Dark Slayer - Christine Feehan [172]
Ivory refrained from saying Xavier was expecting two hapless hunters who had inadvertently stumbled upon the bats and probably was joyfully preparing for feasting on Carpathian blood.
Hurry, Ivory, they attack Natalya.
Xavier will order his guardians not to slay them—at least not to slay her. He will want her blood for himself, which gives them a slight advantage, she reassured.
They were close to the bottom of the long tube and could see the bats now. Hundreds of them, with black furry bodies and razor-sharp teeth, claws tipping the toes of their feet and their wings spiked at the tips. Swords swept violently through the mass of bats, slicing heads and bodies, but the sheer numbers were overwhelming. Vikirnoff and Natalya stood back-to-back, faces grim, blood streaking every exposed bit of skin. Both Razvan and Ivory had felt the tear of teeth shredding flesh from their bones and, at the sight of the Carpathians, the haunting memories rose up to taunt them.
Coming in, Ivory warned, using the more ancient common telepathic path that Vikirnoff would recognize. What we are going to do is change the composition of air using our homemade grenades. The fire will burn hot, very intense, and you cannot draw this chemical into your lungs. You will want to panic and go toward the surface, but the fire will race upward, she warned, giving them nearly the same instructions as she had given Razvan when she’d first used her chemical grenades with him.
Razvan reached for his sister, feeling her startle when he used their much older connection, one they had made as children. Fight your way out of the center but stay away from the walls. When we materialize we will use the chemical, and then change back to vapor; do the same instantly, but remember, you will still feel the intense heat.
I understand, Natalya sent back.
Razvan tried not to see the mass of bats attacking her. She looked fierce, her grim face a mask of concentration, her hair striped with the colors of a tigress.
Razvan positioned his body face-to-face with Ivory’s. As soon as they materialized, he knew from previous experience, the bats would attack, ripping and tearing at their flesh. Ready, kont o sívanak—heart of a warrior?
Let us get it done, Ivory responded, as calm as always in battle. She could handle nearly any circumstance when it came to fighting without panic; yet when it came to emotion, she wasn’t so good at hiding her nerves and vulnerability.
One more thing, fél ku kuuluaak sívam belső—beloved, I love you more than life itself. Now, Razvan added.
She wanted to hold him. Wanted to say it back to him. But he was already materializing and she had to match his rhythm. She burst onto the chamber floor, noting that Razvan’s body, while protecting the front of hers, was angled to shield his sister.
The moment they donned their flesh-and-blood bodies, the bats went into a feeding frenzy, the scent of prey driving them insane. They ripped and tore, hurling their bodies at the Carpathians. The wolves roared, heads emerging, paws digging, ready to leap.
Stay! Stay! Ivory ordered frantically.
Raja and Blaez subsided, calling orders to the rest of the pack, although they snapped at the bats, grabbing heads and shaking, snapping necks even as the bats’ claws shredded skin. Razvan and Ivory pulled the pins simultaneously. They had only five seconds to get rid of the canisters.
Ivory lobbed her grenade directly into the center of the chamber amid the sea of fighting bats. Some pounced on the canister, trying to bite through it with sharp teeth.
Razvan pulled back his arm to throw, and at least a dozen bats, drawn by the scent of Dragonseeker blood, leapt on him, the weight of their bodies pulling his arm down as he went to throw the oval-shaped canister.
Vikirnoff leapt forward, swinging his sword, sweeping it across the lot of them, missing Razvan by a paper-thin margin. Razvan sucked in his breath as the bodies toppled from his arm, leaving behind torn flesh. More rushed to feed on the open