Julian Savage hesitated outside the door to the crowded bar. He had come to this city for one last errand before he would choose a Carpathian’s eternal rest. Almost an ancient of his race, he was weary of the centuries of living in a stark, gray world void of the intense colors and emotions known to the younger males of his kind, or to those who had found a lifemate. Still, he had one last goal to accomplish, one more thing asked of him by his Prince, and then he could meet the life-destroying dawn with an easy mind. It wasn’t that he was on the verge of losing his soul, of turning vampire; he could hold out longer should he choose. It was the bleakness of his life, stretching an eternity before him, that had dictated his decision.
Yet he could not refuse this errand. In the long centuries of his existence, he felt he had given little to his dwindling race. True, he was a vampire hunter, one of the more powerful, which was considered a great thing among his people. But he knew, as did most of their successful hunters, that it was the Carpathian male’s killer instinct, not any special talent that made him so brilliant at what he did. Gregori, their people’s greatest healer, second only to the Prince, had sent word to him to warn that this woman he now sought, this singer, was on the hit list of a fanatical society of human vampire hunters, who often mistakenly targeted unusual mortals, as well as Carpathians, in their murderous zeal. The society had very primitive notions of what made a vampire—as if avoiding daylight or feeding on blood alone rendered one soulless, evil, undead. Julian and his kind were living proof that nothing could be farther from the truth.
