Dozens of them, hundreds, thousands even, so there was no possibility of escape. Red eyes blazed at him with hatred and malicious intent. They swayed as if their bodies were far too transparent and thin to resist the slight breeze rustling the leaves in the canopy above them. Vampires every one.
He recognized them. Some were relatively young by Carpathian standards, and some very old. Some were childhood friends and others teachers or mentors. He had killed every one of them without pity or remorse.
He had done it fast, brutally and any way he could.
One pointed an accusing finger. Another hissed and spit with rage. Their eyes, sunken deep in the sockets, weren't eyes at all, but more like glowing pools of hatred wrapped in red blood.
"You are like us. You belong with us. Join our ranks," one called.
"Think you're better. Look at us. You killed again and again. Like a machine, with no thought for what you left behind."
"So sure of yourself. All the while you were killing your own brethren."
For a moment Manolito's heart pounded so hard in his chest he was afraid it might burst through his skin.
Sorrow weighed him down. Guilt ate at him. He had killed. He hadn't felt when he did so, hunting each vampire one by one and fighting with superior intellect and ability. Hunting and killing were necessary. What his thoughts on the subject were didn't matter in the least. It had to be done.
He pulled himself up to his full height, forced his body to stand straight when his gut clenched and knotted.
His body felt different, more leaden, clumsy even. As he shifted onto the balls of his feet, he felt the tremors start.
"You chose your fate, dead one. I was merely the instrument of justice."
The heads were thrown back on the long, thin stick necks, and howls rent the air. Above them, birds lifted from the canopy, taking flight at the horrible cacophony of shrieks rising in volume. The sound jarred his body, making his insides turn to gel. A vampire trick, he was certain. He knew in his heart his life was over
—there were too many to kill—but he would take as many with him as possible to rid the world of such dangerous and immoral creatures.
The mage must have found a way to resurrect the dead . He whispered the information in his head, needing Riordan to tell their oldest brother. Zacarias would send a warning to the prince that armies of the dead would be once again rising against them.
You are certain of this?
I have killed these in centuries long past, yet they surround me with their accusing eyes, beckoning to me as if I am one of them.
From a great distance away, Riordan gasped, and for the first time sounded like Manolito's beloved sibling.
You cannot choose to give your soul to them. We are so close, Manolito, so close. I have found my lifemate and Rafael has found his. It is only a matter of time for you. You must hold out. I am coming to you .
Manolito snarled, throwing his head back to roar with rage. Imposter. You are not my brother .
Manolito! What are you saying? Of course I am your brother. You are ill. I am coming to you with all haste.
If the vampires are playing tricks on you…
As you are? You have made a terrible mistake, evil one. I have a lifemate. I see your filthy abominations in color. They surround me with their vile bloodstained teeth and their blackened hearts, wizened and shriveled.
You have no lifemate , Riordan said in denial. You have only dreamed of her .
You cannot trap me with such deceit. Go to your puppet master and tell him I am not so easily caught . He broke off the connection immediately and slammed closed all pathways, private and common, to his mind.
Spinning around, he took in his enemy, grown into so many faces from his past he knew he was facing death.
"Come then, dance with me as you have so many times," he ordered and beckoned with his fingers.
The first line of vampires closest to him howled, spittle running down their faces and holes for eyes glowing with
He recognized them. Some were relatively young by Carpathian standards, and some very old. Some were childhood friends and others teachers or mentors. He had killed every one of them without pity or remorse.
He had done it fast, brutally and any way he could.
One pointed an accusing finger. Another hissed and spit with rage. Their eyes, sunken deep in the sockets, weren't eyes at all, but more like glowing pools of hatred wrapped in red blood.
"You are like us. You belong with us. Join our ranks," one called.
"Think you're better. Look at us. You killed again and again. Like a machine, with no thought for what you left behind."
"So sure of yourself. All the while you were killing your own brethren."
For a moment Manolito's heart pounded so hard in his chest he was afraid it might burst through his skin.
Sorrow weighed him down. Guilt ate at him. He had killed. He hadn't felt when he did so, hunting each vampire one by one and fighting with superior intellect and ability. Hunting and killing were necessary. What his thoughts on the subject were didn't matter in the least. It had to be done.
He pulled himself up to his full height, forced his body to stand straight when his gut clenched and knotted.
His body felt different, more leaden, clumsy even. As he shifted onto the balls of his feet, he felt the tremors start.
"You chose your fate, dead one. I was merely the instrument of justice."
The heads were thrown back on the long, thin stick necks, and howls rent the air. Above them, birds lifted from the canopy, taking flight at the horrible cacophony of shrieks rising in volume. The sound jarred his body, making his insides turn to gel. A vampire trick, he was certain. He knew in his heart his life was over
—there were too many to kill—but he would take as many with him as possible to rid the world of such dangerous and immoral creatures.
The mage must have found a way to resurrect the dead . He whispered the information in his head, needing Riordan to tell their oldest brother. Zacarias would send a warning to the prince that armies of the dead would be once again rising against them.
You are certain of this?
I have killed these in centuries long past, yet they surround me with their accusing eyes, beckoning to me as if I am one of them.
From a great distance away, Riordan gasped, and for the first time sounded like Manolito's beloved sibling.
You cannot choose to give your soul to them. We are so close, Manolito, so close. I have found my lifemate and Rafael has found his. It is only a matter of time for you. You must hold out. I am coming to you .
Manolito snarled, throwing his head back to roar with rage. Imposter. You are not my brother .
Manolito! What are you saying? Of course I am your brother. You are ill. I am coming to you with all haste.
If the vampires are playing tricks on you…
As you are? You have made a terrible mistake, evil one. I have a lifemate. I see your filthy abominations in color. They surround me with their vile bloodstained teeth and their blackened hearts, wizened and shriveled.
You have no lifemate , Riordan said in denial. You have only dreamed of her .
You cannot trap me with such deceit. Go to your puppet master and tell him I am not so easily caught . He broke off the connection immediately and slammed closed all pathways, private and common, to his mind.
Spinning around, he took in his enemy, grown into so many faces from his past he knew he was facing death.
"Come then, dance with me as you have so many times," he ordered and beckoned with his fingers.
The first line of vampires closest to him howled, spittle running down their faces and holes for eyes glowing with
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