Carpathian 22 - Dark Predator

uneasy glance, fear shimmering in their eyes.
    That look of such intense fear of their own brother should have given him pause, but he felt—nothing. He had taught these four men their fighting skills, survival skills. He had fought beside them for centuries. Looked after them. Led them. Once even had memories of love for them. Now that he had shrugged off the mantle of responsibility—there was nothing. Not even those faint memories to sustain him. He couldn’t remember love or laughter. Only death and killing.
    “Move.” One word. An order. He expected them to obey as everyone obeyed him. He had acquired wealth beyond imagining in his long years of living and in the last few centuries he had not once had to buy his way into or out of something. One word from him was all it took and the world trembled and stepped aside for his wishes.
    Reluctantly, far too slow for his liking, they parted to allow him to stride through.
    “Do not do this, Zacarias,” Nicolas said. “Don’t go.”
    “At least heal your wounds,” Rafael added.
    “And feed,” Manolito pressured. “You need to feed.”
    He whirled around and they fell back, fear sliding to terror in their eyes—and he knew they had reason to be afraid. The centuries had shaped him—honed him into a violent, brutal predator—a killing machine. There were few to equal him in the world. And he walked the edge of madness. His brothers were great hunters, but killing him would require their considerable skills and no hesitation. They all had lifemates. They all had emotions. They all loved him. He felt nothing and he had the advantage.
    He had already dismissed them, left their world, the moment he’d turned his back and allowed himself the freedom to let go of his responsibilities. Yet their faces, carved with deep lines of sorrow stayed him for a moment.
    What would it be like to feel sorrow so deeply? To feel love? To feel. In the old days, he would have touched their minds and shared with them, but since they had lifemates, he didn’t dare take the chance of tainting one of them with the darkness in him. His soul was not just in pieces. He had killed too often, distanced himself from all he had held dear in order to better protect those he had loved. When had he reached the point that he could no longer safely touch their minds and share their memories? It had been so long ago he could no longer remember.
    “Zacarias, do not do this,” Riordan pleaded, his face twisted with that same deep sorrow that was on each of his brothers’ faces.
    They had been his responsibility for far too long, and he couldn’t just walk away without giving them something. He stood there a moment, utterly alone, his head up, eyes blazing, long hair flowing around him while blood dripped steadily down his chest and thighs. “I give you my word that you will not have to hunt me.”
    It was all he had for them. His word that he would not turn vampire. He could rest and he was seeking that final rest in his own way. He turned away from them—from the comprehension and relief on their faces—and once again started his journey. He had far to go if he was to get to his destination before dawn.
    “Zacarias,” Nicolas called. “Where do you go?”
    The question gave him pause. Where was he going? The compulsion was strong—one impossible to ignore. He actually slowed his pace. Where did he go? Why was the need so strong in him, when he felt nothing? But there was something , a dark force driving him.
    “ Susu— home.” He whispered the word. His voice carried on the wind, that low tone resonating in the very earth beneath his feet. “I am going home.”
    “This is your home,” Nicolas stated firmly. “If you seek rest, we will respect your decision, but stay here with us. With your family. This is your home,” he reiterated.
    Zacarias shook his head. He was driven to leave Brazil. He needed to be somewhere else and he had to go now, while there was still time. Eyes as red as the flames, soul as black as the smoke, he shifted, reaching for the form of the great harpy eagle.
    Are you going to the Carpathian Mountains? Nicolas demanded through their telepathic link. I will travel with you.
    No. I go home where I belong—alone. I must do this thing alone.
    Nicolas sent him warmth, wrapped him up in it. Kolasz arwa-arvoval —may you die with honor. There was sorrow in his voice, in his heart, but Zacarias, while he recognized it, couldn’t echo the feeling, not even a