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hadn't yet managed to fall to the ground. Zacarias called the lightning down to incinerate the heart even as he turned to face his next opponent. Drago was Demyan's disciple, the lesser vampire a pawn for the master, but as long as Drago lived, Demyan would stand and fight, believing he had a better chance of survival against one hunter. It was imperative to keep Drago occupied and stall killing him until Dominic maneuvered Demyan into a kill position.

Dominic was on Demyan before the master vampire could react, leaping across the distance in an effort to end the battle before it actually started. Such a vampire had been centuries in the making, perfecting skills and acquiring knowledge, growing more powerful each century until he could appear beautiful and clean, holding other vampires in his thrall. Carpathians aged in the same way, but the cunning guile came only when they were close to turning themselves. Dominic wanted to stop the fight before it got started.

Demyan's eyes went wide in shock. It was clear he had believed the parasites in Dominic's blood would control him, prevent him from attacking one of their own, as they should have. He whirled out of reach just before Dominic's fist penetrated his chest, seeking his heart. His eyes went feral and Dominic managed to snatch his hand back as knives spun around Demyan, creating a moving suit of armor.

"I should have known you would use your family's expertise," Dominic said, studying the spinning knives.

He'd never come across anything like it before in all his fights with undead. There seemed to be no noticeable pattern that he could detect, the spinning blades moving around Demyan at varying rates of speed, so that it would be impossible to slam his fist through the armor without getting his arm cut off.

"You should have known better than to challenge me," Demyan corrected.

Dominic filed the hint of the vampire's ego away for future use. The blades whirled and swayed, flashing silver in the dark night. Dominic caught the gleam of a long blade, just a quick flash, his only warning. He just managed to form his own sword to meet the swing of Demyan's blade. Sparks rained around them as metal came together with such force the forest shook. The sound reverberated through the trees. Birds shrieked. A mass exodus followed as the clashing swords slammed into one another over and over.

Demyan's sword came down in a straight slice right over Dominic's head. He barely managed to get his blade up to parry the strike away from him, arms up, head level to prevent the sword from falling on the top of his head. The moment his arms went up, the smaller whirling blades burst toward him, as if fired from a gun, a hundred knives thrown simultaneously. Dominic swept his sword across his body, knocking most of them away, but one lodged in his thigh and another in his chest.

The blades were fashioned with Carpathian skill, forged by a master, and they sliced clean through flesh and muscle, burying deep. Dominic had no choice but to dissolve into vapor in order to rid himself of the metal. The blades dropped to earth, but Demyan was too experienced to allow that brief respite to stop him. He followed the droplets of blood, the scent in his nostrils, and like a bloodhound, he drove through the cloud of vapor, slashing with his sword.

Dominic materialized, countering, pushing pain to the back of his mind while he met each of Demyan's moves, his brain working to find the pattern of the swirling knives as well. He needed to anticipate each of Demyan's moves and get ahead of him. As Dominic sprang to attack Demyan, Solange turned and shot Robert the worm in one smooth motion. The arrow flew true, slamming through the chest to pierce the heart, exploding into the same white-hot heat that incinerated everything on contact. Exhaustion was something even her willpower couldn't overcome. Her legs went out from under her and she found herself sitting on the undulating ground. Around her the ground groaned. Wide cracks began to weave across the forest floor, hairline fractures that slowly widened until debris began to fall into them.

"Get off the ground," Zacarias yelled as he rushed toward Drago. "Get to safety."

She sent a smoldering glare. Did she look stupid? She had already scrambled to her feet and leapt for the lower branches of a young tree. As a shelter, it didn't offer much, bending