Page 6 of Prince with a Chance of Darkness

Ever.

His essence burned with exertion; his reserves depleted from the relentless journey from Essex to the cursed forest of Hoia-Baciu. The rational part of him, the calculating strategist who had survived centuries, whispered that he should have stopped, should have fed, should have regained his strength before attempting such a feat.

Vlad ignored the rational part, pressing forward, his mist coiling through the trees, drawn to the beacon of distress. He was close. So close. The sensation sharpened, narrowing down to a single, overwhelming source.

He had spent centuries detached, indifferent, never allowing himself to form bonds, especially not with women. They were fleeting, their presence enjoyable, their company pleasurable, but they meant nothing.

Yet now, he was pushing beyond his limits for one he had never met.

Broken bits from Harker’s visions came flooding back to Vlad. He faltered once more as the memory of seeing the young woman with the ponytail facing off against a highly skilled slayer, one who had been on Vlad's radar to a point for years, filled his essence, his very being.

Helen Murray.

She had splintered from the Murray family line of slayers nearly a decade ago. No surprise, really. From what Vlad had been told, she'd been something of a wildcard. A loose cannon that Alvin Murray, the previous head of the family line, could notcontrol or contain. She was walking death, hung up on old ways and traditions.

She hated demons of any kind. Hated seeing hunters and supernaturals work side by side. Why had the visions shown her in the cave defending Dragos. She'd not been trying to kill the demon. No. She had been driving a dagger into Ponytail Girl's chest.

It was a killing blow.

One Vlad could almost feel, even though it had not been directed at him. It was an injury that humans did not come back from. Without assistance of the supernatural variety, Ponytail Girl would succumb to her injuries and be no more.

Katarina had been keeping an open line of communication with Vlad mentally since the start of his journey. When Vlad had connected with her and her sisters mentally, frantically requesting their assistance, Katarina had remained calm and level-headed. She had radiated peaceful energy in a reassuring manner. She had kept the mental connection to him in place even when he had begun to show signs of fatigue from his current mode of transportation. Even when it became clear that he was burning through too much of his energy reserves.

Vlad had needed to shut Harker's connection to the group, not to keep him out of the loop, but to be able to hear and concentrate. To keep getting clear updates from Katarina and her sisters. Even from the betrayer—Lucian.

Harker had lost control of himself. Vlad had sensed it through their bond. And then his end had gone dark. Not the darkness of death. No, that would have cut the connection, leaving a hole in its wake. This was different. If Vlad was right, Harker had been rendered unconscious.

For the best, really.

An out-of-control Harker would be much like an out-of-control Lucian. Something no one wanted to see occur.

Suddenly, Vlad sensed them all: The Weird Sisters, the betrayer, a newly formed wolf and another—one without breath, without a pulse, and who had lost far too much blood. The blood called to him, but not to his demon in the traditional sense. The demon didn’t want to feast. It did not matter that their energy reserves were totally depleted. That the fumes they were running on were nearly extinguished.

The world contracted around him, his mist form wavering as something deep within him rebelled against what he was sensing. Blood. Too much of it. And only five hearts beating close to him—on this side of the mystical cave’s boundaries. Lucian and the white wolf were two. The Weird Sisters, who he knew the sound of like he knew the back of his hand, were three. There was no other. There should be six.

We are too late!his demon shouted, knocking him off course with its intensity.

His mist form wavered, leaving him transforming into bats as he had done countless times before, but something was wrong. His control faltered, and for the first time in centuries, the transition between states of being was not as seamless as it should have been. The change was violent, jarring.

Each bat seemed to tear away from him, his consciousness fragmenting. They scattered too far, too wide, his power insufficient to hold them in formation. His attempt to reform into a man was worse. The bats converged unevenly; his usual fluid manifestation replaced by something altogether cruder.

He actually hit a tree.

It had been nearly six hundred years since he’d blundered about with his powers, new to them, trying them on for size. This was worse than that even. When his feet finally met the earth, his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. Of course there were witnesses to his rather ungraceful landing.

The Weird Sisters exchanged glances—they'd never seen him falter before.

Vlad paid them little mind. Now was not the time to save face. Now was the time to save the young woman who had set him on this frantic path. His entire being was focused on that terrible void where her life force should be.

Katarina had a bloody tear on her cheek, something Vlad would not have believed had he not witnessed it. While the most level-headed of the three, she could be ruthless. She also had great control over her emotions.

Yet there she was on the forest floor as wind began to howl overhead and lightning flashed through the night sky. Dark power was laced through it all, reminding Vlad they were not alone. The witch of the forest was watching.

Katarina held Ponytail Girl in her arms, a sight that reminded Vlad greatly of when he’d last seen her weep. When he’d last seen her hold another with agony in her undead heart.

It had been when the sister they never spoke of had died. Katarina had held her body closer, weeping silently. Radmila, the redhead and most temperamental, had gone on a killing spree. And Doroteya "Teya", the short blonde, had gotten lost in her own little world of make-believe, naming one of her many porcelain dolls “sister” and never again speaking the lost one’s name.

To see this level of compassion from Katarina for a human girl should have been one more in a series of never-ending red flags.

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