Dark Ice (16 page)

The strong tang of blood filled his mouth with saliva in anticipation of what he knew he would find. Longing gnawed at him, his animal half wanted to feed, devour and be damned the consequences. He knew the whole family would be dead. Did it make a difference that he didn’t kill them, but took advantage of the situation?

Dane howled in frustration, the sound rocking the foundations of the porch. Gathering all his strength, he mentally pushed his humanity forward and he transformed. An image of Lea flashed through his mind the instant he became human, whether it gave him or robbed him of his remaining strength he didn’t know.

The window was destroyed, shards of glass jutted against the panels side, blood coating the edges. The wooden inserts of the windows sat splintered on the floor inside the cabin, covered in the remaining glass. A soft white lace curtain floated gently on the side of the window in the breeze that now abruptly entered the home.

Dane swallowed his longing along with his revulsion as he stepped closer to peer inside the now quiet cottage. He closed his eyes briefly to give him strength.

The human family that laughed and ate only hours ago lay strewn across the floor. Body parts only distinguishable by size, or small oddities of their lives. A small jumper wrapped around a bloody mess, a wedding ring on a dainty finger. Blood dripped from the walls and lay pooled on the floor in between the abominable mess left behind.
  

Despite himself, Dane felt the animal rearing in him and he attempted to push it away. This scene wasn’t right somehow and he needed the clarity of his human thoughts to understand what was happening.

Very few shifters came up this way; his beloved snowfields were purely his domain. Besides, he was alpha dominate, no versipellis who valued his life would dare leave this atrocity on his turf.

Why was it an atrocity? He was a cold blooded killer when he needed to be, so why did this scene affect his sensibilities?

Dane gripped the edges of the window pane, ignoring the biting pain of the splinters of glass and surveyed the cabin. He clenched his jaw tight to control his base urges as the kill hit his senses and made him light headed.

He sobered. The remains of the woman and children were slightly away from what was dismally left of the father. A shotgun clenched in his fingers of his severed hand. He was trying to protect his family, his love, his children. Exactly as Dane had protected Lea and if they were ever to have children, he too would give his life for theirs.

His heart soared and pound hot lava through his veins at the thought. Anger slowly seeped in as he continued to survey the scene. The ferocity of the kill surprised him, most shifters or animals killed quickly, cleanly with their strength and food as their main objective. This had been a massacre; hardly any of the flesh had been devoured, only chunks of meat had been bitten away.

No versipellis did this.

Dane swung around as the sound of a sword being unsheathed behind him awoke him to his entire surroundings. A large, muscular stranger with dark hair and bright steel blue eyes stood in the snow next to the porch. A roman broadsword held high in his grip, a look of deadly intent on his face.

Dane growled menacingly, deep in his throat. He gripped the wooden porch railing, ignoring a shooting pain in the cuts in his hands and jumped down onto the snow in front of the man.

The stranger stood in a warrior’s stance, his feet placed firmly apart in the snow, his body rigid, his sword held high in attack position. Dane realized with a hint of irony this must be the new venator stationed in his territory. He’d been six months without worry and now they sent him another enemy to contend with.

“If you’re waiting for me to make the first move, venator, you’ll be waiting a while.” Dane cocked his head. “What horrible deeds did you perform to get yourself sent you to the cold ends of the earth?”

“It was you who performed the atrocities that got me sent out here, not I.” His voice was rich and thick with his Italian accent. He was a long way from home.

“I commit no atrocities. It is merely the fact I live that makes your kind hunt me.”

“Then what do you call this?” He pointed the tip of his sword toward the shattered window and the dead family inside.

“I had no part in this.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

The stranger lunged toward Dane with a skill and speed that surprised him. He parried the blade, it missing his forearm by millimeters and side stepped the sword. The man raised it again, swung it in a short arc and aimed for Dane’s side. Dane leaned his upper body backwards, narrowly missing the strike again.

Hissing, Dane stepped in toward the man as he raised his sword once more. Dane swung out his fist, side swiping the man’s jaw and sending him flying. He landed hard in the snow with a grunt but managed to keep hold of his weapon.

Dane advanced on him in two massive strides, leaned over the man and grabbed a fist full of snow jacket. Ignoring the sword in his hand, Dane lifted the man from the ground and stood him upright, keeping hold of his jacket.

“I had no part in this massacre, venator,” Dane growled.

The man bought the hilt of his sword up and smashed it into Dane’s shoulder. Dane grunted and started to fall before he righted himself, still not relinquishing his grip on the man. Irritated, Dane grabbed the sword handle in his massive fist and ripped it from its owners grasp.

The sword was cold despite the heat from the man’s hand. The intricately engraved sword glinted beautifully and even in the heat of battle, he could appreciate the craftsmanship. Dane twisted the sword in his hand, looking at both sides of the majestic handle.

A single word was engraved on the sword in ancient roman.

Silvan
.

“Silvan’s your name, venator?” Dane asked, barely able to keep the rancor from his voice. Silvan grunted his answer.

“I did not slaughter this family, Silvan. While you waste your time on me, the creature that did escapes.”

Silvan squinted, his heavily-browed blue eyes for a fraction of a second in contemplation. Then simultaneously reefed the sword from Dane’s hand and kicked out. His snow boot landed against Dane’s shin, leaving a dent and enough time to pull away from Dane’s grip.

Dane stepped back as Silvan turned in the snow, swung out in a roundhouse kick that hit its target. Dane stumbled, winded he grabbed at his stomach and went to the ground. He automatically tumbled and rolled, landing upright next to the venator. Dane reached up, grabbed him and pulled him to the ground.

