty and others under steaming water. Mud pools bubbled and spat while pools of hot mineral water sent steam rising like fog through caverns.
The problem was that Mitro had had the same time to explore his environment as well. Dax could no longer separate the evil scent from the living abomination; the stench of the undead was everywhere, making it impossible to track him-unless you were a dragon.
Dax felt the Old One stretch, testing senses. Suddenly, like a stick puppet, Dax's body whipped around awkwardly and began moving toward the lava tube on his left. He staggered, his body impossible to control, falling sideways into the wall. The sharp edges of rock scraped at his skin, peeling off the top layer. In the glare of the magma pool, his burnished arm appeared covered in overlapping ovals of red gold. He blinked down at the strange patterning and then touched them. The ovals felt hard, like armor. With his strange diamond-hard nails he tapped them tentatively.
Scales? Like a lizard?
At least it kept him from bleeding. That could come in handy in battle. He'd evolved there in the volcano, and clearly now there would be more changes. The enticing whispers of the earth hadn't disclosed that his body would be altered on an elemental level if he allowed the Old One's soul to share his physical form.
Before he could make a move, his body jerked again toward the lava tube, a large round tunnel he knew went for miles beneath the peaks. He felt like a marionette being jerked around by a drunken puppet master. He sensed the dragon's impatience and realized that being without emotions was a double-edged sword. Carpathian males lived for so long that not feeling was a terrible burden, yet with that came an advantage when hunting.
The dragon was eager for the chase, believing Mitro to be no more than an irritation. He wanted to slumber, didn't want to remain awakened, and once Mitro was disposed of, he planned on doing just that. Dax's body jerked again, his foot lifting awkwardly and then setting down a large stride away, nearly throwing him off balance.
Exasperated, he scowled. Just give me direction. Don't try to control the movements of my body.
How was he going to fight Mitro when he could barely take a step without falling? The dragon hadn't had a body in centuries and Dax's body was far too small for him to comprehend how to move it around.
The dragon gave a snort of derision. It is no wonder this great evil has prevailed. You are a puny one, Carpathian.
Perhaps that is so, Dax soothed. After all, in relation to size, it was true. But I can maneuver this body much more easily than you. If we fight one another how will we succeed in our mission? If pandering to the dragon's ego would result in destroying Mitro, Dax could manage it with no problem.
Power pulsed deep inside, pushing against the restraints of his physical frame. His entire body vibrated, his brain crashing hard against his skull. His body hit the side of the tube hard, this time flinging him to the floor. He couldn't imagine how frustrating it had to be for a massive dragon to find himself confined in a human frame, but Dax was finished reasoning.
And I was told your kind was so intelligent.
Fiercely he pushed back, slamming a wave of massive force straight at the Old One's soul. The internal explosion sent his body reeling. For a moment his head felt as if every bone in his body would shatter. He set his jaw and accepted the pain.
We can do this all night, or work together to destroy the vampire.
Amusement filled his mind. The dragon had a rusty sense of humor. For a puny lizard, you have a hard punch. How do we do this? I cannot work this strange body.
If you can find him, point me in the direction. I'm Carpathian. I know you are aware of the things we can do. I'll shift into whatever we need to hunt him. If we need your form, you take over, otherwise we work as a unit, with you guiding me where we go and me getting us there. Is that acceptable?
There was a long moment of silence. So be it.
Dax didn't give the Old One time to change his mind. He moved into the lava tube at the dragon's urging. As Dax shifted into mist and sped away through the vents and fissures in the black volcanic rock, the dragon was there with him, part of him, a separate soul and consciousness sharing his body, his gifts. Together, yet still separate. More powerful together than either had been apart. Neither of them would ever be alone again. And both of them streaked through the volcano with one purpose foremost in their minds: to stop Mitro Daratrazanoff or die trying.
The tube was miles long, an old subterranean flow that had long since shifted, leaving a wide tunnel extending under the mountain. Dax had been in it often, following Mitro, knowing the vampire was up to something within the tube, but he'd never managed to catch him at anything. As mist, he could travel without giving away his presence if Mitro had set a trap for him, which he did habitually.
Wait. Here. He has not gone beyond this point.
Dax stopped moving instantly, the mist stretching out along with his senses, trying to reason out where Mitro could have gone. The stench of the undead permeated the tube, and he couldn't feel or smell a difference, but he trusted the dragon's instincts. The creature was a fierce hunter and well adapted to stalking in caves.
The tube didn't have any tributaries, not any that Dax could see, or that he'd ever found, yet the dragon sensed that the vampire hadn't continued along the tube, which meant he'd found another way through the mountain-or was disguised and lying in wait for his enemy.
Dax went still, reaching for his dragon senses. The undead was a repulsive, loathsome stench in the home of the Old One. The creature of myth and legend found the presence of a creature so against nature to be abhorrent. The fact that Mitro was in his home had the dragon outraged.
The stench was strongest to his right. Dax studied the rock outcropping. The wall was dark reds, yellow and deep brown. He could detect no hint of Mitro tampering with the wall itself. He experimented with moving slowly, inch by inch, his patience at odds with the dragon's growing emotions of hostility toward the unwelcome abomination in his home.
The hunt took patience, something the dragon had never had to really develop. Dax skimmed along the rock wall, allowing the mist to touch the various colors and settle into the cracks, examining them to see if there was an opening too small to see. Nothing. He moved lower, taking in every inch of the wall. The tube sloped downward, coming to the floor in a relatively smooth overlap. Again there was no sign of Mitro, but he was beginning to feel a sense of urgency.
Dax knew from centuries of experience that when a hunter felt that sudden push, it meant his prey was close and up to no good. He waited a few heartbeats, going still again, getting a feel for the tube and anything that might be out of place. The overhead ceiling was mottled with grays, blues and deep rust colors. The floor was yellow and brown, chunks of rocks scattered everywhere. Small flecks of gray, blue and rust dusted the top of three of the rocks directly below him.
Dax turned his attention to the ceiling, the mist moving in close, pressing against the mottled rock. The surface was much smoother here, the tiny cracks and crevices harder to discern. As mist, he could seep into the little spaces, going as deep as possible before they dead-ended, and he could examine large portions of the ceiling at the same time.