Shadowbound: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Realm Protectors Book 2) by Spencer DeVeau Page A
Authors: Spencer DeVeau
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flip — what if he was wrong? What if the damn thing turned out to be a Hellion after all?
Frank gripped the crossbow a little tighter, and his index finger found the trigger again. He felt a little better doing so.
“For saving your life,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t for me that goddamn bat would’ve torn your head off.”
“No, I think the bat was in the process of saving my life, but it’s cool. He was kind of a dick anyway. Besides, I don’t know how much longer I could’ve looked at that thing.” He bowed his head, studying the crumpled, overweight figure dressed in ripped leather and doused in the black blood that resembled spilt oil. “Though I don’t think his real form was much better.”
His shoe brushed away spilled entrails in a lame attempt to put the man back together again, and Frank noted that he kind’ve fit the description of Humpty Dumpty just a little bit too perfectly. Despite the fact that he’d been the King of the Vampires in the northern sector of America. One of three who ruled the States, mostly kept to himself, but Frank had heard the stories — the torture, the deaths of innocents disguised to look like random civilian murders, and suddenly Frank had to fight an urge to spit on the corpse. The one thing Frank wasn’t was disrespectful, even to a creature of the King’s level of despicableness. Hell, the Vampires as a whole. He’d not been brought up that way. Killing a creature was disrespect enough, besides the damn thing was dead, and spitting on the King’s corpse would be a waste of spit to Frank, especially in his current situation. No sleep, no eating, hardly any drinking — his mouth felt full of desert sand.
The man named Storm walked over to the crumpled corpse of the girl. Frank could see his erratic breathing as he scooped the girl’s head up. A head full of beautiful red hair clashed harshly with the man’s skin.
“You won’t get out of here alive, you know,” Storm said. “Those Vampires aren’t too…forgiving.”
“Believe me, I’ll be fine.”
And he knew he would be because a man on a mission was not a man to fuck with. Vampires would be like overgrown weeds, and he’d be the machete cutting into the dark forest, just as he had upon his arrival into the literal Dark Forest.
But admittedly, he had slipped into the great tree without much resistance, for the Demons and Vampires were at a war where both sides were on track to lose, both sides heading towards obliteration. His bow had struck a few stragglers outside, but the amount of blood flowing had been caused by the two armies. The real challenge had been on the inside. It had gone perfectly until a few Demons broke in, and Frank either had to hide or die, which went against every rule of Hunting his father had taught him.
Rule number one: Fight and don’t die.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Storm said. He lifted the girl off the ground, rippling muscles flexing in the holes of his ripped and tattered black trench coat. To Frank, it looked as if the man struggled to lift a woman that might’ve weighed a hundred and ten pounds — maybe one-twenty. And Frank found himself chuckling under his breath.
You old kook, thinking this man to be dangerous. Can’t even lift a dead featherweight.
He began to turn towards the ruined iron door and the heap of dead Vampires and equally dead Demons when the image of the ghostly Shadow lingering over his bed popped into his mind.
You will find him at the Forest.
He could still hear that ghostly voice as if amplified by the screams of a thousand dying souls, could still feel the blood on his face, the mess on his floor. The coldness in the room and the darkness that followed the ghost’s departure. Yes, he was there for a reason, but all he’d found at the Tree was death, blood, and destruction. There was no him .
Frank shook his head.
No. No, Franky Baby, you’re just going crazy. That Shadow — those nightmares
Frank gripped the crossbow a little tighter, and his index finger found the trigger again. He felt a little better doing so.
“For saving your life,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t for me that goddamn bat would’ve torn your head off.”
“No, I think the bat was in the process of saving my life, but it’s cool. He was kind of a dick anyway. Besides, I don’t know how much longer I could’ve looked at that thing.” He bowed his head, studying the crumpled, overweight figure dressed in ripped leather and doused in the black blood that resembled spilt oil. “Though I don’t think his real form was much better.”
His shoe brushed away spilled entrails in a lame attempt to put the man back together again, and Frank noted that he kind’ve fit the description of Humpty Dumpty just a little bit too perfectly. Despite the fact that he’d been the King of the Vampires in the northern sector of America. One of three who ruled the States, mostly kept to himself, but Frank had heard the stories — the torture, the deaths of innocents disguised to look like random civilian murders, and suddenly Frank had to fight an urge to spit on the corpse. The one thing Frank wasn’t was disrespectful, even to a creature of the King’s level of despicableness. Hell, the Vampires as a whole. He’d not been brought up that way. Killing a creature was disrespect enough, besides the damn thing was dead, and spitting on the King’s corpse would be a waste of spit to Frank, especially in his current situation. No sleep, no eating, hardly any drinking — his mouth felt full of desert sand.
The man named Storm walked over to the crumpled corpse of the girl. Frank could see his erratic breathing as he scooped the girl’s head up. A head full of beautiful red hair clashed harshly with the man’s skin.
“You won’t get out of here alive, you know,” Storm said. “Those Vampires aren’t too…forgiving.”
“Believe me, I’ll be fine.”
And he knew he would be because a man on a mission was not a man to fuck with. Vampires would be like overgrown weeds, and he’d be the machete cutting into the dark forest, just as he had upon his arrival into the literal Dark Forest.
But admittedly, he had slipped into the great tree without much resistance, for the Demons and Vampires were at a war where both sides were on track to lose, both sides heading towards obliteration. His bow had struck a few stragglers outside, but the amount of blood flowing had been caused by the two armies. The real challenge had been on the inside. It had gone perfectly until a few Demons broke in, and Frank either had to hide or die, which went against every rule of Hunting his father had taught him.
Rule number one: Fight and don’t die.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Storm said. He lifted the girl off the ground, rippling muscles flexing in the holes of his ripped and tattered black trench coat. To Frank, it looked as if the man struggled to lift a woman that might’ve weighed a hundred and ten pounds — maybe one-twenty. And Frank found himself chuckling under his breath.
You old kook, thinking this man to be dangerous. Can’t even lift a dead featherweight.
He began to turn towards the ruined iron door and the heap of dead Vampires and equally dead Demons when the image of the ghostly Shadow lingering over his bed popped into his mind.
You will find him at the Forest.
He could still hear that ghostly voice as if amplified by the screams of a thousand dying souls, could still feel the blood on his face, the mess on his floor. The coldness in the room and the darkness that followed the ghost’s departure. Yes, he was there for a reason, but all he’d found at the Tree was death, blood, and destruction. There was no him .
Frank shook his head.
No. No, Franky Baby, you’re just going crazy. That Shadow — those nightmares
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