It won’t make a difference, lifemate. Her words brushed softly in his mind. He means to attack and destroy all of those here in an effort to get at us.
He felt a surge of pride at her ability to learn so quickly, to assess their enemy. Gregori stepped away from the huddled mass of tourists, putting distance between himself and the guide. He walked completely erect, his head high, his long hair flowing around him. His hands were loose at his sides, and his body was relaxed, rippling with power.
“Hear me now, ancient one.” His voice was soft and musical, filling the silence with beauty and purity. “You have lived long in this world, and you weary of the emptiness. I have come in answer to your call.”
“Gregori. The Dark One.” The evil voice hissed and growled the words in answer. The ugliness tore at sensitive nerve endings like nails on a chalkboard. Some of the tourists actually covered their ears. “How dare you enter my city and interfere where you have no right?”
“I am justice, evil one. I have come to set you free from the boundaries holding you to this place.” Gregori’s voice was so soft and hypnotic that those listening edged out from their sanctuaries. It beckoned and pulled, so that none could resist his every desire.
The black shape above their head roiled like a witch’s cauldron. A jagged bolt of lightning slammed to earth straight toward the huddled group. Gregori raised a hand and redirected the force of energy away from the tourists and Savannah. A smile edged the cruel set of his mouth. “You think to mock me with this display, ancient one? Do not attempt to anger what you do not understand. You came to me. I did not hunt you. You seek to threaten my lifemate and those I count as my friends. I can do no other than carry the justice of our people to you.” Gregori’s voice was so reasonable, so perfect and pure, drawing obedience from the most recalcitrant of criminals.
The guide made a sound, somewhere between disbelief and fear. Gregori silenced him with a wave of his hand, needing no distractions. But the noise had been enough for the ancient one to break the spell Gregori’s voice was weaving around him. The dark stain above their heads thrashed wildly, as if ridding itself of ever-tightening bonds before slamming a series of lightning strikes at the helpless mortals on the ground.
Screams and moans accompanied the whispered prayers, but Gregori stood his ground, unflinching. He merely redirected the whips of energy and light, sent them streaking back into the black mass above their heads. A hideous snarl, a screech of defiance and hatred, was the only warning before it hailed. Huge golfball-sized blocks of bright-red ice rained down toward them. It was thick and horrible to see, the shower of frozen blood from the skies. But it stopped abruptly, as if an unseen force held it hovering inches from their heads.
Gregori remained unchanged, impassive, his face a blank mask as he shielded the tourists and sent the hail hurtling back at their attacker. From out of the cemetery a few blocks from them, an army of the dead rose up. Wolves howled and raced along beside the skeletons as they moved to intercept the Carpathian hunter.
Savannah. He said her name once, a soft brush in her mind.
I’ve got it, she sent back instantly. Gregori had his hands full dealing with the abominations the vampire was throwing at him; he didn’t need to waste his energy protecting the general public from the apparition. She moved out into the open, a small, fragile figure, concentrating on the incoming threat.
To those dwelling in the houses along the block and those driving in their cars, she masked the pack of wolves as dogs racing down the street. The stick-like skeletons, grotesque and bizarre, were merely a fast-moving group of people. She held the illusion until they were within a few feet of Gregori. Dropping the illusion, she fed every ounce of her energy and power to Gregori so he could meet the attack.
The wind rose, whipping at Gregori’s solid form, lashing his body, ripping at the waves of black hair so that it streamed around his face. His expression was impassive, the pale silver eyes cold and merciless, unblinking and fixed on his prey. The attack came from sky and ground simultaneously; slivers of sharpened wood shot through the air on the wild winds, aimed directly at Gregori. The wolves leapt for him, eyes glowing hotly in the night. The army of the dead moved relentlessly forward, pressing toward Gregori’s lone figure.