Deathbound: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Realm Protectors Book 3) by Spencer DeVeau

Author:Spencer DeVeau [DeVeau, Spencer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Perhaps Press
Published: 2016-12-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 28

Frank’s ears rang and pierced his brain. He didn’t remember much, but he remembered a burst of magnificent light, screams and the smell of charred flesh. It took him a moment to realize where he was, the inverted view having something to do with that. Piles of rubble. Burning clothes. A body.

He pushed himself up on something firm yet very frail, harsh yet powerful. It was Harold Storm’s body. His eyes were closed, dust settled down on top of his face. He still looked peaceful. He almost looked…dead.

Frank shot up, more dust and rubble and rock falling into his face. He gripped Harold and shook him.

Nothing.

He did it again.

From behind him, he heard a faint moan. He turned around and looked in time to see a pile of rock and wood from the bed, now pointed downward like a slide, start shifting. Two small horns reached out first, then Boris’ head came next. He was bloody. One eye already bruised. When he opened his mouth, there was a black spot in his bottom row of teeth. He rubbed at his head hesitantly, finding purchase on a slick of dark blood. He pulled his hand away and with it, a string of goo, then looked at the same hand with a worried expression on his face.

“Aqua?” he asked.

Frank flicked his head in the direction of the smoking pile of clothes.

Aqua was no more; she’d gone up like a blaze of fireworks on the Fourth of July. Good riddance, Frank thought. This is all her fault. Harold’s dead and it’s all her fault —

Harold started to cough.

Frank’s eyes ballooned.

“The Wolves,” Harold said, “they got me, they tore out my throat.”

Frank’s eyes began to water, and he didn’t let Harold see. Men like Frank King didn’t cry, and he hadn’t since Charlie murdered his son. He was on the verge now, however.

Frank leaned down and hugged the kid.

“Geez, old man, what happened?” Harold said, humor in his voice. “You going to cry?”

Frank let go of him, hoping his eyes wouldn’t betray him. He reached out and patted Harold on the shoulder. “Just glad to see you up and at ‘em.”

“Wish I could’ve…” he trailed off, his head turning back and forth between the ruined dungeon bedroom. “What in the Hell happened?”

“He almost killed you, kid. She would’ve too, if it wasn’t for me and Boris. We had to break down the door. It was spellbound, he said, and I didn’t really know what that meant, just knew how no spell was a match for a wrecking ball.” The words poured out of him. Inside, he was a mixture of happiness and elation, fear and fright.

Harold dusted himself off and began to make a motion to get up. His head swiveled, taking it all in then it stopped at Boris.

The little creature was sobbing silently. He clutched at the pile of singed clothing, smoke coiling up around his face in waves. “Aqua,” he said. “I never got to tell her how I felt.”

“Maybe you will after this afterlife,” an unknown voice said.

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