Read Online Bloodfire (Empire of Fangs) by Andrew Domonkos - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrew Domonkos
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him.
“I wouldn’t,” the girl in the wedding dress said. She had Jennifer by the hair and held the big gun in her other hand. James looked at Jennifer, her sharp eyes were defiant.
“They’re gonna kill us anyway. Just do it,” Jennifer said flatly. Abby put the gun to Jennifer’s head.
James tightened his grip on the sword, but he couldn’t bring himself to swing.
“Please, don’t hurt her,” James said finally. He dropped the sword and held up his arms.
“Stupid,” Drake said. He was standing now, and had quickly snatched up the sword from the dirt. The cloud of light was gone, but it had left half of the creature’s face burnt and scarred. James gasped. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He looked down to see the sword buried into his stomach. Drake jammed the sword deeper before jerking it out. James fell to his knees with a look of shock on his face.
Jennifer wailed and Abby smacked her with the butt of her gun, knocking her unconscious.
Drake stood there for a moment, watching James hold his stomach and moan. He was surprised at the man’s resilience.
“Go ahead,” James said weakly. “Have a sip.”
Drake laughed. “No thanks. Italian blood is too thick for me. Bad for the heart.” He looked over at his wife. “You did well babe. Put her in the trunk. Damon wants her alive.”
Abby opened her lips to complain, but then closed them. “I’m still hungry.” She said flatly.
“There’s a damn station up the road,” Drake snapped. “We’ll get you a nice plump trucker. Something easy. This one is important,” he pointed the tip of the sword at the unconscious woman. Abby sighed and dragged Jennifer by her hair to the car and lifted her into the trunk.
Drake looked down at James. “You know, you put up a good fight. For that I’m going to give you an honorable death.” He couldn’t help but admire the tenacity of the Solleros . He gripped both hands on Klaue and took the wide stance of an executioner.
His cut was clean.
Drake wiped the blood on his sword on the headless body’s shirt. He returned Klaue to the case and placed it carefully in the backseat. A pair of headlights was cresting over the horizon.
“Get in the car,” Drake commanded.
Abby ran around the side and hopped in the passenger side. Drake hopped in behind the wheel. He punched it and the Mustang roared away.
“That was fun,” Abby said, touching the burnt side of Drake’s face. He winced.
PART TWO:
WELCOME TO THE ALISTAIR
12.
The hotel lobby was brightly lit from several domed lamps positioned around the room, as well as a chandelier that hung over the center of the room. The check-in counter was a stout wall of smooth dark wood, topped with a lighter slab of blond pine, polished and gleaming to perfection. The spacious room was accented with antlers and black and white photos of miners and cowboys, and framed collages of newspaper clippings documenting moments of justice or injustice dealt or perpetrated throughout the town’s history. Burgundy curtains hid the windows. Tall, stuffy leather chairs with deep dimpled buttons were aimed at a fireplace across the room where a heavy-looking brass cage guarded the burning log inside.
Twig walked over to the counter and rang the fat silver bell on the counter six times. Finally a gaunt little man whose head barely crested the counter appeared. He wore a stiff blue uniform with red trim. His eyes looked like to little marbles set in clay, and he beamed at Twig with a toothy smile.
“Welcome to the Alistair,” he said, spreading his hands across the counter.
“Thanks. Uh, we need a room for
“I wouldn’t,” the girl in the wedding dress said. She had Jennifer by the hair and held the big gun in her other hand. James looked at Jennifer, her sharp eyes were defiant.
“They’re gonna kill us anyway. Just do it,” Jennifer said flatly. Abby put the gun to Jennifer’s head.
James tightened his grip on the sword, but he couldn’t bring himself to swing.
“Please, don’t hurt her,” James said finally. He dropped the sword and held up his arms.
“Stupid,” Drake said. He was standing now, and had quickly snatched up the sword from the dirt. The cloud of light was gone, but it had left half of the creature’s face burnt and scarred. James gasped. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He looked down to see the sword buried into his stomach. Drake jammed the sword deeper before jerking it out. James fell to his knees with a look of shock on his face.
Jennifer wailed and Abby smacked her with the butt of her gun, knocking her unconscious.
Drake stood there for a moment, watching James hold his stomach and moan. He was surprised at the man’s resilience.
“Go ahead,” James said weakly. “Have a sip.”
Drake laughed. “No thanks. Italian blood is too thick for me. Bad for the heart.” He looked over at his wife. “You did well babe. Put her in the trunk. Damon wants her alive.”
Abby opened her lips to complain, but then closed them. “I’m still hungry.” She said flatly.
“There’s a damn station up the road,” Drake snapped. “We’ll get you a nice plump trucker. Something easy. This one is important,” he pointed the tip of the sword at the unconscious woman. Abby sighed and dragged Jennifer by her hair to the car and lifted her into the trunk.
Drake looked down at James. “You know, you put up a good fight. For that I’m going to give you an honorable death.” He couldn’t help but admire the tenacity of the Solleros . He gripped both hands on Klaue and took the wide stance of an executioner.
His cut was clean.
Drake wiped the blood on his sword on the headless body’s shirt. He returned Klaue to the case and placed it carefully in the backseat. A pair of headlights was cresting over the horizon.
“Get in the car,” Drake commanded.
Abby ran around the side and hopped in the passenger side. Drake hopped in behind the wheel. He punched it and the Mustang roared away.
“That was fun,” Abby said, touching the burnt side of Drake’s face. He winced.
PART TWO:
WELCOME TO THE ALISTAIR
12.
The hotel lobby was brightly lit from several domed lamps positioned around the room, as well as a chandelier that hung over the center of the room. The check-in counter was a stout wall of smooth dark wood, topped with a lighter slab of blond pine, polished and gleaming to perfection. The spacious room was accented with antlers and black and white photos of miners and cowboys, and framed collages of newspaper clippings documenting moments of justice or injustice dealt or perpetrated throughout the town’s history. Burgundy curtains hid the windows. Tall, stuffy leather chairs with deep dimpled buttons were aimed at a fireplace across the room where a heavy-looking brass cage guarded the burning log inside.
Twig walked over to the counter and rang the fat silver bell on the counter six times. Finally a gaunt little man whose head barely crested the counter appeared. He wore a stiff blue uniform with red trim. His eyes looked like to little marbles set in clay, and he beamed at Twig with a toothy smile.
“Welcome to the Alistair,” he said, spreading his hands across the counter.
“Thanks. Uh, we need a room for
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