Read Online Storm Warned (The Grim Series) by Dani Harper - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dani Harper
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waited a few minutes more until he was certain that the storm was truly moving away to the west. Liam left the closet then, keeping low as he headed into the main floor’s guest room. He needed to get a look outside. Tornadoes usually formed off the trailing edge of a storm, and he wasn’t taking any chances. He hugged the wall beneath the window as the house shook again, then eased himself up until his eyes were just above the sill.
It was a full-fledged electrical event out there. Lightning split the sky in all directions and stabbed the hills, but not all of it was coming from the clouds. Liam blinked hard, straining to see in the pulsing light-dark-light-dark . There were ropes of bright lightning flicking upward here and there along the base of Finger Ridge, slashing around wildly like whips. What the hell? He’d read something about upward streamers in connection with lightning, but whatever he was seeing disquieted him on some primal level, bothering him even more than the battering of the house and farm. There was a wrongness to it that he could feel, an otherness —and the moment that impression formed in his brain, the clouds lit up like lanterns, enough that the area around the bizarre ground lightning was illuminated for the barest fraction of a second.
Riders. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, there was a dark band of riders out there in the midst of hell itself.
Without warning, agony detonated in Liam’s head and bright stars burst behind his eyelids. He seemed to hover in that state, suspended for a long, sickening moment before blackness obliterated everything.
It was far from dark when Liam finally woke. He cursed as bright sunlight stabbed his eyeballs, setting off a headache from hell even as his body protested the unyielding mattress. Wait—there was no mattress. He squinted at his surroundings from beneath the shade of his hand. What was he doing on the floor? And in the guest room, no less? He made a move to get up, and his stomach lurched as the room spun. Christ. Slowly, he put a hand to his head and felt carefully along the hairline, hissing as his fingers came in contact with a palm-sized goose egg. There was a wet smear of fresh blood on his hand when he pulled it away.
It seemed to take forever before he could manage to sit up, bracing his back against the bed for support. The effort drenched him in cold sweat, and he had to take a break until the nausea settled and his vision cleared. It was then that he spotted the culprit that had coldcocked him: a heavy crystal vase belonging to Aunt Ruby. How many times had he seen the oversize heirloom piece on the kitchen table, filled with big, showy cut flowers from her garden? How much did the damn thing weigh? Three pounds? Five? It was empty right now . . . and completely unharmed. That seemed more than a little unfair when his skull felt cracked in two. Instinctively his gaze tracked upward, and Liam realized that the vase had been sitting on a bookshelf built along the top of the window, an accident just waiting to happen. Perhaps he should be grateful. The way the storm had shaken the old house, it was a wonder the entire wall hadn’t fallen on him instead of just the vase.
Gotta get up. Liam rose shakily and sat on the bed, waiting for the pattern on the wallpaper to stop moving before he dared stand. A few deep breaths later, he felt steady enough to shuffle his way carefully into the unholy mess that had once been the living room. Inspecting it, however, would have to wait—his top priority was his livestock. The poor animals could be trapped or scattered, terrified or injured, or perhaps even dead. He had to get to them. Sliding his feet into his boots by the door, he gripped the jamb for support as he rode out another wave of dizziness and nausea. Finally he made it outside, shambling onto the porch at a ridiculously slothlike pace. Come to think of it, even a damn sloth would laugh.
Liam didn’t feel much like laughing himself as he
It was a full-fledged electrical event out there. Lightning split the sky in all directions and stabbed the hills, but not all of it was coming from the clouds. Liam blinked hard, straining to see in the pulsing light-dark-light-dark . There were ropes of bright lightning flicking upward here and there along the base of Finger Ridge, slashing around wildly like whips. What the hell? He’d read something about upward streamers in connection with lightning, but whatever he was seeing disquieted him on some primal level, bothering him even more than the battering of the house and farm. There was a wrongness to it that he could feel, an otherness —and the moment that impression formed in his brain, the clouds lit up like lanterns, enough that the area around the bizarre ground lightning was illuminated for the barest fraction of a second.
Riders. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, there was a dark band of riders out there in the midst of hell itself.
Without warning, agony detonated in Liam’s head and bright stars burst behind his eyelids. He seemed to hover in that state, suspended for a long, sickening moment before blackness obliterated everything.
It was far from dark when Liam finally woke. He cursed as bright sunlight stabbed his eyeballs, setting off a headache from hell even as his body protested the unyielding mattress. Wait—there was no mattress. He squinted at his surroundings from beneath the shade of his hand. What was he doing on the floor? And in the guest room, no less? He made a move to get up, and his stomach lurched as the room spun. Christ. Slowly, he put a hand to his head and felt carefully along the hairline, hissing as his fingers came in contact with a palm-sized goose egg. There was a wet smear of fresh blood on his hand when he pulled it away.
It seemed to take forever before he could manage to sit up, bracing his back against the bed for support. The effort drenched him in cold sweat, and he had to take a break until the nausea settled and his vision cleared. It was then that he spotted the culprit that had coldcocked him: a heavy crystal vase belonging to Aunt Ruby. How many times had he seen the oversize heirloom piece on the kitchen table, filled with big, showy cut flowers from her garden? How much did the damn thing weigh? Three pounds? Five? It was empty right now . . . and completely unharmed. That seemed more than a little unfair when his skull felt cracked in two. Instinctively his gaze tracked upward, and Liam realized that the vase had been sitting on a bookshelf built along the top of the window, an accident just waiting to happen. Perhaps he should be grateful. The way the storm had shaken the old house, it was a wonder the entire wall hadn’t fallen on him instead of just the vase.
Gotta get up. Liam rose shakily and sat on the bed, waiting for the pattern on the wallpaper to stop moving before he dared stand. A few deep breaths later, he felt steady enough to shuffle his way carefully into the unholy mess that had once been the living room. Inspecting it, however, would have to wait—his top priority was his livestock. The poor animals could be trapped or scattered, terrified or injured, or perhaps even dead. He had to get to them. Sliding his feet into his boots by the door, he gripped the jamb for support as he rode out another wave of dizziness and nausea. Finally he made it outside, shambling onto the porch at a ridiculously slothlike pace. Come to think of it, even a damn sloth would laugh.
Liam didn’t feel much like laughing himself as he
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