Ruslan had a head start on Zacarias, but he was cunning and he would know his blood was in the wind and a hunter like Zacarias would scent it as well as any wolf. He would use false trails, backtrack, every trick he had ever learned to hide his true destination from the Carpathian and that would take time. Ruslan would try to use the sun against a hunter, only going to ground at the last moment so there was no risk a hunter could catch him in his lair. Zacarias had to make a decision - go with his gut feeling - depend on the very thing he detested in himself - or follow the trail. Either one could cost him his prey.
Marguarita had said the darkness in him was a gift. She trusted it because it was a part of him. He thought of it as evil. He only remembered his father as evil, never earlier. It was as though that one moment had negated his father's entire life, centuries of honor and duty. His father had taught him every skill he possessed. He had swung his lifemate into the air and laughed readily with her. He had rejoiced as each son was born and mourned, crying bloodred tears unashamedly when his one daughter had lost her battle for survival. His father had not been evil all of his life.
So then, let the darkness guide him. He abandoned the trail and chose the cave deepest in the earth, hurrying now to get there before his prey. If he was wrong, he had lost his chance, but he would be safe from the sun.
Zacarias passed over the rocky ledge where the cracked boulder was the only sign of an entrance to the narrow tunnel. He used stealth, allowing a slight breeze to let him drift, examining the area from every angle. Ruslan didn't appear to have reached the resting place before him. He moved closer, careful not to disturb so much as a pebble, testing the entrance. There was nothing to hinder him going inside.
As smoky vapor, Zacarias slipped inside the mountain, weaving his way through the long crack into the narrow, small tunnel. He followed it deeper and deeper beneath the earth. The sound of dripping water grew in volume as he neared the small chamber. The tunnel had narrowed so that only a small animal might get through to the larger hollowed-out cavern.
Ruslan had not been there before him. There was a certain odor to a vampire, one that even a master could mask only for so long. Did that mean he had never found this particular cave? There was no more time to go looking. He had to trust in his
experience. He took his time, examining the small chamber, finding several cracks running through the ceiling and walls. Water dripped steadily from the north wall, but the southern wall was mainly rock. He chose one of the smaller cracks to secrete himself in.
His body desperately needed to go to ground. Shifting took energy, and even with Marguarita's blood, he knew he didn't have much time before it would become critical to heal in the soil or it would be too late. Few Carpathians would be able to survive the mortal wounds he had and continue the hunt. He knew the darkness within him enabled him to never acknowledge what was happening to his body. He fought, he healed himself and he went on without pain or exhaustion. But eventually his body would collapse. If Ruslan did choose this cave, Zacarias could not think about when that collapse would come.
Minutes ticked by. He knew the exact position of the sun and it was very close to rising. He could feel its presence like a burning lamp pressed close against him. He knew the light would always get to him, even if Solange's royal blood really allowed him a few more hours of the day to move in. He would never be comfortable, but if it made Marguarita happier with him, he would endure it, just as he would endure her human companions.
A rock rolled in the dirt. Something scratched along the narrow tunnel wall just outside the chamber. Zacarias stayed relaxed, not expending any of his precious energy. He was in bad shape and if he gave himself away too soon and Ruslan was able to fight, they both would die this night. The foul stench of rotting flesh drifted into the chamber.
Immediately, familiar calm swept through Zacarias. Nothing else mattered now, not him, not anything, but the destruction of this one vampire who had caused the Carpathian people so much pain and damage. This was the reason Zacarias had been born and bred to fight. This was why the darkness in him ran so deep - defending his people against the most vile, evil creature imaginable.
He stayed still, patient, watching as Ruslan prepared his safeguards and staggered to his resting place. His head still listed to one side, which told Zacarias the vampire was as injured as he had been. Ruslan was too vain to allow something like that to go unless he needed to conserve his energy. Zacarias didn't move as Ruslan lay down and folded his arms across his chest, giving himself up to the sleep of the dead. Even then, Zacarias waited until the sun had begun its climb. He wanted to insure Ruslan was in a leaden state.
With infinite stealth he dislodged from the ceiling and made his way to the master vampire's resting place. Instantly Ruslan's eyes snapped open. He hissed, a low sound of hatred. There was no movement, but that didn't mean he wasn't capable. Zacarias stayed out of the strike zone just to be certain.
"What honor is this? Coming to me in my weakest hour?" Ruslan demanded.
Zacarias's eyebrow shot up. "Exterminating vermin is not about honor. Living with a code of conduct is honorable, Ruslan. That is what you always failed to understand. Killing is not honorable. This is my job. Honor demands I use whatever tool possible, whatever weapon, to destroy evil - and you are evil. There is no honor in the method of kill, only the fulfillment of a job that is necessary."
Ruslan's cackle filled his mind. "You can rip out my heart here in this cavern, but you cannot bring the lightning so deep beneath the earth. We will see who survives come nightfall."
"I have no intention of ripping out your heart." Zacarias approached the leaden figure with extreme caution. Ruslan was a powerful vampire and, as a hunter, he respected that power, knowing the master would not go easily to his end.
Ruslan looked puzzled, his hollowed eyes filled with hatred and cunning. Bats dropped without warning, covering Zacarias's body, biting with sharp teeth, trying to drain him for their master. Worms burst through the dirt walls and spiders crept from every crevice, all at the summons of the master. A few rats poked their heads out of the tunnel, beady eyes fixed on Zacarias.
Zacarias dissolved under the weight of the bats, shifting quickly to put himself across the room. He blazed light through the room, a flash bright and terrible, very hot, a concentrated sun that singed the bats and drove the insects and rats away. He needed only a small amount of time.
"You cannot keep that up forever," Ruslan crowed, "and they are mine to command."
"It does not matter." Zacarias was on him instantly, scooping the dead weight into his arms. The foul breath blasting his face disoriented him for just a moment. There was poison in that concentrated breath, but he shifted, taking the vampire's rotting form with him.
What are you doing? Ruslan demanded, switching to the Carpathian common path of communication, for the first time truly alarmed. Where are you taking me?
To the surface. Your safeguards keep others out, but they do not keep us in.
Zacarias knew the exact moment Ruslan understood what he was doing. Once through the tunnel and crack, he shifted again, bringing them both into the dawning sun. Ruslan's mouth opened wide in a soundless scream of agony. With sudden effort, driven by sheer will and desperation, he buried talons deep into Zacarias's skin.
If I burn, then so will you.
Zacarias sank with his burden to the ground, his strength nearly gone. He would not be able to enter the cave and he knew by the feel of the sun on his skin that he would not have enough time to unravel the safeguards.
I love you, Marguarita. I am truly sorry for the mistakes I have made with you. Reach for my brothers, they will aid you when I am gone.
Zacarias could not allow himself to think what would happen to her or of all the things he'd done wrong with her. He wanted his last memories of her to be held close, that feeling of complete, unselfish love she'd given him.
Tell me where you are. I will not come to you, have no worries, but show me.
She was calm. Utterly, completely calm. That was Marguarita, and for the first time he believed. She had been sent to him to save him from himself - his own personal miracle. If anyone could save him - she could - but he didn't see how. Even by car, there was no way to reach him in time. He didn't tell her that, what was the point?
He was weary, so exhausted he could barely move.
Don't you dare give up.