Read Online Vampire Down (Blood Skies, Book 7) by Steven Montano - Free Book Online
Authors: Steven Montano
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there and ripped the weapon from his hands.
His vision fading, Cross saw the Raza and a pair of men armed with edged chains, rough-looking barbarians with unkempt hair and thickset muscles. They stepped in and pounded him with boots and fists. A weapon found its way into his hand, Creasy’s old machete, and he drove it through one of his attacker’s chests; blood welled around his knuckles before a hard blow caught him in the back of the head. Hurt whitened his vision. He lost a few seconds, and then another jolt of pain seared across the back of his skull.
After that, nothing.
Danica. I love you. Please, get them to safety, get yourself to safety.
In his mind’s eye he sees her, in a golden field beneath the sunset. They’re together, out of danger, at peace, where they’ll stay for the rest of their lives.
He knows this dream can never come to pass, but he has it now, and he holds onto it for as long as he can.
He came to on his feet, marching through the camp. The forest was on fire behind him. Fane seemed to enjoy burning things out – it was the easiest way to make sure they’d killed everyone.
His mind and motions were sluggish, his legs distant and uncoordinated, like they belonged to someone else. The air was filled with smoke and fog and the night eclipsed the heavens. The soldiers stood in crowds around him, armed with spears and knives in addition to their M-16s and G3A3s. Torches set in the ground burned with white-hot flames.
Near the center of camp their ranks parted, and a short but thickly shouldered man with no hair on his head stood before him. The man bore a severe expression. He was hard and lean like a wolverine, and his dark leather and plate armor were bound tight around his body and neck. Thick gauntlets covered his hands, and his eyes were pale, almost milky-white.
“Eric Cross,” he said. He didn’t speak with any sort of malevolent tone, just stating a fact, and one the man seemed loathe to admit.
“ Who the hell are you?” he asked. “You’re not Wulf.”
“ Wulf doesn’t waste time in the field,” the man said. “The Commander of the East Claw Coalition has better things to do with his time. My name is Hasker.”
“ East Claw Coalition?” Cross said, not bothering to hide his sarcastic surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”
The same chain-wielding man who’d helped capture Cross back in the forest sharply elbowed him in the kidneys, sending a blinding shot of pain up his back. Cross fell to his knees, and another blow landed hard against the side of his face, spraying blood through his mouth. His vision blurred.
He was so tired. Cross wanted to lie down on the ground and fall asleep. He didn’t want to talk to these men, didn’t want to know who Hasker was.
“ Bring him,” Hasker said, and he turned and walked away. The wind rose, sending icy flakes of snow slapping against Cross’s face. The cold air stung his nostrils as he was dragged to his feet. Someone had hold of him from behind – he realized for the first time his wrists were bound – and marched him forward, past the stone mounds and to the furthest building, a cold looking shack made of metal and stone.
He looked around for Danica, or Ronan or Shiv, and when he didn’t see any of them he tried not to let his fear show. Cold worry twisted inside him.
She’s fine , he told himself. They’re fine.
Briefly he glanced back into the smoking forest.
Light spilled from the entrance to Hasker’s hut, a barren room with a single cot and table and a pit of ash and frozen light. Hasker stood at the far end of the room; the chain-wielder and the Raza remained, and sealed the door behind them.
Cross’s vision dimmed. Liquid queasiness pushed through his throat. He recalled that he’d been poisoned, that his arcane blade hadn’t been able to purge the toxins from his system. He shook himself, tried to
His vision fading, Cross saw the Raza and a pair of men armed with edged chains, rough-looking barbarians with unkempt hair and thickset muscles. They stepped in and pounded him with boots and fists. A weapon found its way into his hand, Creasy’s old machete, and he drove it through one of his attacker’s chests; blood welled around his knuckles before a hard blow caught him in the back of the head. Hurt whitened his vision. He lost a few seconds, and then another jolt of pain seared across the back of his skull.
After that, nothing.
Danica. I love you. Please, get them to safety, get yourself to safety.
In his mind’s eye he sees her, in a golden field beneath the sunset. They’re together, out of danger, at peace, where they’ll stay for the rest of their lives.
He knows this dream can never come to pass, but he has it now, and he holds onto it for as long as he can.
He came to on his feet, marching through the camp. The forest was on fire behind him. Fane seemed to enjoy burning things out – it was the easiest way to make sure they’d killed everyone.
His mind and motions were sluggish, his legs distant and uncoordinated, like they belonged to someone else. The air was filled with smoke and fog and the night eclipsed the heavens. The soldiers stood in crowds around him, armed with spears and knives in addition to their M-16s and G3A3s. Torches set in the ground burned with white-hot flames.
Near the center of camp their ranks parted, and a short but thickly shouldered man with no hair on his head stood before him. The man bore a severe expression. He was hard and lean like a wolverine, and his dark leather and plate armor were bound tight around his body and neck. Thick gauntlets covered his hands, and his eyes were pale, almost milky-white.
“Eric Cross,” he said. He didn’t speak with any sort of malevolent tone, just stating a fact, and one the man seemed loathe to admit.
“ Who the hell are you?” he asked. “You’re not Wulf.”
“ Wulf doesn’t waste time in the field,” the man said. “The Commander of the East Claw Coalition has better things to do with his time. My name is Hasker.”
“ East Claw Coalition?” Cross said, not bothering to hide his sarcastic surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”
The same chain-wielding man who’d helped capture Cross back in the forest sharply elbowed him in the kidneys, sending a blinding shot of pain up his back. Cross fell to his knees, and another blow landed hard against the side of his face, spraying blood through his mouth. His vision blurred.
He was so tired. Cross wanted to lie down on the ground and fall asleep. He didn’t want to talk to these men, didn’t want to know who Hasker was.
“ Bring him,” Hasker said, and he turned and walked away. The wind rose, sending icy flakes of snow slapping against Cross’s face. The cold air stung his nostrils as he was dragged to his feet. Someone had hold of him from behind – he realized for the first time his wrists were bound – and marched him forward, past the stone mounds and to the furthest building, a cold looking shack made of metal and stone.
He looked around for Danica, or Ronan or Shiv, and when he didn’t see any of them he tried not to let his fear show. Cold worry twisted inside him.
She’s fine , he told himself. They’re fine.
Briefly he glanced back into the smoking forest.
Light spilled from the entrance to Hasker’s hut, a barren room with a single cot and table and a pit of ash and frozen light. Hasker stood at the far end of the room; the chain-wielder and the Raza remained, and sealed the door behind them.
Cross’s vision dimmed. Liquid queasiness pushed through his throat. He recalled that he’d been poisoned, that his arcane blade hadn’t been able to purge the toxins from his system. He shook himself, tried to
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