The venator twisted and raised his sword preparing for the kill at the same time as Dane bared his teeth to dispose of the hunter.

A terrible scream rent the air. Both men stopped mid action and looked up. Dane scanned the fields as another scream echoed through the silence before it was abruptly cut short.

Dane and Silvan rose to their feet at the same time, panting from exertion and adrenaline. Dane waited for a sound, a glimpse or something that would tell them what nature this foreign creature was. Silvan stood next to him, stiff and coiled as if waiting to spring into action, his sword at the ready.

 
Then the smell of a fresh kill, newly spilled blood came to him on the breeze. He tried not to groan. Silvan moved first, he treaded quickly but silently around the edge of the cabin, his sword now at his side. Dane followed until they were both at the side of the building looking out into the openness, the hills of snow obstructing their view but not Dane’s smell, his hearing, his knowing.

Dane jerked his head up, slightly to the left and saw it. A creature, huge and bloody heading away from them. The animal in Dane reared and demanded to be freed. It needed to kill this unknown assailant; it knew this scent as the thing that had been stalking him and Lea. It had to die.

“Fuck me, it’s a
wendigo
!”

The man’s voice brought Dane’s attention away from the creature. He’d forgotten the venator stood next to him. He’d been about to transform. Silvan wore a look a loathing and horror, his knuckles whitening on the hilt of his sword as he raised it once more.

An angry bellow of pain and frustration made both men look up. The
wendigo
stood off in the distance, watching them, its yellow eyes glowing dirty in the pristine white snow. It stood a moment longer before turning and slinking off.

Next to Dane, Silvan moved with speed and grace as he took off after the monster, his snow boots slowing him slightly. Dane watched him go. The hunter had no chance of catching it.

Dane cursed. If the creature was a
wendigo
, they were all in for a lot of hell. They were myth, legends, the darkest nightmares, even worse than his breed of shape shifters.

 
He swallowed, watched the hunter move across the snow and turned the other way for the long trek home to his den. He wanted to transform, but in bear form the animal in him would want the blood of the
wendigo
spilled and demand to go after the creature. Neither option would do at the moment.

Dane needed time to plan. The creature had been stalking him, it would be back, there was no doubt. Dane halted, that animal had been there last night as he made love to Lea. Hot rage flew through him, there was no way he would allow that thing anywhere near his woman.

He continued on and started to jog. He wouldn’t sleep until that thing was dead. And if it truly was a
wendigo
, then there was now something more deadly and rancid then Dane ever was. And Dane would kill it.

Chapter Fifteen

God damn, he hated the snow. Silvan’s wet, numb legs continued to obediently lumber across the icy plains, following the
wendigo
’s footprints. Nearly frost bitten fingers were now shoved deep within the pockets of his snow pants. But he was sure he’d ever know if they could ever work properly again until he felt the warmth of his Mediterranean sun thaw them out.

“Bloody stupid fucking snow,” he growled as he stumbled and tripped in the soft snow. His quick reflexes allowed him to pull his hands from his pockets to prevent him landing on his face “Whose god damn idea was this?”

 
Silvan would grant the leader of the venators any favor, but crouching in the snow, he was starting to regret it.

He twisted as the cold steel of his sword bit into his side. Grimacing, he heaved himself upright, aching and sore. He’d been tracking this beast for miles to no avail. Silvan knew how to track, he’d learned from the best and through this wilderness, it wasn’t exactly rocket science. The heavy creature left tracks as deep as the snow, but it was fast and it had been eons since Silvan had experience in the snow. It was a lot more wearing than he remembered.

His body ached from the trek and the fight with the shape shifter. The bear seemed different from most shifters he’d encountered. Silvan had been a hunter for more years than he cared to remember. He couldn’t recall a versipellis talking first and only defending instead of attacking.

The bear said he hadn’t killed the humans. Silvan didn’t want to believe him. Until he saw the
wendigo
appear in the distance.

Silvan looked down at the tracks the beast left in its wake; they stretched out to the horizon where the sun was ebbing slowly into a soft whitish yellow. There was no way he’d find the creature before nightfall. And he didn’t want to be stuck out here in the dark freezing temperatures unprepared.

“God damn it, Tithe,” he said. “You damn well owe me for this.”

Silvan scanned the horizon one more time and turned to follow his own tracks back to the cabin of the slaughtered family on the outskirts of town. The shifter was long gone when he finally arrived. Just as he had expected. The animal probably fed on the poor hapless victims then went home to rest.

Repulsed, Silvan stepped up to the broken window once again, hardening his heart against what he was about to see. The mess that was once a happy family would no doubt be congealed and slightly frozen over. It was semi dark inside now as the sun touched the horizon. Surprise creased his heavy brow. The bodies hadn’t been touched since he saw them laying dead earlier. The bear hadn’t fed.

 
Silvan stepped away from the scene. He was now certain the
wendigo
had massacred the family. He’d arrived just in time to hear the father’s last feeble remaining cries. By the time he’d made it to the porch, he saw what he believed to be the shifter escaping the scene. But he’d been wrong, it wasn’t the versipellis. He was sure the bear would take advantage of the flesh.

How many of the other deaths in the area were linked to the
wendigo
and not the bear? Silvan cursed. This assignment was turning more complicated than he had hoped for. He needed his leader and friend’s assistance.

Saying a quick Italian prayer for the innocent who lay slain, Silvan walked off the porch and back into the snow. The hike into town wasn’t as far as he had travelled today, but the sun sunk quickly now and the darkness set like a veil over the once white snow. Now the night made an optical illusion of a vast empty void stretching out in front of him and Silvan felt as if he was walking into nothingness.