She watched in amazement as he literally ripped the heart from a chest, while two vampires collided in the air where he had been a split second earlier. She felt she was watching a choreographed battle, every move prearranged and rehearsed.
Vikirnoff kept the vampires off center using his blurring speed, not wanting them to realize he was not the prince. These were fledgling vampires, pawns Maxim used as fodder to inflict as much damage as possible to weaken the lines of defense. Vikirnoff was certain Maxim had sent the fledglings to the inn to fight and hopefully wound the hunters guarding Mikhail. Maxim would have planned to be right behind them for the kill, but he had not calculated or considered that chance would bring another experienced hunter into the fray.
As Vikirnoff dissolved into vapor to keep from being split in two by the most experienced of the undead, he glanced toward the north. By the look of the sky in that direction the Dragonseeker had Maxim on the run. The master vampire would never be foolish enough to fight such an experienced hunter without a clear advantage. At least the trap had been broken up before there were too many losses.
In the form of vapor Vikirnoff streamed behind a dark-haired vampire and reached out, shifting back into his form at the last second, catching the head between his hands and wrenching hard to break the neck. It wasn't a killing blow, but each wound served to weaken the enemy. He immediately was on the move again, running up the side of a tree to back flip over the top of the same vampire, kicking him as he did so to knock him to the ground. He had successfully destroyed two of the five vampires and so far had only minor scratches to show for it.
The vampires pulled back, dragging their injured comrade with them. As Vikirnoff approached them, they threw up a barrier between them. Vikirnoff settled to earth and studied their faces.
«I do not recognize any of you. How is that?»
«You do not recognize a childhood friend, Mikhail?» The one with the broken neck snarled. Spittle ran down his face and he wrenched at his neck, settling his head more carefully on his shoulders. «I am Borak, and you must remember Valentine and Gene. We ran with you in these very forests, yet you cannot even remember who we are.»
Vikirnoff bowed, a simple courtly gesture from the waist. «Forgive me, Borak, it must have been that the years have changed you. I remember your youth and unmarked face, not the vision of evil you have chosen to become.» He held up his hands and for a moment, crystal clear water swirled in his palms, reflecting back the faces of the three vampires.
They shrieked and hissed as they swirled long capes over their faces to hide from their repulsive images.
Vikirnoff dropped his hands to his sides. «You see why I do not remember old childhood friends.»
«You have no friends,» Valentine snapped. «Even Gregori has deserted you. All of them. They deliberately left you alone, knowing there would be an attack. Your own people have decided your fate. They want you dead.»
The flutter of wings filled the air. The sky darkened overhead as a migration of large vampire bats flooded the area. They began to settle in the trees, ringing the battleground, hundreds of them, more even, folding wings and gripping with tiny claws. There were so many on some of the branches that the limbs drooped with the weight.
«Come and kill me, Valentine. I await your pleasure.»
Valentine snarled, exposing his jagged teeth. He glared at Mikhail. «You mock me, but it matters little when I know you have no way out.»
Vikirnoff spread his arms. «You are welcome to try, Valentine. You are stalling in the hopes that your master will tell you what to do.»
Natalya could see a difference growing in the vampires. Where before they had been cowering behind the shield they had erected, now they were standing taller, eyes beginning to glow, taking on more strength of purpose. She was certain their master had begun to pour power into them as well as a battle strategy. She looked toward the north. The lightning dragon was gone and once more the skies in that direction were calm.
Over her own head, dark clouds spun and twisted, and a light rain had begun to fall. She couldn't tell if it was natural or not, or who might be controlling the weather. The vampires spread out, their bodies glowing with a ghostly light. Borak looked grotesque with his head skewed to one side. His head flopped continually and he muttered threats and spit curses as he readjusted it on his shoulders.
The bats fluttered and began to spread their wings. Some took to the air while others dropped to the ground. The way the creatures stalked Vikirnoff across the ground, using their wings in a stilted, crablike walk was so creepy Natalya shivered, goose bumps rising on her arms and legs. The bats formed two circles around Vikirnoff and the vampires, the inner circle moving clockwise, the outer circle moving counter-clockwise. Her heart began to beat faster and she took several deep breaths to slow it, not wanting to give her presence away. She had to trust him. She did trust him, yet it took tremendous self-control to keep from shouting out a warning. Natalya shoved her hand into her mouth and bit down hard.
Borak shimmered, was nearly transparent. The other two vampires followed his example. The forms shortened, contorted, took on the shape of a woman. A smaller woman with long
dark hair. Vikirnoff found himself facing three Ravens. He knew it was to throw Mikhail off, that they counted on him hesitating before striking at her. Already the vampires were rapidly cloning their forms, so that a hundred Ravens stood across from him looking vulnerable and innocent.
It wasn't difficult to distinguish which of the shapes were Borak as his head didn't stay in place, but the others were perfect replicas of Raven. Some were weeping. Others pleading. All of them held out their arms to him as they began to walk toward him. Vikirnoff's own form shimmered, dissolved, streaked into the army of Ravens and contorted into the same image so that it was impossible to tell who was vampire, who was clone and who was the hunter.
Vikirnoff moved with the other clones, working his way slowly toward Borak. He was positive he had located the vampire in the midst of so many. The clone heads were slightly tilted, but one kept flopping to one side or the other as the vampire focused on the hunt and not on his image.
Vikirnoff moved within striking distance and at once the bats in the air began to dart at him and those on the ground made small noises. The rain increased and the wind picked up, blowing through the leaves on the trees so that they once again shuddered and twisted, dancing madly overhead.
Vikirnoff whirled gracefully among the clones, reaching for Borak as he shifted into the form of the prince, slamming his fist deep. Raven's face contorted into a malicious mask, the mouth yawning wide, teeth gaping. Borak shifted instantly, trying to dissolve around the burrowing fingers that drove through his body with the speed and intensity of a thrown spear. Vikirnoff yanked the heart free, still gliding in his flowing circle, taking the withered, blackened organ with him as he mowed down several clones.
Natalya couldn't take her eyes off of him. She wanted to move, wanted to at least get rid of the bats moving so dangerously close to him, closing their circles down to make the battlefield smaller, but she felt in a trance, unable even to blink or take her eyes off of Vikirnoff. She saw him so clearly beneath the image of the prince, moving in his warrior's dance, his hands strong, his face etched in lines of determination, of resolve. Her heart quickened to match his beat; her feet felt the same graceful rhythm.
Borak shrieked, his voice hideous as he raced after Vikirnoff, his clones of Raven's image falling to earth and disintegrating as if they'd never been. Dark acid blood withered the vegetation as Borak toppled to the ground. Lightning forked in the sky, lighting the gruesome scene before the bolt incinerated the heart the hunter flung to the ground. The jagged whip leapt to the body, burning it to a fine ash before flames engulfed the blood on the ground and the nearest circle of bats.