Beware Mohawks Bearing Gifts by SA Collins

Author:SA Collins [Collins, SA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: NineStar Press, LGBT, Sci-fi, historical, paranormal, family-drama, alternate universe, gay, Native Americans, magic, witch, vampire, shifter, New York, Nineteenth century, fringe science
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2019-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

A shaking bloody hand rises over the headboard of the small bed along the wall of a very small bedroom. Fingers stretch and curl upon themselves as the bearer gasps for air, struggling to catch his breath—the pain evident in the rattled sound emanating from him. A head slowly appears, the hair twisted and mangled into a bloody mess, above the line of the headboard. The side of his head is drenched with blood, though whether his own or someone else’s is hard to determine.

The nude body is that of a young muscular lad—Christian by the looks of him. He pulls himself slowly up into a seated position, his back to the headboard, his knees bent with his arms wrapping around them. He rests his forehead against his knees as he rocks back and forth, trying to absorb the carnage around him.

Blood-saturated walls and bedding dominate the room. Pieces of bone and flesh, a muscled arm here, part of a hirsute torso there, entrails strewn over the floor, litter the room as if a man of sizable stature had been literally blown apart. In the ceiling above, a portion of the man’s skull hangs from the plastered ceiling, dripping blood and brain material onto the floor below.

Above the boy’s head, stabbed into the wall, is the Mordant, sigils glimmering against the crimson-stained walls. Tiny bleeps and blips are the only sound save for the weary, overused springs in Christian’s bed as he consoles himself with his rocking motion. His eyes, wild and frenzied, dart left and right trying to determine what he will do next.

The door suddenly rattles as someone pounds upon it. The knob is twisted and turned to no avail as it appears to be locked.

“Christian, are you all right?” A young boy’s voice, barely heard above the rising commotion beyond the door. “Uncle Eddy heard the noise; the Hook is on his way. Are you all right?”

Christian, for all of his bodily strength, does not seem able to respond. He just sits there with a slightly bewildered expression to his face, as if he cannot make sense of the warning the young boy has expressed.

“He’s coming…I can’t stay.”

The soft patter of footsteps echoes off away from the door.

A second later and another sound of footsteps, far heavier than the last, pounding their way to the door. It bursts open, nearly sheering it off its hinges, revealing a large beefy, leathered-looking man, his bald head and body profusely sweating—his clothing saturated with it. He possesses a grotesque scar that trails down the right side of his face, further distorting an already ugly individual. He is brandishing a nasty barbed-looking riding crop that he wields as if it is always at the ready to use at a moment’s notice.

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