Read Online Shadowbound: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Realm Protectors Book 2) by Spencer DeVeau - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Spencer DeVeau
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accept that, but it was true. Time wouldn’t wait for him to seize the moment. He — they — had a chance to make a difference in this horrible world, and he meant to do so. Demons and Vampires and Shadow Eaters be damned.
“You can get that damn Demon blade off of my back,” Frank said in a whisper.
“No way, buddy. I don’t control it anyway. It’s not mine.”
“You should’ve just left the Demon bitch to die.”
Harold thrust the blade forward, jamming the tip against Frank’s jacket. The blade looked as bad as Sahara, but the point was still deathly sharp. So naturally, the jean jacket ripped like tissue paper, and Frank jolted forward, turning around with his bow raised and a dark fire in his eyes.
Harold let the blade fall.
Those eyes.
He had seen those eyes before, but where?
The two Mortals stared at each other. Harold’s guard lowered, transfixed on the black pools — black as… the Shadow Eaters, yes.
He’d all but tried to block out Charlie and Beth’s eyes, tried to think of it as a really vivid and horrendous night terror. But seeing Frank’s had brought the feeling of dread, those black snakes squirming in his gut, back to the forefront of his mind.
Not far away, a beast roared, and not in his head. Harold’s heart leapt into his throat. The flesh that had been untouched by the Spellfire — which was not much — raised into bumps.
And Frank blinked; to Harold, it seemed to be in slow motion. When his eyes showed again, the darkness vanished, replaced by an electric blue heavy with the images only a man like Frank could’ve seen.
Harold shook his head, had he imagined it? Had his own venom given him a filter where he only saw the world in the light of malice? He didn’t know for sure, but he knew Sahara’s breathing began to get wildly erratic, her heartbeat slower.
But Frank spun around with that same young man’s grace, raised the crossbow with smoothness.
“This way is a dead end unless you wanna use your Demon speech to tell that asshole out there to let us walk free.”
“I’m not a Demon. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Harold said.
“I won’t believe you until I see you bleed. There was a lot of black blood back in that room, Storm.”
Harold tried to keep his face as blank as possible, but the muscles in his jaw twitched. Because his blood wouldn’t be the same color as Frank’s. Black had become the new red. He breathed a sigh of relief realizing where his left hand, punctured by one of those arrows, had been — safely nestled under Sahara’s legs. And the adrenaline had taken the pain, though he knew he’d feel it the minute he was safe.
Harold just shrugged Frank’s remark off and spun back towards the throne room, more worried about a pissed-off Demon than an old man with a crossbow. There had to be another way out.
But when he spun around, a wave of black venom roared through the corridor, and he stopped, nearly dropping Sahara.
“Go, Storm.”
The pounds from the stairs grew closer. Talons clicked on the wooden steps. A roar echoed down through the darkness, but the wave choked out the sound of both that and Frank’s voice; it made both of them a slight whisper.
Harold couldn’t do much of anything.
He felt a push at his back, the cool metal of the crossbow stinging his exposed skin, nudging him forward. His neck slowly spun around, a look of defeat written all over his face.
The beast’s horns emerged first, its bulk second, larger than any thing — or animal for that matter — Harold had ever seen. Scaly skin shined like it had rolled in ink. But Harold knew better — that wasn’t ink; it was blood.
The blood of friends and enemies.
C HAPTER 10
Frank’s arrows whistled by Harold’s head as he backed away from the steps. Yet Harold stood frozen, Sahara feeling like a pillow in his arms.
“Move, Storm!” Frank bellowed.
Another arrow twanged, this one ruffling Sahara’s hair like a small breeze.
“Move!
“You can get that damn Demon blade off of my back,” Frank said in a whisper.
“No way, buddy. I don’t control it anyway. It’s not mine.”
“You should’ve just left the Demon bitch to die.”
Harold thrust the blade forward, jamming the tip against Frank’s jacket. The blade looked as bad as Sahara, but the point was still deathly sharp. So naturally, the jean jacket ripped like tissue paper, and Frank jolted forward, turning around with his bow raised and a dark fire in his eyes.
Harold let the blade fall.
Those eyes.
He had seen those eyes before, but where?
The two Mortals stared at each other. Harold’s guard lowered, transfixed on the black pools — black as… the Shadow Eaters, yes.
He’d all but tried to block out Charlie and Beth’s eyes, tried to think of it as a really vivid and horrendous night terror. But seeing Frank’s had brought the feeling of dread, those black snakes squirming in his gut, back to the forefront of his mind.
Not far away, a beast roared, and not in his head. Harold’s heart leapt into his throat. The flesh that had been untouched by the Spellfire — which was not much — raised into bumps.
And Frank blinked; to Harold, it seemed to be in slow motion. When his eyes showed again, the darkness vanished, replaced by an electric blue heavy with the images only a man like Frank could’ve seen.
Harold shook his head, had he imagined it? Had his own venom given him a filter where he only saw the world in the light of malice? He didn’t know for sure, but he knew Sahara’s breathing began to get wildly erratic, her heartbeat slower.
But Frank spun around with that same young man’s grace, raised the crossbow with smoothness.
“This way is a dead end unless you wanna use your Demon speech to tell that asshole out there to let us walk free.”
“I’m not a Demon. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Harold said.
“I won’t believe you until I see you bleed. There was a lot of black blood back in that room, Storm.”
Harold tried to keep his face as blank as possible, but the muscles in his jaw twitched. Because his blood wouldn’t be the same color as Frank’s. Black had become the new red. He breathed a sigh of relief realizing where his left hand, punctured by one of those arrows, had been — safely nestled under Sahara’s legs. And the adrenaline had taken the pain, though he knew he’d feel it the minute he was safe.
Harold just shrugged Frank’s remark off and spun back towards the throne room, more worried about a pissed-off Demon than an old man with a crossbow. There had to be another way out.
But when he spun around, a wave of black venom roared through the corridor, and he stopped, nearly dropping Sahara.
“Go, Storm.”
The pounds from the stairs grew closer. Talons clicked on the wooden steps. A roar echoed down through the darkness, but the wave choked out the sound of both that and Frank’s voice; it made both of them a slight whisper.
Harold couldn’t do much of anything.
He felt a push at his back, the cool metal of the crossbow stinging his exposed skin, nudging him forward. His neck slowly spun around, a look of defeat written all over his face.
The beast’s horns emerged first, its bulk second, larger than any thing — or animal for that matter — Harold had ever seen. Scaly skin shined like it had rolled in ink. But Harold knew better — that wasn’t ink; it was blood.
The blood of friends and enemies.
C HAPTER 10
Frank’s arrows whistled by Harold’s head as he backed away from the steps. Yet Harold stood frozen, Sahara feeling like a pillow in his arms.
“Move, Storm!” Frank bellowed.
Another arrow twanged, this one ruffling Sahara’s hair like a small breeze.
“Move!
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