I could feel his presence, that’s how I tracked him, but now I can’t.
She was suddenly very uneasy. The constellation remained right over her as if somehow spotlighting her. She had the urge to throw back the sleeping bag and run. The need to flee was so strong she found herself gripping the edges of the bag. The compulsion strengthened. She forced herself to breathe through it.
She couldn’t tell Elisabeta that she’d been discovered. She didn’t know who it was that had found her, but it didn’t really matter. Iulian, her brothers and any of their many allies, vampires and their puppets, or Carpathian hunters. They knew she was in the race to find the book. Even if she got there first, none of them would ever let up until they got her. The sensible thing to do was to join Elisabeta and help her. If the Carpathians already had gotten word she was mage and a traitor, she would look innocent helping one of their own.
Julija couldn’t abandon her mission. She wanted to, but it was impossible. She couldn’t allow her brothers to get their hands on that book. Not now, not ever.
2
Isai Florea stared up at the stars from where he sat on a boulder looking up at the clear night sky. It was beautiful. Without the lights from the city of San Diego, one could get lost in the beauty of the overhead display. After having been locked away from the world for so long, being thrown back into a society he didn’t understand—nor would they understand him—so many people and so many homes crammed together gave him a sense of not belonging.
He was given the unexpected duty of hunting for his own brother. He hadn’t realized Iulian was alive. He’d searched for him for centuries, long before he’d sequestered himself in the monastery, high in the Carpathian Mountains. He’d been certain Iulian was long gone from the earth just as everyone he’d ever cared about was.
He was grateful he didn’t have emotions, not when he was chasing after his only living relative. Not after finding out his brother had stolen something so incredibly evil as Xavier’s deadly spell book.
What would be the purpose? Had Iulian figured out how to open it? It didn’t matter one way or the other, he’d stolen something of great importance from the prince of their people. That was all Isai needed to know to begin tracking him. More, the little mage everyone had talked about, Elisabeta’s friend, wasn’t all she’d seemed. She was either hunting Iulian to take the book from him or had aided him in stealing it.
Isai kept his concentration mainly focused on the constellation in the sky. That long sweep of stardust spread through the bright stars. He had re-created it to perfection, every detail, every particle. In doing so, he could see the land below it, miles of wilderness set in valleys and high peaks. He identified campers, not ones on the main trails, but those venturing outside the normal trails within the range.
He was new to the Sierras, but he had studied the topography and devoured everything he could read or hear about the range. That also helped him to find the places he was certain his brother would go. The mage—she was different. He knew very little about her. He’d attempted to speak to Elisabeta, but she remained in the healing grounds, refusing to acknowledge anyone. Isai shrugged. Had he gone through what she’d been put through, he wouldn’t want to talk to anyone, either. Nor would he ever aid someone hunting a friend.
He felt it then. A sudden shift of energy. Subtle. So subtle he thought he might be mistaken, but when he stayed very still and allowed all his senses to expand, he felt it again. A steady flow. It wasn’t some natural phenomenon the range of mountains had produced. This was created by someone, not something. The energy was coming from somewhere and the wielder held great power. The flow of energy never wavered, not for one moment.
Isai couldn’t help but admire the efficiency. He focused completely on the energy to trace it back to the caster. Feminine. The flow held a light hand. Delicate almost. He found himself wanting to bathe in that flow of energy. In the sheer beauty of the work. It was unusual for him to react to anything, not like this. It was as if he was drawn to the flow, a compulsion to put first his