Hunter of the Dead by Billie Sue Mosiman

Author:Billie Sue Mosiman
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: apocalyptic
Published: 2010-09-12T05:00:00+00:00

Jacques was the first person ever to enter Upton’s Cannes home. He had lived here ever since that awful abortion of justice happened on the Thailand mountainside when Mentor decimated his troops. In the era of ancient Rome decimate meant to kill one of every ten soldiers in a legion, to punish them for cowardice. But Mentor had killed all of Upton’s army. His legion was gone. Decimated in the modern sense.

At the door, the locks automatically obeying Upton’s command to open, Upton stepped aside and ushered Jacques before him. The lights were still shining though daylight was beginning to creep over the eastern horizon.

All the shades and draperies were closed, but an expensive air conditioning system kept the house ventilated.

Upton led the human into the living room where Jacques sat in one of the leather chairs. He sat patiently, quietly, with his hands easy on the tops of his thighs. His gaze never left Upton.

Now Upton turned a bit to look around the room as if he had never seen it before and wondered if it was appealing to others. “Is this a beautiful room? Tell me truthfully.”

“I will never try to lie to you,” Jacques said. He then looked around him, taking in the statues, the paintings, the furnishings and the carpets. He finally looked back at his host and said, “It’s a palace fit for a king. I like it very much. It is not too modern.”

Upton smiled, his vanity something he could not control. He sat on the velvet sofa and draped one arm along the back. He stared sternly at Jacques. “All right, now tell me about yourself.”

“You know most of me since you searched my mind, but I am willing to tell you anything.”

“What about the angel?” The encounters Jacques had experienced with otherworldly beings intrigued Upton mightily. He had glimpsed some of these encounters in the human’s brain, but not enough to understand completely. He was not sure there was such a thing as an angel, for it implied there was a heaven where angels originated and a god whom they served. Surely the Frenchman believed he had wrestled a true angelic being, but men often deceived themselves, or misinterpreted incidents because of their beliefs.

Jacques sat back comfortably in the leather chair and stared off toward the lime silk walls as he prepared to relate his tale. “I was engaged in an affair with a woman in Paris. It was just after I’d finished my degree at the university. She was a student then, not yet graduated. I’d had many women by that time, but no real liaisons that lasted longer than a few months. This woman—Adrianne—took my fancy and before I knew it, I was reeling with love for her. Is that how you say it? Reeling? She was a beauty, almost as lovely as the girl you took tonight…”

Jacques paused and glanced at the vampire to be sure he understood just how beautiful Adrianne had been. Then he returned his gaze to the walls and continued.

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