Read Online The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) by Aiden James, Patrick Burdine - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Aiden James, Patrick Burdine
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me!”
“What?” His eyes were locked in disbelief on the malformed creature glaring at him from the top of the stairs. I yanked his arm and pulled him with me.
“Just trust me, damn it!”
Another shadow suddenly flitted across the landing. A second fiend was present.
“Run to the cellar!” I shouted.
The kitchen was dark, but could be reached by an additional doorway, off a small hallway next to the stairs. I remembered the cellar entrance sat next to the pantry and was thankful the door wasn’t locked when I grabbed the handle.
Our unwelcome guests rounded the corner into the kitchen behind us as I pulled the door open. We lunged into the room and Peter slammed it shut, just as one of them leapt toward us. It rammed into the door with enough force to rock Peter back on his heels. He locked the door, and set the additional heavy dead bolts to ensure the door remained secure.
For the next hour, we worried whether the door would hold up, as our pursuers repeatedly threw their bodies against it, hitting it hard enough that the hinges groaned from the strain. Their bloodcurdling shrieks chilled us far more than the cellar’s cold confines.
Peter took a small space heater off of a shelf and plugged it into an outlet on the wall. I raised an eyebrow.
“The wiring in here is separate. There’s a small solar generator and battery,” he explained in response to my unasked question. “I wish the owner had installed a phone down here too when he did the renovations.”
The small heater kept it from getting too cold, but until dawn we were forced to keep a tireless vigil. Our main focus was holding each other tight while we listened to the destruction of the main floor above us, praying somehow we’d survive.
e climbed out of the cellar just after 7:00 a.m. It had been silent outside the room since what I presumed to have been sunrise. I convinced Peter to wait an extra hour just to make sure they were gone. I told him that they might have been hiding to try and lure us out. I knew the real reason, but I also knew that Peter would never believe me. We knew we would miss the first class of the day, but once we saw the destruction to the kitchen and living room in Peter’s townhouse, it became immediately obvious that school would be an afterthought for the rest of the day.
“My God,” Peter whispered in amazement, after we stepped back into the kitchen.
The refrigerator lay on its side, and the oven door had been torn off. Huge holes had been gouged in the floor where the fiends tried to burrow their way into the cellar from above. Fortunately for us, a thick steel slab covered the cellar, in addition to the steel-reinforced walls and door.
I couldn’t think of anything to add to my boyfriend’s simple assessment, at least not until I ventured past the smashed dining room table, and stepped into the living room.
“I’m surprised no one else heard this shit—surely someone
had
to hear it!” I marveled, staring at the hole in the wall where a large picture window once was. A birdbath from the front lawn had obliterated the large flat screen TV.
Peter whistled shrilly through his teeth and then pulled out his cell phone. He carefully approached the stairs while casting a wary glance toward the second floor landing. He looked over at me with a bewildered expression, as if the actuality of what he presently witnessed confirmed the previous night’s hostile siege as a true event, and that it wasn’t some malicious college prank enhanced by alcohol and overactive imaginations. I could practically see the internal war raging in his mind between what he had experienced and what he was willing to accept as his reality.
I must admit that I chuckled a little. He was such a pragmatist, and almost atheistic in his zeal for the unadulterated truth. During the assault on the cellar door that lasted until four o’clock in the morning, he acted as if what was happening wasn’t much of a big deal, and that
“What?” His eyes were locked in disbelief on the malformed creature glaring at him from the top of the stairs. I yanked his arm and pulled him with me.
“Just trust me, damn it!”
Another shadow suddenly flitted across the landing. A second fiend was present.
“Run to the cellar!” I shouted.
The kitchen was dark, but could be reached by an additional doorway, off a small hallway next to the stairs. I remembered the cellar entrance sat next to the pantry and was thankful the door wasn’t locked when I grabbed the handle.
Our unwelcome guests rounded the corner into the kitchen behind us as I pulled the door open. We lunged into the room and Peter slammed it shut, just as one of them leapt toward us. It rammed into the door with enough force to rock Peter back on his heels. He locked the door, and set the additional heavy dead bolts to ensure the door remained secure.
For the next hour, we worried whether the door would hold up, as our pursuers repeatedly threw their bodies against it, hitting it hard enough that the hinges groaned from the strain. Their bloodcurdling shrieks chilled us far more than the cellar’s cold confines.
Peter took a small space heater off of a shelf and plugged it into an outlet on the wall. I raised an eyebrow.
“The wiring in here is separate. There’s a small solar generator and battery,” he explained in response to my unasked question. “I wish the owner had installed a phone down here too when he did the renovations.”
The small heater kept it from getting too cold, but until dawn we were forced to keep a tireless vigil. Our main focus was holding each other tight while we listened to the destruction of the main floor above us, praying somehow we’d survive.
e climbed out of the cellar just after 7:00 a.m. It had been silent outside the room since what I presumed to have been sunrise. I convinced Peter to wait an extra hour just to make sure they were gone. I told him that they might have been hiding to try and lure us out. I knew the real reason, but I also knew that Peter would never believe me. We knew we would miss the first class of the day, but once we saw the destruction to the kitchen and living room in Peter’s townhouse, it became immediately obvious that school would be an afterthought for the rest of the day.
“My God,” Peter whispered in amazement, after we stepped back into the kitchen.
The refrigerator lay on its side, and the oven door had been torn off. Huge holes had been gouged in the floor where the fiends tried to burrow their way into the cellar from above. Fortunately for us, a thick steel slab covered the cellar, in addition to the steel-reinforced walls and door.
I couldn’t think of anything to add to my boyfriend’s simple assessment, at least not until I ventured past the smashed dining room table, and stepped into the living room.
“I’m surprised no one else heard this shit—surely someone
had
to hear it!” I marveled, staring at the hole in the wall where a large picture window once was. A birdbath from the front lawn had obliterated the large flat screen TV.
Peter whistled shrilly through his teeth and then pulled out his cell phone. He carefully approached the stairs while casting a wary glance toward the second floor landing. He looked over at me with a bewildered expression, as if the actuality of what he presently witnessed confirmed the previous night’s hostile siege as a true event, and that it wasn’t some malicious college prank enhanced by alcohol and overactive imaginations. I could practically see the internal war raging in his mind between what he had experienced and what he was willing to accept as his reality.
I must admit that I chuckled a little. He was such a pragmatist, and almost atheistic in his zeal for the unadulterated truth. During the assault on the cellar door that lasted until four o’clock in the morning, he acted as if what was happening wasn’t much of a big deal, and that
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