Read Online The Shopgirl's Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas Book 1) by Anna Abner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anna Abner
Tags: Romance, Paranormal, Magic, sexy, vampire, witch, fate, seer, shapeshifter, Las Vegas, spell, prophecy
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Connor’s ribcage and up into his chest. Flames of pain swept through him. He coughed and tasted blood.
The Destroyer released him, and Connor dropped to his knees. He coughed again, spastically, the blood crawling up his throat and choking him. He crumpled onto the road and lay there stunned, unable to move, unable to even breathe.
#
Alina was alone. Completely, utterly, terrifyingly alone.
How was she going to get home? Her ID, passport, and credit cards—
“My purse!” It was still lying in her uncle’s front yard. Swearing under her breath, she lifted her foot from the gas.
Roz swiveled in her seat and aimed a loaded pistol at her. “If you turn this car around I will shoot you. No joke.”
“My purse is back there.” She pressed the brake pedal. She was alone, in a foreign country with no foreseeable path home.
Roz jammed the barrel of her weapon to the side of Ali’s throat, a cold, hard warning. “If we don’t catch up to him, he will die.” She spoke very slowly and calmly, even as she drew back the hammer with a scary click. “We can get your things later. Put your foot on the gas pedal.”
Roz was right. There wasn’t time to double back and still catch Connor before he overtook Olek. Connor was probably going to die. It seemed incomprehensible, and yet people were dropping like flies. Why not him, too?
Though it grated to do what the other girl ordered her to, Ali wouldn’t risk Connor’s life for a vintage Coach bag. “On the way back,” she said. “First thing.”
“You bet.” Roz withdrew the gun.
Jarring her teeth at every pothole in the road, Ali pushed the VW over sixty. They’d catch up to Connor, convince him to re-join them, and collect her purse on the return trip. If it was still there. With her credit card in hand, she’d insist on getting the hell out of the States. She’d take a bus, a train, or a covered wagon. Whatever it took to get to an airport and rejoin civilization.
In London, there were people—her dad’s neighbor Dave, or her roommate CJ—who’d help her. Maybe. She chewed her lip.
Roz leaned forward. “Slow down.”
Ali hit the brakes a little too hard, flinging the other woman against the dashboard.
Up ahead, between two large strip malls, Connor’s rust red F-350 materialized, parked diagonally across an access road. Abandoned.
“Oh, God,” Ali breathed. They’d found him. Though they’d been discussing his suicide mission ever since they’d climbed into the car, she’d never really considered discovering him dead.
Roz opened her door while the car was still rolling and ran toward the truck, handguns locked and loaded.
Alina climbed out more slowly. She carried a pair of Roz’s discarded pistols, one in each hand, though she didn’t even know if they were loaded. They could have been dressed up water pistols for all she knew, but she couldn’t stay in the car. A sort of haze of leftover violence and rage hung in the air. Something was wrong.
She followed, rounding the front bumper. Roz knelt over a body. No big battle, no hissing vampires, just a blood-soaked Connor lying flat on his back on greasy asphalt, his own knife embedded in his chest.
“He’s fine,” Roz said, her voice shaking. “He’s gonna be fine.”
He didn’t look fine. He looked like a science class cadaver. He lay in the dirt like a used-up apple core, his eyes and fingers twitching as if he wanted to wake up, but couldn’t.
“Help me get him in the bed of the truck.”
But moving him would only cause further pain, which he didn’t need. Ali stared at his throat, torn and bleeding. Just like her uncle’s. No, nothing they did could hurt him worse than he already was.
“Ali,” Roz shouted. “Now.”
She leapt forward. There wasn’t time to screw around. He needed help, and she had to get her head in the game.
His muscles and joints had turned to boiled noodles, which made him super heavy and hard to hold. They carried him, though, slung between
The Destroyer released him, and Connor dropped to his knees. He coughed again, spastically, the blood crawling up his throat and choking him. He crumpled onto the road and lay there stunned, unable to move, unable to even breathe.
#
Alina was alone. Completely, utterly, terrifyingly alone.
How was she going to get home? Her ID, passport, and credit cards—
“My purse!” It was still lying in her uncle’s front yard. Swearing under her breath, she lifted her foot from the gas.
Roz swiveled in her seat and aimed a loaded pistol at her. “If you turn this car around I will shoot you. No joke.”
“My purse is back there.” She pressed the brake pedal. She was alone, in a foreign country with no foreseeable path home.
Roz jammed the barrel of her weapon to the side of Ali’s throat, a cold, hard warning. “If we don’t catch up to him, he will die.” She spoke very slowly and calmly, even as she drew back the hammer with a scary click. “We can get your things later. Put your foot on the gas pedal.”
Roz was right. There wasn’t time to double back and still catch Connor before he overtook Olek. Connor was probably going to die. It seemed incomprehensible, and yet people were dropping like flies. Why not him, too?
Though it grated to do what the other girl ordered her to, Ali wouldn’t risk Connor’s life for a vintage Coach bag. “On the way back,” she said. “First thing.”
“You bet.” Roz withdrew the gun.
Jarring her teeth at every pothole in the road, Ali pushed the VW over sixty. They’d catch up to Connor, convince him to re-join them, and collect her purse on the return trip. If it was still there. With her credit card in hand, she’d insist on getting the hell out of the States. She’d take a bus, a train, or a covered wagon. Whatever it took to get to an airport and rejoin civilization.
In London, there were people—her dad’s neighbor Dave, or her roommate CJ—who’d help her. Maybe. She chewed her lip.
Roz leaned forward. “Slow down.”
Ali hit the brakes a little too hard, flinging the other woman against the dashboard.
Up ahead, between two large strip malls, Connor’s rust red F-350 materialized, parked diagonally across an access road. Abandoned.
“Oh, God,” Ali breathed. They’d found him. Though they’d been discussing his suicide mission ever since they’d climbed into the car, she’d never really considered discovering him dead.
Roz opened her door while the car was still rolling and ran toward the truck, handguns locked and loaded.
Alina climbed out more slowly. She carried a pair of Roz’s discarded pistols, one in each hand, though she didn’t even know if they were loaded. They could have been dressed up water pistols for all she knew, but she couldn’t stay in the car. A sort of haze of leftover violence and rage hung in the air. Something was wrong.
She followed, rounding the front bumper. Roz knelt over a body. No big battle, no hissing vampires, just a blood-soaked Connor lying flat on his back on greasy asphalt, his own knife embedded in his chest.
“He’s fine,” Roz said, her voice shaking. “He’s gonna be fine.”
He didn’t look fine. He looked like a science class cadaver. He lay in the dirt like a used-up apple core, his eyes and fingers twitching as if he wanted to wake up, but couldn’t.
“Help me get him in the bed of the truck.”
But moving him would only cause further pain, which he didn’t need. Ali stared at his throat, torn and bleeding. Just like her uncle’s. No, nothing they did could hurt him worse than he already was.
“Ali,” Roz shouted. “Now.”
She leapt forward. There wasn’t time to screw around. He needed help, and she had to get her head in the game.
His muscles and joints had turned to boiled noodles, which made him super heavy and hard to hold. They carried him, though, slung between
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