The vampire’s eyes went flat and vicious. “Then it begins.” Lightning zigzagged across the sky, jumping from cloud to cloud. The wind whipped and roared.

Gregori glided, a fluid motion, gentle, lazy, non-threatening. His head tilted, the lightning reflected in the silver sheen of his eyes. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds. The vampire caught the scent of fresh blood, and his gaze rested greedily on the powerful, ancient liquid of life. Gregori struck so fast, the vampire never saw him move. Distracted by the sight of the lush feast of an ancient’s blood, the vampire comprehended he was in mortal danger only when he felt the impact of a tremendous blow to his chest.

Gregori was already gone, standing tall and motionless some distance away, regarding the vampire with cold, empty eyes. Slowly he extended his arm, turned his palm up, and opened his fist.

The vampire screamed and screamed, the sound high-pitched and ugly in the night. It traveled out over the waterways and canals. The undead slowly, reluctantly, looked from the pulsating object in the hunter’s palm, down at his own chest. There was a gaping hole where his heart had been. Stricken, he took two steps forward before his body crumpled and he fell face down into the muck and slime.

Gregori’s face paled visibly, and he sat down abruptly. Allowing the poisoned, withered heart to fall from his palm, he examined the burns and blisters on his skin from the contact with the tainted blood. He concentrated on gathering energy from the sky, focused, and sent a fiery ball into the vampire’s body. The second strike incinerated the contaminated heart. Gregori sank back into the muck and lay staring up at the night sky. It blurred and faded. A strange lethargy took over, a heavy, drowsy sensation. He was floating on a sea, disconnected, watching the dawn streaking the dark sky gray.

His long lashes swept down, and he relaxed into the soft mud. He felt the disturbance in the air above him. He smelled the fresh scent dispersing the stale stench of the swamp. Savannah. He would know her anywhere. He tried to rouse himself, to warn her the dawn was approaching and it was dangerous to be so far from shelter.

Savannah’s gasp was audible. “Oh, Gregori.” She touched one of the seeping gouges in his chest. It was a measure of his weariness, the damage to his body, that he could not find the energy to close his wounds. She merged with him and tried to force his obedience in the same way he often did hers. He would close those lacerations, would seek the healing sleep of their people, and leave the rest to her.

She searched in his mind for Gary’s mental trail, then reached for their human friend. Hear me, Gary, we are in trouble. Find LaRue. Beau LaRue. He captains a boat for the bayou tours. Tell him to go to the old man alligator’s pool. You must come before the sun gets high and get us to a dark place. Even if we appear dead, take us there. We are counting on you. You are our only hope.

She searched the area for the most stable stretch of land. Working quickly and hard, Savannah was able to levitate Gregori’s body to the small mound, but there was no relief from the sun. As she bent over Gregori, she realized he had not put himself into a healing sleep. Her heart slammed hard against her chest. Her heart stuttered. Gregori was too weak from loss of blood to comply, to heal himself. Quickly she sealed the wounds herself, once more utilizing the information in Gregori’s memories. Jerking off her jacket, she lay beside her lifemate, covering both their heads with the material. Slashing her wrist, Savannah laid her arm over Gregori’s mouth, allowing the life-giving substance to flow into his depleted body, stroking his throat to coax him to swallow.

Chapter Eighteen

The boat chugged so slowly through the channel, Gary wanted to scream. For the hundredth time he glanced at his watch. The sun was climbing steadily into the sky. He had never been so aware of the heat and light radiating from the sun. It had taken precious time to locate Beau La Rue and convince him Savannah and Gregori were in terrible trouble. With each passing second, he was certain the sun would incinerate them.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” he demanded for the tenth time.

Beau shook his head. “We’re close to the old man’s pool. It is treacherous in these waters. Snags are everywhere, jagged rocks. It is dangerous. And if we meet the old man, we will not survive.”

“Gregori killed him,” Gary said coolly, with complete faith in the Carpathian. He was certain the man could not be defeated. Whatever wounds he had sustained would not prevent him from killing his opponent.

“Pray that you are right,” the captain said softly, meaning it.

The boat rounded the corner into the thick sludge of the channel leading to the pool. Gary gasped when he saw the blackened ashes and smoldering remains a distance away on the embankment. He couldn’t be too late. He couldn’t have failed them. “Move this thing,” he snapped, rushing to the railing of the boat, prepared to leap over into the murky water.

“Even if the old man is dead,” LaRue cautioned, “there are other alligators in this area.”

“I thought you said nothing was here but the big one,” Gary protested.

“I think you are right. The old one is dead.” LaRue’s faded eyes searched the landscape. He inhaled sharply. “The stench is fading, and the regular rhythm of the bayou is already restoring itself. See the way that log lies half-buried in the mud? That is no log. Stay in the boat.”

Gary paced impatiently until Beau managed to maneuver the craft to the edge of the swamp. Gary, thick blankets in his arms, jumped to ground and sank two inches into the bog. LaRue shook his head. “The land is unstable here. If you sink into the marsh, you’re dead.” More carefully he tested the land and led the way from spot to spot of firmer ground.

Gary spied the two bodies lying on a mound of rotting vegetation. Swearing, heedless of his own safety, he crossed the distance at a run. A jacket covered their faces. Both appeared dead. He checked their pulses. Neither had one. Gregori’s clothes were torn and dirty. The amount of dried blood staining the material in so many places was appalling. Before LaRue could see them clearly, Gary covered them from head to toe with a thick blanket.

“We have to get them into your boat quickly. Is there a dark room, a cave, anywhere dark we can take them?” Gary asked. He was already lifting Savannah into his arms.

LaRue watched him carry her to his boat. “A hospital would be good.” He made the suggestion in a soft, reasonable tone, as if he feared Gary had lost his mind.

Gary made certain that every inch of Savannah’s skin was hidden beneath the blanket before hurrying back to Gregori. “I’ll need help with him. Don’t let the blanket slip. He’s very allergic to the sun.”

“Is he alive?” LaRue bent to remove the wrapping so that he could check. The wounds were deep and nasty.

Gary caught his wrist. “Gregori said you were someone he trusted. Help me get him into the boat, and find us a place in the dark where they can rest. I’ll take care of them. I’m a doctor, and I brought what they need.” He picked up Gregori’s shoulders and stood waiting for the other man to make up his mind.

Beau hesitated, puzzlement on his face, but then he lifted Gregori’s legs and they struggled in silence with the dead weight, inching their way across the unstable, sponge-like ground. Once inside the boat, Gary wrapped Gregori like a mummy in a blanket, pulling both bodies beneath the craft’s awning. “Get us out of here and to a dark place fast,” he commanded.

Beau shook his head, but he started the boat. He would have liked to examine the pile of smoldering ashes, the scorch marks on the reeds and rocks. Something terrible had taken place there. He knew Gary was right. Old man alligator was dead. The terror of the bayou had finally been reduced to the legend everyone thought he was.