Read Online Dark Storm by Christine Feehan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christine Feehan
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feeding its strength.
As he pulled, he began to weave new, cooler threads of power over the others. And with each precisely woven thread, his connection to the dragon’s spirit increased. He could feel its consciousness pressing up against his own. Each writhing fight, each blast of heat and power, was as much instinctive self-protection as it was a test of Dax’s own strength. As the last bit of Dax’s net passed through his circle of power, a great force snapped out, but this time the power didn’t strike him; it raced up the flows binding it, following them back to Dax.
“No.” Realizing its intent, Dax straightened abruptly and tried to weave protective wards. But his efforts were too late, and in speaking he had left an opening, a second circle of power, only this one led into him. The soul rushed forward, a blazing pulse of light and heat that shot into his mouth and down his throat. Energy, heat, power flooded him, burning him from the inside out. He staggered back, releasing his now empty web of power.
The dragon’s soul was inside him, searing him. An immense fiery presence that threatened to burst his body asunder. Dax spun a new web, only this time around himself, drawing the threads tight around his own body, adding even more strength to the skin and bone made dense by his centuries locked inside the volcano.
His skin turned dark and began to shudder. Red scales rippled down his arms. Dax held up his hands in surprise as his nails grew crystal clear and lengthened like claws … like the dragon’s own diamond talons. The change didn’t feel like a normal Carpathian shapeshifting. It felt elemental, as if the transformation was happening at more than a cellular level.
Dax fought back, unwilling to relinquish his own body to the soul that had leapt into him. He willed his hand to change back, his nails to soften and shorten. Inch by inch, he fought back the change sweeping over his body, fought to keep his own form.
Inside his body, a second, similar battle raged, only this was not a battle of flesh, but a battle of minds. The dragon’s soul surrounded his own and tried to absorb him into itself. It tried to dominate him. But Carpathians were predators, not prey, and Dax was a hunter of immense skill and drive and determination. He did not surrender. Not when fighting the most powerful and heinous vampire the world had ever seen, and not while fighting a powerful, ancient soul for control of his own body.
The dragon rifled through Dax’s memories, tearing into his brain, past his substantial inner barriers, ripping through the outer hunter into the depths of Dax’s soul. The life of aloneness. The friends and fellow hunters who had turned to evil. The other hunters who had feared and avoided him once they realized he could tell which of them was about to turn vampire. He’d known before they did. Known, and waited close by to kill them before they could harm others.
The Old One found his memories of the friends loved and lost to Mitro Daratrazanoff’s evil. The family who had taken him in after his own parents were killed by yet another friend turned vampire. The wish, long forgotten now, for a lifemate of his own. The beautiful Arabejila, companion and friend for more years of life than any unmated Carpathian warrior should ever have to endure. And yet with her, all things had become bearable. The years had not weighed so heavily. The emotions lost to him as he aged had always seemed close at hand when she was near. He had always admired her. Honored her gentleness. Respected her quiet strength. And she had been strong. As strong as he was in her own way. She’d had to be to endure the ruined life Mitro had left to her.
Never once had Dax heard her complain. Oh, he’d seen her eyes grow dark with sorrow. Heard her weep softly in the day when she thought he was asleep. But she’d never complained. Just as she’d never blamed him for not killing Mitro when he had the chance.
Dax had always
As he pulled, he began to weave new, cooler threads of power over the others. And with each precisely woven thread, his connection to the dragon’s spirit increased. He could feel its consciousness pressing up against his own. Each writhing fight, each blast of heat and power, was as much instinctive self-protection as it was a test of Dax’s own strength. As the last bit of Dax’s net passed through his circle of power, a great force snapped out, but this time the power didn’t strike him; it raced up the flows binding it, following them back to Dax.
“No.” Realizing its intent, Dax straightened abruptly and tried to weave protective wards. But his efforts were too late, and in speaking he had left an opening, a second circle of power, only this one led into him. The soul rushed forward, a blazing pulse of light and heat that shot into his mouth and down his throat. Energy, heat, power flooded him, burning him from the inside out. He staggered back, releasing his now empty web of power.
The dragon’s soul was inside him, searing him. An immense fiery presence that threatened to burst his body asunder. Dax spun a new web, only this time around himself, drawing the threads tight around his own body, adding even more strength to the skin and bone made dense by his centuries locked inside the volcano.
His skin turned dark and began to shudder. Red scales rippled down his arms. Dax held up his hands in surprise as his nails grew crystal clear and lengthened like claws … like the dragon’s own diamond talons. The change didn’t feel like a normal Carpathian shapeshifting. It felt elemental, as if the transformation was happening at more than a cellular level.
Dax fought back, unwilling to relinquish his own body to the soul that had leapt into him. He willed his hand to change back, his nails to soften and shorten. Inch by inch, he fought back the change sweeping over his body, fought to keep his own form.
Inside his body, a second, similar battle raged, only this was not a battle of flesh, but a battle of minds. The dragon’s soul surrounded his own and tried to absorb him into itself. It tried to dominate him. But Carpathians were predators, not prey, and Dax was a hunter of immense skill and drive and determination. He did not surrender. Not when fighting the most powerful and heinous vampire the world had ever seen, and not while fighting a powerful, ancient soul for control of his own body.
The dragon rifled through Dax’s memories, tearing into his brain, past his substantial inner barriers, ripping through the outer hunter into the depths of Dax’s soul. The life of aloneness. The friends and fellow hunters who had turned to evil. The other hunters who had feared and avoided him once they realized he could tell which of them was about to turn vampire. He’d known before they did. Known, and waited close by to kill them before they could harm others.
The Old One found his memories of the friends loved and lost to Mitro Daratrazanoff’s evil. The family who had taken him in after his own parents were killed by yet another friend turned vampire. The wish, long forgotten now, for a lifemate of his own. The beautiful Arabejila, companion and friend for more years of life than any unmated Carpathian warrior should ever have to endure. And yet with her, all things had become bearable. The years had not weighed so heavily. The emotions lost to him as he aged had always seemed close at hand when she was near. He had always admired her. Honored her gentleness. Respected her quiet strength. And she had been strong. As strong as he was in her own way. She’d had to be to endure the ruined life Mitro had left to her.
Never once had Dax heard her complain. Oh, he’d seen her eyes grow dark with sorrow. Heard her weep softly in the day when she thought he was asleep. But she’d never complained. Just as she’d never blamed him for not killing Mitro when he had the chance.
Dax had always
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