She knew the vampires and Xavier searched for Razvan. They had visited the cabin where she'd fed from the human in the forest, but, thankfully, the human had been long gone. The stench of vampire remained in the cabin, and fortunately the vampires were unable to track her. They found the spot where Razvan had fallen. Footprints circled the area and the foul stench of vampire radiated from that central spot for days before they'd moved on.
She'd made certain neither she nor her pack set foot on the ground close to her lair after that. She'd even resorted to visiting the village to bring rich blood back to feed Razvan, barely rousing him, healing him each night and keeping his mind free of the damaging images and memories that haunted and tormented him. If, after he was at full strength and fully healed, he chose to meet the dawn, she vowed to herself that she wouldn't stop him a second time. But night after night, holding him in her arms and singing the healing chant, her blood flowing into him, she knew it would be difficult to let him go. She would though. She would set him free, with no guilt, because saving him had been her choice. Staying to help her defeat Xavier had to be his.
The child's cry drew her attention back to the forest below her. Why hadn't an adult answered that distress call? What kind of parents would leave a young one to the dangers of a snow-covered wood at night? Even the villagers crossed themselves, hung garlic and crosses in the windows and over doors, believing in the persistent rumors of the undead walking the night.
She sank back on her heels. She didn't do children. She hadn't even held a baby, not once in her entire life cycle. She couldn't remember interacting with children when she was younger-before-in the before. If a child saw her in her true form, especially a Carpathian child used to the perfection of form, the child might run from her.
She touched her neck. In this form, she never gave a vampire the satisfaction of seeing her scars. The vampires and Xavier had done their worst to her, but she remained flawless, untouched, unmarred by their barbarity. If nothing else, it gave her a psychological boost to know they were so shocked by her beautiful appearance.
The child's voice crescendoed and Ivory winced. She was going to have to at least check that the little thing wasn't injured, but that meant exposing herself when she was certain there were both vampires and hunters in the vicinity. She took a deep breath and shrugged, allowing her pack to merge with her skin in the form of tattoos. They would watch her back, and could draw more information from the wind than even she could. With six pairs of intelligent eyes and six noses gathering every detail around them, she felt more secure.
Let us get this done. And when we find the child, no scaring it. We will take it back to its mother and be done with this.
The pack didn't seem anymore enthusiastic than she was. She hadn't let them run free for some time, knowing the vampires often searched out the wolf packs, hoping to find evidence to track them back to her lair. Soon, she assured.
She dissolved into vapor and streaked over the snow, staying low to the ground, giving the wolves every opportunity to take in every scent.
Foul ones. Humans. Carpathians. Blood. The walking dead.
Ivory processed the information and directions as fast as the wolves fed it to her. Foul ones was the wolf name for vampires. But the walking dead were puppets-nonpsychic humans given vampire blood and promised immortality. The vampires often used them to attack during the day. They were nearly as foul as the vampires themselves.
She moved even faster, suddenly afraid for the child. For one moment, below her, she caught a glimpse of a man running through the snow, and then he disappeared in the trees. The child's father? If so, he was arriving a little late.
She spotted a little boy, thin, with a mop of dark hair reaching his shoulders, struggling against the type of snares that had trapped the wild wolves. Her heart dropped. Another trap. She wasn't fool enough to believe that the boy had walked into the mass of snares himself. He'd been forcibly taken from somewhere-she knew by the smell of death and blood-and staked out like a sacrificial goat, the thin wires cutting into his hands and ankles. There was one around his neck. He was crying, but he stood stoically, refusing to fight and worsen the already deep cuts.
She didn't believe this boy had been set out as bait for her-more likely for Razvan. He had a child and he had given his soul, or at least a piece of it, to save her. Xavier would know he would risk everything to save a child. She was in for a fight, but she couldn't leave that child. The vampires were expecting a starving, sick, tortured Razvan, not the slayer, scourge of all undead.
She formed close to the boy, noting that he didn't wince or scream out in fright, which meant he'd seen a Carpathian before and they had allowed him to retain his memories. «It's a trap,» he mouthed. He stared at the wolf tattoos with their bared teeth and lifelike eyes covering her shoulders and arms as she bent to gently set her crossbow in the snow and withdraw a pair of cutters.
She nodded her understanding. «Keep crying,» she hissed as she snipped his left wrist free. It was brave of him to try to warn her when he must have been terrified.
The boy didn't miss a beat, keeping up a lively rendition of wailing while she cut loose the wire on his neck and carefully removed it. Her fingertips brushed the thin necklace of blood circling his neck. Her fingers crept up to her own neck, fluttered there for one moment as she remembered the bite of the sharp blade.
The boy couldn't be more than eight or nine, with his thin face and large, intelligent eyes. He was watching her carefully, studying her closely as she reached across him to snip at his other hand.
Behind you.
The alpha gave her the warning and she felt the large wolf shift in preparation for the attack. Raja's head lay across her neck, his eyes looking straight back. Ever so slightly he turned his head and the movement made the boy gasp. Ivory thrust the cutters into his hands and held out her arms away from her body, bending her knees until she was in a crouch, her right arm slowly dropping to reach for her crossbow.
The child's eyes widened in alarm and fear as he looked over her shoulder and saw the large man coming up behind her with an axe gripped in his hands. The woodsman's face had a blank look and he shuffled, his eyes a strange red. He lifted the axe above Ivory's head, still several feet out. The boy opened his mouth to call a warning, but no sound emerged.
Ivory felt the slight wrench of pain that always accompanied her pack separating themselves from her as the savage wolves leapt, completely silent as they made their concentrated attack, the communication in their minds only. Her fingers closed over the crossbow and she grasped it, winking at the boy to reassure him as she dove away from him, somersaulted and came up on one knee, her crossbow aimed at the attacker. The boy stared openmouthed at the six silver-tipped wolves, more shocked at the sight of them than the soulless attacker.
The wolves drove the ghoul backward, teeth clamped around each arm, the alpha going for the throat while the other wolves grasped legs and held him. Vampire puppets were extremely strong, programmed by their masters for one task; very few things could stop them once they were set on a path. The wolves tearing at him did little other than keep him on the ground beneath the writhing mass of silver fur.
Ivory felt the surge of power crackling in the air and rolled closer to the boy. «Hurry up. We are about to have some very unpleasant company.» She kept her body between the child and the snarling, writhing ghoul and whatever else was coming at them.
A man broke from the trees, sprinting fast. «Travis! Trav! Are you all right?» He skidded to a halt, taking in the ghoul, the wolves and the woman aiming the very lethal-looking crossbow right at his heart.