Read Online Dark Destiny (Principatus) by Lexxie Couper - Free Book Online
Authors: Lexxie Couper
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dead within a twenty-mile radius.
Meters from the hospital’s exit, he stopped and pulled in a deep breath, tasting the three-a.m. air, hoping to detect even the faintest trace of the Grim Reaper.
The rich, cloying stench of blood filtered through his nose, over his highly tuned olfactory nerves and his mouth flooded with hot saliva. Christ, he was hungry.
He ground his teeth, forcing his fangs to retract and the demon within to back off.
His stomach growled, a wholly human physical reaction to denied sustenance and he bit back a curse. This wouldn’t do. He would need all his strength when he found Death—the dismaying memory of how easily she’d thrown him off back in Patrick’s bedroom was still too fresh to ignore—and unless he fed soon, he’d be weaker than an asthmatic kindergartener.
He pulled his cell from his back pocket, flipped it open and then snapped it shut. Amy would be more than willing to accommodate his hunger right at that moment, but what he needed was a quick, sharp, no-questions-asked feed. In and out in less than ten minutes.
He had two options.
One, he could “charm” his way into the local cop shop and take his pick of any of the scum incarcerated in lock-up. Two, he could hit the Pleasure Pussy Nightclub on Kings Cross’s main drag and take his pick of any of the human females willing and wanting to give themselves to one of Sydney’s underground “creatures”.
His saliva glands exploded again at the thought.
Growling with frustrated impatience—he really didn’t have time for this—he sprinted into the shadows of the hospital’s dimly lit car park and folded space.
There really was no other way to describe the process by which he moved around when in a hurry. He thought of where he wanted to be, pictured it, pictured an impossible fold in reality bringing his current location and his desired location together and then—with a blurring of his surroundings and a white-hot surge of energy through his body—he was there. He knew he physically traveled the distance between the two spots, but how still eluded him. Sometimes he had recollections of flying, the night air kissing his face as the lights of the city streaked beneath him, other times he recalled sensations of sprinting across the ground on what seemed like four feet, each covered in glossy black fur and tipped with sharp, hooked claws. He never questioned the mode of transportation. What mattered was that he got where he wanted to be fast. It had saved Patrick’s life more than once from some unexplained “accident”.
And hopefully it would again tonight, although he had to admit, Death in the flesh could never be called an accident.
A vivid and all-too-clear image of Death in the flesh popped uninvited into Ven’s head. The very naked flesh. A dark tension coiled through the pit of his stomach and a twinge of unexpected hunger that had nothing to do with blood shot through his cock.
He growled. He most definitely didn’t have time for that . Besides, the bitch had taken his soul. What the bloody hell was he doing being turned on by her?
Forcing the way-too-enticing image of a naked Grim Reaper from his mind, he replaced it with an image of the filthy but hardly used alley behind the Pleasure Pussy Nightclub.
His cold skin began to tingle, his blood began to burn. He pictured the hospital car park and the alley coming together, like a piece of paper being folded in two. He drew the image into his mind and then he was moving, his hair rippling back from his temples and forehead, lashing behind him as he ripped through the black night sky.
The lights of Sydney blurred to a kaleidoscope of glowing lines below him, the scents of the city assaulting him as he passed through them. He increased his speed until, with an abrupt jolt, he stood in the alley.
Immediately, he was attacked by the stench of stale beer, vomit, old blood and even older semen. The alley, it seemed, was the perfect place to finish an act
Meters from the hospital’s exit, he stopped and pulled in a deep breath, tasting the three-a.m. air, hoping to detect even the faintest trace of the Grim Reaper.
The rich, cloying stench of blood filtered through his nose, over his highly tuned olfactory nerves and his mouth flooded with hot saliva. Christ, he was hungry.
He ground his teeth, forcing his fangs to retract and the demon within to back off.
His stomach growled, a wholly human physical reaction to denied sustenance and he bit back a curse. This wouldn’t do. He would need all his strength when he found Death—the dismaying memory of how easily she’d thrown him off back in Patrick’s bedroom was still too fresh to ignore—and unless he fed soon, he’d be weaker than an asthmatic kindergartener.
He pulled his cell from his back pocket, flipped it open and then snapped it shut. Amy would be more than willing to accommodate his hunger right at that moment, but what he needed was a quick, sharp, no-questions-asked feed. In and out in less than ten minutes.
He had two options.
One, he could “charm” his way into the local cop shop and take his pick of any of the scum incarcerated in lock-up. Two, he could hit the Pleasure Pussy Nightclub on Kings Cross’s main drag and take his pick of any of the human females willing and wanting to give themselves to one of Sydney’s underground “creatures”.
His saliva glands exploded again at the thought.
Growling with frustrated impatience—he really didn’t have time for this—he sprinted into the shadows of the hospital’s dimly lit car park and folded space.
There really was no other way to describe the process by which he moved around when in a hurry. He thought of where he wanted to be, pictured it, pictured an impossible fold in reality bringing his current location and his desired location together and then—with a blurring of his surroundings and a white-hot surge of energy through his body—he was there. He knew he physically traveled the distance between the two spots, but how still eluded him. Sometimes he had recollections of flying, the night air kissing his face as the lights of the city streaked beneath him, other times he recalled sensations of sprinting across the ground on what seemed like four feet, each covered in glossy black fur and tipped with sharp, hooked claws. He never questioned the mode of transportation. What mattered was that he got where he wanted to be fast. It had saved Patrick’s life more than once from some unexplained “accident”.
And hopefully it would again tonight, although he had to admit, Death in the flesh could never be called an accident.
A vivid and all-too-clear image of Death in the flesh popped uninvited into Ven’s head. The very naked flesh. A dark tension coiled through the pit of his stomach and a twinge of unexpected hunger that had nothing to do with blood shot through his cock.
He growled. He most definitely didn’t have time for that . Besides, the bitch had taken his soul. What the bloody hell was he doing being turned on by her?
Forcing the way-too-enticing image of a naked Grim Reaper from his mind, he replaced it with an image of the filthy but hardly used alley behind the Pleasure Pussy Nightclub.
His cold skin began to tingle, his blood began to burn. He pictured the hospital car park and the alley coming together, like a piece of paper being folded in two. He drew the image into his mind and then he was moving, his hair rippling back from his temples and forehead, lashing behind him as he ripped through the black night sky.
The lights of Sydney blurred to a kaleidoscope of glowing lines below him, the scents of the city assaulting him as he passed through them. He increased his speed until, with an abrupt jolt, he stood in the alley.
Immediately, he was attacked by the stench of stale beer, vomit, old blood and even older semen. The alley, it seemed, was the perfect place to finish an act
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